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I grew up in New Jersey and attended Upsala College in East Orange, graduating with a BA in English. It was a degree that prepared me for . . . not much of anything. A few years later I moved to New York, and after a variety of pretty uninteresting jobs, I finally wound up as a copywriter with an advertising agency. This is where—if you're even a little cynical—you might say I got my training for writing fiction.
I went on to work for agencies of every conceivable size before eventually getting the dreaded pink slip. But that was okay. By this time I had acquired some valuable contacts, and I was able to do quite well as a freelance writer. Actually, it was one of my freelance jobs that led me to create my first mystery.
Now, I've always been a dedicated mystery fan. (I've read every Agatha Christie ever published at least twice.) But I had no desire to try my hand at writing one of those things myself. What I did do, though, was to prepare a seven-page synopsis that I planned to submit as a suggested plot line for an episode of Murder She Wrote. This initiative having been inspired by a friend, who assured me she had connections at CBS-TV and that she'd see that my synopsis got to the right people.
Well, a couple of days later I mentioned my intention to an account executive at one of the freelance agencies I worked for. She asked why I didn't just develop the story myself. I told her in no uncertain terms that I really didn't have the time to write an entire book. I can quote her response verbatim: "You're just plain lazy!"
Understandably, this made me mad—because she was right. So for spite, that night I sat down at the word processor (I didn't even have a computer yet) and began the mystery that would eventually be titled Murder Can Kill Your Social Life. . . .
This was fifteen books ago.
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