“Her less-than-refined writerly day began with finding her notebook, which surely she’d leftright there. Then, having found a notebook (not the one she’d used yesterday), and staring in stunned amazement at the illegible chicken scratchings therein, she would finally settle down to jab at elusive characters and oil creaky plots. Most astonishing, Curran discovers that for all her assured skewering of human character in a finished novel, sometimes when Christie started her books, even she didn’t know who the murderer was.”
— It turns out that Agatha Christie was just as disorganized as everyone else in the world.
