So I finished it. And it came in a bit short.
Like 39,820 words.
Ouch. Yes, I wrote this thing for someone in particular. However, I also had an eye to publishing this. I’m sure someone will chime in and say, “Why not go indie?”
Ladies and gentlemen, I am done with indie. I may come back to it, but only when I can spend real time promoting it. Indie only works when you’re not pulled in a hundred directions in both time and money.
But it’s done, and I’ve been showing it to my special reader. (That would be my wife.) I’m sure she’ll suggest ways to expand it.
My target is a bigger small press. I have one in mind, but there are a handful who do crime fiction. I’m hoping they take it as I’m now thinking I’d like to revisit Nick again a few years down the road in his timeline. Nick lives on the calendar, and this story begins that awful weekend in 2005 in New Orleans. Where he’ll end up in a couple of years? Who’s to say. But it’s clear more than one person is interested in bring him back home to Cleveland. Whether they succeed is all part of the story.