Writing limbo.

I’m writing a mystery story. One so mysterious I don’t even know what it’s about yet.

One novel is in the bag, the second is submitted, the third is a complete first draft, so I decided it was time for a break. I’d leave the novels alone for a few days and work up a short story or two. That was the plan.

What I have here is an opening. A good opening. I’m very pleased indeed with this part of the story.

What I don’t have is an ending. Not even a hint at where the story is going. It’s going somewhere nasty, that’s all I know. Okay, it actually starts somewhere nasty so it’s going somewhere nastier. It’s going to a place that would make one of Caligula’s nappies seem almost bearable.

If only I knew where.

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