Three months later…
It was winter, there was snow on the ground, a fire in the fireplace, and I was feeling enough of a comfort level to take a little more time off.
I pulled up the Bury the Dead manuscript and skimmed through it; mostly just rehashing the story I’d laid out earlier.
Except…when I reread it…I discovered a problem.
The story didn’t really have a plot.
It was a narrative about a young man, Alex Carr, adjusting to life in a corporate world in Denver while trying to reconcile a tough childhood.
I thought it was compelling enough in a classic ‘underdog’ kind of way. It was relatable in that everyone has their struggles.
But that was also where it fell apart.
If I looked far enough ahead, I had to wonder - if I took the book to the next level, and tried to publish it – who would want to read about someone else’s routine problems? People read fiction to be taken to different places and meet different people; not to hear a recount of what they encounter themselves every day.
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