In most if not all novels, the main characters have a backstory, a piece of their history or experience that acts like a gyro to both drive and inhibit them. We all have back stories It is often our dark side, that part of ourselves we would rather deny, ignore, forget or hide from others. At times, the shadow side can often liberate us and reveal who we truly are. In Copy Desk Murders, Boston Meade inherited his family newspaper and has just spent the first summer in twenty years in his hometown. He sits alone on the veranda of the family home disgusted with his last editorial on the evening before he is to return to Chicago:

He slumped in the chair, ruing his flawed valedictory, wishing he could reel in the words like a fishing line and cast them anew. After three months, they still treat you like an outsider. “They’ll be glad when you go tomorrow,” he whispered to the katydids. Glad but not as happy as you will be. You never could be yourself here, he thought. Not as long as everyone assumed you were Dad’s clone. Sure, you’ve got his build, patrician features and Roman nose. But that’s not who you are. But they didn’t accept that. Instead of Dad’s gregarious persona. you’re reserved like Mom was. You had to get out, go to Chicago as the only way to be yourself. For that, they criticized you for acting as if Featherstone and the Statesman weren’t good enough. Well, people see what they want to see, he thought. Being myself and outdoing Dad’s success, that’s what mattered the most. That’s what drove Vicky into her affair. That’s what led to the divorce. He shook his head as he recollected the June morning when American Outlook promoted him to its top job. And then learning of Dad’s death right after that. In less than an hour, he advanced to the career post he coveted as he inherited the job he had despised. “Jesus,” he whispered to the katydid. “The cosmos has an ironic sense of humor.”