It is, in fact, a novel in journal form. And of course, something like this is never complete until you croak. But I have done very little during the last six months except re-write. It is essentially the same story it has been for almost two years now, but different. I am inordinately pleased with the result, which probably means the worse. But I hope not. There can’t be too many more of these lurking around my soul.
There are, in fact, a dozen of these novels that I have finished in the past twenty years, and not published. Done but not finished. That is a ratio of about one out of three. There is always a reason, and explaining such things is boring, even to me. But this one will be published—is being published. I have a cover picture—many versions of that same picture which I have culled to finally settle on the one. And I have the book itself. What more is there? Well, that is a question of my being able to handle the latest version of the Amazon/Kindle directions. I have never done this easily. Follow directions, I mean.
As in the past (with only two exceptions) this story is quite different in the telling than any of the others. That is the easy part—the part I enjoy dealing with. Fabricating a better narrative lie is far easier than building a better mousetrap. If it is good, it builds itself. This one does not fit into any particular genre (though most of the others did not fit well into those procrustean beds in any case).
When the copy editing is complete, and the cover photo finally decided upon, and the struggle with Amazon concluded, I will begin posting chapters here each week one at a time. For those who are impatient with the process, I will have copies available here for purchase, probably in September.