It's the time of year where the sun hits at a certain angle at certain times of the day and brings back memories. Almost as if you can go back to a place and time, right there in your head, and it's an absolutely pure feeling.
On days like this I'm reminded of why I like writing crime fiction, especially here in St. Pete. A good majority of crime novels based in Florida always seem to revolve around the boat set: fishing, beach bars, "Florida Man" type things. I like to view things from the other side of the coin, from the downtrodden point of view.
Maybe it's because I grew up in a place where most people didn't have much. Life can be hard in rural America. I like people who don't have much but always push forward. People who get themselves deep in shit and have to work out their situation. Those are the folks I write about.
When people read my work, I want them to feel what I feel while I'm writing- the grasping at straws, anxiety, and dark humor. Of hope and despair. I want to push them through a jungle of deceit and pain. I want them to know there are people out there on the fringes who are just like us save a mistake here or there. A mistake that changed the course of their life. And that any of our lives can be altered, whether intended or not.
Back to work.
