I'm at Johns Hopkins, outside Professor Purkinje's office—where Dr. P is working before we head out to lunch and send me to my plane. He introduces me to one of his employees: "Joy writes murder mysteries."

"Oh," replies the nice young researcher. "Are you in science also?"

"No," I tell him. "Just a writer."

Though it occurs to me that had I known what I'd end up doing, studying a little forensic science would have come in darn handy.

At the very least, I should have taken the precaution of failing human physiology in high school, so I could take it again. That way, I would remember it all better in ripe middle age.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:39 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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