Careful, or You'll End Up in my Novel

In addition to trying to work off these last few (okay, 60) stubborn pounds over the past couple of days, I've also been trying to come up with a plot for my next novel.

"What?" you say. "Your next novel?"

Yes. That's right, ladies and gents. I have written novels before. The trick is not to write a novel; the trick is to actually finish one, which I've yet to do.

So I've been brainstorming trying to come up with ideas, and I gotta admit, for someone who's been schooled in journalism and has made a career out of it, writing fiction is no easy task.

You see, I've always written about real things happening. I could write all day about Marion Barry or Pete Rose or the state of the economy. But to write about something not based in reality is, in a word, difficult.

That said, my novel is going to have to be loosely based on reality. This should serve as a warning to those of you who know me: be careful, or you'll end up in my novel. Because the truth of the matter is that I don't plan to write about wizards or sorcerers or witches or any of that. No, I plan to write about something far more sinister. Trust me when I say that no one is safe.