It's been an odd week.
This week, I began a new job. It's new. It's a job. Thus far, it's going well (I think). And that is all I plan to say about that.
I also began writing a new novel. Like, only just. I'd been kicking around an opener for a couple weeks now, but I couldn't seem to find my angle, my point of entry. This morning, all the disparate elements in my head suddenly clicked, and there it was. All of three paragraphs, but damn if they aren't an important three.
And they're good. Really good. Now my job's to make sure the rest of the book lives up to them.
Okay, the elephant in the room: no, The Wrong Goodbye isn't finished yet. Yes, I still intend to finish it. In fact, I'm pretty close. But the fact is, The Wrong Goodbye's a sequel, and without a deal for the first in the series, I've found it difficult to invest myself in that world. Not because I've no attachment to it, but because I have too much. My brain gets all knotted pondering publishing scenarios when I should be thinking plot, and I'm worried my lack of focus will bleed into the writing of the book itself.
So instead, I've started something fresh. Something new. Something that both plays to my strengths as a writer, and challenges me to step outside my comfort zone.
Does it have a title? Yes, but I'm not ready to let it out into the world just yet. I will say this about New Book: it's a straight-up crime novel -- a big, sprawling, propulsive thriller. In some respects, it may wind up being the most commercial thing I've ever written. But it may also be the darkest.
Now all I've gotta do is write the thing...