A hidden satisfaction comes with being a fiction author. We are creators of people, creators of worlds, and creators (or destroyers) of every action in it. It is an addiction making us forget the pot cooking on the stove, miss the next train, forget to pay a bill, or even “lose” a day or two when we ourselves are lost deep in our writing zones, barely making time to “come up for air” (Did you say it was Tuesday? Already? Wow…)

Fiction writers, with the stroke of a pen, can make their characters sick or well, hungry, sad or silly, or make them experience a gamut of emotions in the spate of two paragraphs. We name them and give them brown eyes and long hair, or green eyes and short hair. We give them triumphs and tragedies. We also have the power to kill our characters, or (as in the case of Like Sweet Buttermilk), bring them back to life…

In the original version of Like Sweet Buttermilk (LSB), Rick Phillips died. Readers were upset; they liked the ending—but they didn’t. Given the flow/chain of events, his death made sense. And then, it didn’t. Although his death occurred in the original published version—it wasn’t my original idea for the ending.

Sometimes writers go against their original instincts or plans for a work in the interest of spicing things up, challenging the status quo, or challenging themselves. Nothing wrong with that; it’s an experiment in creativity every artist is entitled to. But the original ending of LSB, while fitting, stuck in my craw. For some time. In fact, for too long.

With the relaunch of LSB, I changed the ending to match my original idea. And, like fine wine, Like Sweet Buttermilk has gotten better with time. I’ve set things right in my fictional world and I’m not looking back. I had copious notes regarding Mr. and Mrs. Phillips; so much more I wanted to “say” related to them.

It’s a good thing. With the works following LSB, Dr. Alexander has two new friends—and exploring the dynamics of those relationships will be my writing pleasure.