I was sitting in my office late one night, staring at the pile of bills stacked up on my desk, wondering if I’d ever see another payday.
In walked a tall blonde in a short skirt.
“Mr. Snyder?” she said. “I need help.” Her lipstick was red. Her eyes were blue. Her voice was like maple syrup dripping down the side of a stack of flapjacks.
“It’s my husband,” she said. “I think he’s a vampire.”
A vampire? I can do vampires. I’m a write-aholic. I can write anything—for money. Continue reading Dick-lit Tracy – Here Goes Nuthin’