If you dissected my brain (please don't), I'm pretty sure “writer” is not the career you would choose for me. My happy place is with numbers – with math, physics, chemistry, logic. Anything involving formulae and rules. This is what makes my world make sense, and it's the side of my brain that works without being pushed. Sudokus, for example, are much more intuitive for me than crossword puzzles.

But to excite me emotionally, give me a crossword over a Sudoku. It's more work, but there's way more reward. I've always loved reading, getting lost in a world of fiction with characters who parallel the real world but don't actually live in it. Writing fiction has always done the same-- I get to dive into a parallel reality, shape it in a combination of how I see the world and how I'd like to see it, and learn about real life by watching the characters move and play.

My logical university major was physics-- my high school favorite because it yielded maximum grades for minimal effort. Since I laboured long hair-pulling hours to get only decent grades in English and history. Even biology was too organic, not formulaic enough--why would I even contemplate pursuing writing as a career? Yeah, it was still a passion. But I also love snowboarding, and I'd never delude myself that I could kill it as a half-pipe champion or that Burton would want to endorse me as I awkwardly ride down the green runs.

But a couple years into school, I realized that intellectual satisfaction wasn't going to keep me going much longer. I had this idealized notion that I could find a career that would satisfy me on every level--emotional, soulful, intellectual. When physics started to feel like slogging – when I found myself daydreaming in classes, more interested in the philosophy of wavelengths than in studying electromagnetics and passing tests – I dropped out in search of the career that would give me what I craved: total satisfaction.

This dream career was not waiting for me right outside the university doors. I bought a motorcycle and traveled around North America, working as a waitress in various cities and towns. I had a fantasy of becoming a bike mechanic (yes, this was after reading Zen and the Art...), but soon discovered I was absolutely not a natural with machines. I spent several years frustrated, waitressing, partying. I fell in love with and married a man who owned a pool hall, and I worked with him there. That was fun – you learn a lot, running a business. But I was never passionate about serving drinks or organizing karaoke nights. I vaguely figured that I should have just stayed in school, that physics was probably as good as it got for me, that I should have suffered the boring parts and maybe it would have become exciting again.

And then, I got really, really angry – at the mayor of Toronto. He was a wonderful mayor in many ways – for arts, for culture, for the environment. But his economic policies were a nightmare on small businesses. Taxes went up, services got cut, a smoking by-law came in and cut sales in half overnight. (Which I think is an okay law, but there should have been a tax break for the affected businesses – at the very least, not a tax increase.)

For whatever reason, my answer to this rage was to open a word file and start writing a story that opens with a dead mayor of Toronto. I found myself creating a world of suspects around this dead mayor – lots of characters who might want him dead. A protagonist emerged – a quirky young cop who was going to solve the case. After not too many chapters, it became clear that this book would be a mystery.

I took some classes to learn craft, and lo and behold, the mystery parts were like science. There is a formula behind a mystery novel – components you need to deliver a satisfying puzzle. You need clues and red herrings in just the right concentration so that readers feel satisfied by the ending, but they haven't already guessed it. You need tension on each page, in every conversation, to compel the reader forward, to keep flipping pages into the night. You need major plot points (like new murders or new clues that change everything) spaced at strategic intervals to keep drama high. But within this construct, there's a lot of room to play. To create a world, to play with words, to watch human dynamics from behind a lens of fiction.

Without realizing it, I'd fallen into my dream job, that idealized fantasy I'd held onto since university, where my intellect and emotion could work side by side. The rules of the mystery are like the laws of physics-- they keep me feeling safe inside a known and logical construct. The characters are anything but logical-- in fact, the more books I write, the more they let loose and make it harder and harder to construct a plot around them. But I'm up to the challenge, because they're satisfying my creative side.

This “dream job” doesn't come easily--it's easily the hardest job I've ever had. But I'm excited to learn it, to hone it, to continue to grow into it. Because for the first time in my life, Monday morning is my favorite time of the week. Someone recently asked me to close my eyes and imagine my happy place. Without thinking, I pictured being at my desk.

Robin Spano is the author of the Clare Vengel Undercover books, a fun, edgy mystery series. She lives in Lions Bay, BC with her husband Keith. Learn more about Robin's writing at http://www.robinspano.com