"I do not take myself seriously as a suspense writer"
that's a quote from the author of The Talented Mr Ripley, believe it or not.
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The writer knew that the audience would be waiting. There were more of them recently, and with their arrival, a light but constant pressure on her mind. She had an absurd image – was it absurd? - of them setting stop watches at the same time as upgrading their subscriptions, seeing how long it took before it felt worth the cost. Tick. Tick. Tick. She felt their eyes flick to their inboxes and heard them exhale when there was still Nothing. They were probably rattling the change in their trouser pockets, time is money, and they’d paid for hers. The writer felt the debt like a scarf that was too thick, she couldn’t twist to see it any other way. She’d have to write something eventually. She’d start with a ghastly secret.1