I read, The Plot, about a once successful novelist in need of another good story, which he finds in the dead hands of one of his MFA students. I read The Mystery Writer, about a young woman who falls into a murderous, hidden literary world while trying to finish her novel and uncover the reason behind her mentor’s murder. I read Three-Martini Lunch about the literary world of 1958 NYC and what three very different people sacrifice and betray to make it as writers and editors. I read The Writing Retreat about a writing competition that turns to murder and madness in a house that Stephen King might have imagined. I read, Yellowface, about a struggling writer who steals a manuscript from the still-warm hands of a dying friend. I read, Last Resort, about a wannabe writer who steals an idea and several thousand words from a friend, only to lose the fame and fortune he sought. I read, Death on the Island, in which plagiarism may have played a role in two murders in Iceland. Then there’s Misery by Stephen King. Enough said. Now I’m afraid to be around other writers and editors. And I’m supposed to go to a writer’s conference in Iceland!