After years of submitting work, I should be cruising in the fast lane instead of being stuck on the hard shoulder; waiting for recovery to give me a tow. Into the Snicket required methodical attention. If I was going to give the publishers something they couldn’t refuse, I had to review the beginning, middle and end.
Into the Snicket was always a realistic account of domestic abuse, but the plot needed to focus on the murder if it was ever going to become a crime novel. There’s no room for fluffy sentiment in this genre, so I’m pleased to report that I’ve done what I set out to achieve. The time has come to get a trustworthy car with a good service history so I can hit the road once again.
It’s been tough. I seem to have developed a permanent grimace on my face; one that’s not too dissimilar to an elderly woman in excruciating pain. After going through so many ‘trials’ I have come to resemble someone who needs urgent intervention: an enema, a good curry and several bags of prunes. You’d think people would take pity on me. Excuse the pun, but no one seems to give a shit. I might have aged considerably, but I’ve become very wise. I’ve learnt to be patient. I've worked hard to produce a manuscript that will take the fickle publishing world by storm.
I’ve been here before, so I’m fastening my seat belt and getting ready for a bumpy ride.....