I know, I know. It’s been a minute.
Traditionally, the last quarter of the year is an eventful one for me (and that’s putting it *quite* mildly!). And as usual, I put way too much on my plate.
You’d think I’d have learned by now, but alas, no. I remember excitedly emailing my editor to tell him that the first draft of my new novel was done and that I wanted to push to get this book released right after Christmas. He replied and said “sure” but it was like I could hear him chuckling at me through the computer screen.
That was last October. It’s a year later and I *still* haven’t sent that draft over to him.
I hear you laughing … go on ahead. Incidentally, I wrote about this recently — the importance of protecting your writing time.
Anyways, I’m here to tell you the book is coming. For real this time. It’s about to (finally) go into edits and will be released sometime in the next few months.
This is the beginning of a whole new series set in gritty 1980’s New York. Writing in that time period was actually more challenging than I anticipated! I’m still not even sure I got it all the way right, but hey … that’s what revisions are for.
This series centers on Stone Morgan, a reluctant Catholic and failed NYPD hopeful turned struggling new private investigator. He’s young and vulnerable and not quite sure he even knows what he’s doing. But he driven by a deep need for justice, to fight for the little guy, the underdog, and so he pushes through.
Well … more like fumbles his way through. This book chronicles his first major case … and boy is it a doozy! And he’s got more than enough people who don’t want to see him succeed.
That’s all I’ll say for now but you can read his thoughts from the opening paragraphs…
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”
He waited for a response but there was only silence. Uncomfortable silence.
He shifted on the hard wooden bench. It creaked loudly but he could still hear the sound of a throat clearing violently on the other end of the divide.
Father Donovan was still battling with his emphysema. He’d smoked for most of his adult life, and probably most of his teenage years. He did quit eventually but it was already too late.
“Go on, son.”
He paused again. How long had it been since his last confession? He started to count on his fingers but knew immediately that he would soon run out and so he stopped. “…too long since my last confession.”
He almost scoffed out loud but then caught himself. He wasn’t even sure why he was there now, or why he’d come in the first place. He was starting to think the whole thing was pointless as if whispering your secrets into the dark somehow absolved you of any wrongdoing.
He crossed himself, he was dangerously close to blasphemy now.
He took a deep breath and went on, even though he knew telling the rest this wouldn’t erase the woman’s sad and creased face from his mind. “I was in a position to help someone,” he said, frog in his throat now from seemingly nowhere. “To really help them, and I refused.”
He waited for a sound, some small hint of some acknowledgment of what he’d just said but again, there was silence on the other end. “She was desperate and she came to me for help … and I don’t know … I guess I just couldn’t.”
OK that’s all for now!