The Indigo Girls (remember them?) have a song called Virginia Woolf.
These lyrics came to me yesterday while I was in the midst of my “genre crisis.”
“They published your diary and that’s how i got to know you,
Key to the room of your own and a mind without end,
Here’s a young girl on a kind of a telephone line through time,
The voice at the other end comes like a long-lost friend,
So i know I’m alright,
My life will come, my life will go, still i feel it’s alright,
I just got a letter to my soul.”
This is how I felt when I read the chapter called “The Book Stops Here” in The Mystery Writers’ Handbook by Lawrence Block. He’s the author of so many books that he has SIXTY TWO books available for the Kindle. So his advice across time and space for me is:
“1. Keep going and finish it. OR
2. Figure out what went wrong and make it right. OR
3. Decide that it doesn’t say Purina and bury it in the yard.
Look, I never said this was going to be easy.”
Well, there were also other things in the chapter that made me see I could make the fix.
The encouragement of my commenters (Thank you again!) helped a lot too (oh, what if Virginia Woolf had Facebook?)
I’m still not sure what I will do, but I think I will try to de-emphasize the police parts and hope the readers (and agents/editors) can suspend their belief.
I had to take today off because I had a checkup at 10 am and DH went hunting last night.
I think that was good timing because I had some time to let it stew. Back at it tomorrow!