Susan Crandall | Sleep... Is It Really Safe?

I’ve always been curious about the working of the human mind; which has certainly come in handy during my career as a fiction writer. It doesn’t matter how cool your plot is if your characters are acting...well, out of character. I spend a lot of time before I ever start writing a book working on my characters’ backgrounds and psyches.

When I began planning my romantic suspense SLEEP NO MORE, I was looking for something that was a deep-seated part of my heroine that could present a danger in itself, as well as lead to danger from external forces. When sleepwalking came to mind, I immediately knew I had just the ticket. The research into sleepwalking made me more certain that I wanted to wrap this book’s plot around it.

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Susan Crandall | For the Love of a Small Town

As some of you may already know, I live in the same small Indiana town in which I was born and grew up. Sound like a Mellencamp song? Well, he’s from Indiana, too. I even remember when he was Johnny Cougar. But I digress.

It isn’t that I’ve never lived anywhere else. For several years I lived in the Chicago area. But my heart brought me back to Noblesville. This is where I wanted to raise my family. However, while I was away fighting the traffic and the crowds of the city, something happened to the town I left behind. It inched closer to being a suburb.

There is still enough farmland in my county to produce a great county 4-H fair. It’s one of the few things that have remained constant throughout my life here. Unfortunately, I missed seeing the baby chicks and ducks and pigmy goats this year because I was out of town. I’ll have to wait an entire year before I can experience it again.

I’ve mourned the loss of my small town, but tonight I caught a glimpse of how it used to be.

Tonight there was a street dance on the square – a modern version of those my great grandmother used to attend back in the day. The smell of roasting ears of corn and grilled pork chops floated on the air. Balloons bobbed on strings clutched by the small hands of children carted in strollers and wagons. Feet tapped even for those people not actually dancing. There was even a gathering of classic cars. Hey, I remember when lots of those cars were just cars … nothing classic about them. We even own one now, a 1969 Firebird 400 Convertible (clearly this vintage was prior to my getting a driver’s license). It’s a beauty. Again, I digress.


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