I'm in trouble. My first detective novel, Hummus Lust did great, sold well, got excellent reviews. But I have nothing else to say about dip. No more hummus metaphors. So what is my second book going to be about?
I'm spending hours batting around ideas. Bacon bits, garlic bread, pit-less olives, croutons, soft shell crabs. How about a genre narrative centering on lettuce? My PI, Bennett Malcolm, is a food connoisseur. He solved the hummus disappearance in the first book. John Cusack is playing him in the movie. Young, buxom women throw themselves at me at book signings. No one knows I'm blocked. I wrack my brains and nothing comes. His secretary, Roberta, is a transsexual with a 180 IQ. His parents are former circus trapeze artists. His former wife captained her own roller derby team. Everything is in place. It's quiet in my work room. My family loves me. I have a 33 inch waist. My feet never hurt and I can still juggle four balls at once. I have gravitas. I know where all the important bus stops are.
So why can't I get started on this second book?
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