I’m meeting with my editor today to discuss my new book about Blackwell’s Island. Life is good when you have a new book in the works. I’m putting together a “to-do” list and everything on my to-do list is something I’m chomping at the bit to do. There is not one thing that I need to research that I am not absolutely fascinated by. The first item up on my holy grail list (things that will be hard to uncover, but I’m determined to succeed) is to learn whatever I can about an 1828 murderer.
I think I’ve posted before how no matter I’m writing about, I always uncover a murder. Well, with a book about a place like Blackwell’s Island, which housed a penitentiary and a workhouse and a poorly run almshouse and lunatic asylum, murder was always going to be in the cards.
Another picture of my neighborhood on the night before the non-Blizzard of 2015. I shouldn’t be mad about the blizzard that didn’t happen. It caused me to take a walk that night and it was so pretty and serene out. There was something enchanting in the air. Everyone was stockpiled and ready for something exciting to happen.