Yesterday I attempted my first Sudoku puzzle. My friend Ellen mentioned it at our Monday night mah jongg game. It sharpens the mind, she says.
I'm all for mind sharpening. The other evening, out with friends to see the Wedding Crashers, I couldn't recall the name of the Lancome perfume I've been using for years. I do the daily crossword (my husband and I do both in Sunday's paper). I eat blueberries and other foods high in antioxidants.
I love puzzles and games. Sudoku, it seems to me, has parallels to writing crime fiction. The numbers (nine squares in a box, nine boxes in the puzzle grid), like clues, must make sense in multiple directions. There can be no duplications. No omissions. Ordering the numbers is based on logic.
A good mystery engages me with vibrant, developed characters. It challenges me with an intriguing plot. And it provides me with a solution I can believe, with a villain whose motives and actions ultimately fill the numbers in the grid.
I didn't do well with yesterday's Sudoku. My son, who showed me the basics, zipped right through it. I'm going to try today's puzzle, before I get back to my proposal for my stand-alone. Coincidentally, the working title is Mind Games.
And my perfume?
Poeme. Poeme. Poeme.