Scarlett Knox writes psychological thrillers and dark, slow-burnromances. She lives on the coast of Maine in a small wooden housewith bad locks and a good kettle, and she is most often foundwriting in the corner of a public library where the librarianshave stopped asking what she is working on. She came to fiction late. For most of her thirties she worked incorporate law in Boston, where she spent a great deal of timewatching very intelligent women translate themselves into smallerversions of themselves to get a sentence into the room.
She leftin her thirty-eighth year. She did not, to the surprise of no onein her family, ever go back. Her first novel was written longhand in a series of cheap notebooksin the year after her mother's death, and remains, by her ownadmission, in a drawer where it deserves to be. I LOVE MY HUSBAND'SKILLER is the book she had to write before she could write the restof them. She is interested in the long quiet decisions women make in theirown kitchens at strange hours, in the bad architectures of longmarriages, and in the question of who gets to write the story whenthe man who has been writing it for fifteen years is no longer inthe room.
She is also interested, against her better judgment, in love.
She leftin her thirty-eighth year. She did not, to the surprise of no onein her family, ever go back. Her first novel was written longhand in a series of cheap notebooksin the year after her mother's death, and remains, by her ownadmission, in a drawer where it deserves to be. I LOVE MY HUSBAND'SKILLER is the book she had to write before she could write the restof them. She is interested in the long quiet decisions women make in theirown kitchens at strange hours, in the bad architectures of longmarriages, and in the question of who gets to write the story whenthe man who has been writing it for fifteen years is no longer inthe room.
She is also interested, against her better judgment, in love.
