There comes a point during the writing of a book when you look around and have no idea where you are. Your beginning is no longer visible, it’s back in the foggy distance somewhere behind you, and your ending is nowhere in sight yet. And you’re sitting there writing scene after scene with no clear idea of where you’re taking yourself.
It has happened with every book I’ve written and it never ceases to fluster and scare me. I also, for some reason, always refer to this part using some sort of forest metaphor.
At any rate, Part 2 is winding down and I’m terrified that anyone who reads this will stop at page 30 and say, “Why on earth am I wasting my time with this?”
I’d be even more scared if I hadn’t been here before.
The answer, of course, is sex and violence.
Maybe I’ll put some of that into the book as well.
Ever onwards, brave adventurers, ever onwards through this dark forest.