sunday morning, 3:30

There is nothing happening at work. That's a good thing, I guess; it means I get to spend some quality time worrying about chapter seven. On the other hand, three a.m. thoughts are stupid. So it's not as if worrying will get anything done.

The chapter has one basic problem: it's uneventful. This despite the fact that it features a funeral and an attempted hit. You'd think I could muster up a little interest between the two. Nevertheless, I have the distinct feeling that a person reading it would put the book down to get a glass of water and forget about it until someone retrieved it from behind the couch a week later. Even I want to do that, and I'm the author. Not a good sign. I should probably add a little Suspense, followed closely by Terror. (Perhaps we can work in a little Humor, too.) As it is, it segues straight from Mild Interest into Indifference, ending on a note of Polite Disbelief.

By chapter nine, the indifference fades. Chapter nine is good.