After a review session with Team Eagle Eye, I decided to revisit the middle section of the book and consider possible enhancements to roughly 125 pages. This decision is not taken lightly and I approach the prospect with considerable trepidation. Obviously there is the risk of going overboard and writing a new draft. Out of the question.

For starters, the first 125 pages are tight and need very slight tweaks. The biggest problem: a few dropped words, the occasional awkward phrase. The last 75 pages are solid as well.

What’s lacking is sufficient connective tissue that makes sticking around a necessity. Basically the writing works given the content, but there could be more tension. To be blunt, the middle is weaker than what surrounds it.

So a revisit of the old index cards is in order. Break it out scene by scene, until a plan to even out the narrative foments.

Before I change a word, though, I’m going to see how the cards play. While it sounds like a big task, it might be a very minor amount of effort. I hope.

Four weeks have passed since the agent requested the manuscript and with no contact from their end, despite a nudge from mine, I must conclude a non-answer is their answer. The biggest problem with passive replies is knowing when to move on, since they lack a moment of definitive closure. Initially I planned to wait until Monday, but I’d rather use the weekend for writing queries. Thus I make my own closure.

I could micro analyze the outcome a thousand ways, but it boils down to this: an opportunity came my way; I tried; it worked out differently than desired. Next week is a new week.

On the plus side, the hang time allowed a great opportunity for reading — eight books completed since late April — well above my average intake. The last of Team Eagle Eye finished his review; we meet Monday night. Definitely the most analytical person I know, from our brief instant message conversations so far I heard several interesting ideas. Which dovetails with another coup, really, that I have a good team in place now for proofing manuscripts. I know who can deliver and in what capacity. I consider myself very lucky to have them in my corner.

I’ve also made another decision. From the beginning of this journey I rarely referred to myself as a writer. If people knew about the novel, it was because of The Wife, or they stumbled on the site. When people asked, I answered briefly, nodded, and redirected them to another subject. Among very close friends, there might have been a bit more discussion. But in daily life, I told essentially no one that wasn’t already in the know and heard it from someone else. The don’t ask, don’t tell policy is over, effective now. To the two friends that shouldered this burden for the past four years, my apologies. Thanks for putting up with me. So what’s changed? Well I’m no expert on what makes a writer, or if I qualify in the classic sense. I wrote a novel and I write nearly every day. Sounds like a writer to me. And I got wares to sell, so it’s pimping time.

And last, a substantial tax refund arrived on Wednesday. That’s always a good thing.

Between a funeral and road trip, it’s been a very long, rough week. Until Friday, averaged five hours of sleep for too many nights in a row and logged three times more car miles than normal.

Thinking out loud about the agent situation – i.e. no news yet, twelve days left on the clock – with The Wife, she shared a very good analogy.

A man is lost at sea. Delirious, God appears in a vision, and promises a rescue if he trusts in signs.

Moments later, a small fishing boat appears and the owner tosses out a preserver; the man declines. This was not the sign he expected. Two hours later a barge approaches, the crew also offers assistance. Again the man refuses. Surely God intended something grander than a battered dinghy and a rusty barge.

A faithful man, he waits. Patiently he holds out for the “big one” and lets nothing distract him.

Eventually, he drowns. Meeting God, he asks why the sign never materialized. The response: “I sent you two boats. What more did you expect?”

When the wisdom of this sank in, I made a list of as many signs – some small, many inconsequential – that happened along the history of this manuscript. I’ve been a bit too fixated lately on a big sign, without recognizing the more subtle ones. Looking at them with different eyes, some are far from inconsequential.

A very small extract:

1)After months of frustration, spent 60 consecutive writing sessions in a row working on the same 50 pages. The only goal, write 50 pages that read like a book. Made a deal with myself. If I could write something that I truly felt was up to snuff, I would continue. If not, to quote Mark Twain, I’d go pound wood. Never tested my hammering skills.

2)Handed a draft over to The Eight. From that, gathered good feedback and discovered a great way for field testing writing projects. One of The Eight punted on their reading duties, and enrolled a SWAT guy who became one of the weapons and technical consultants.

3)First agent approached about the book agreed to review the entire manuscript, rather than dicker around with synopsis and twenty-five page extracts.

And there’s others.

Returned to a Time For Dying, a situation based thriller. Nearly two months passed since my last read through of the 30 odd pages.

I remember wondering when I put the pages aside to finish up the novel edits, “Maybe some dialog tracts could be converted into narrative. Hmm. What would that read like?” And then after three sessions staring at the manuscript and little more change than a few paragraphs in a different order, I thought, “How the hell would I do that?” Now my question is, “Why the hell did I want that?”

In a major break with my approach to the last project, I decided to let this baby roll and avoid bothering with fine details. Let’s just see what direction more of the same heads. This story doesn’t want to be force fit into a form I’m more comfortable working with. That’s about all I do know for certain. I’m going to tackle it headlong, and should I get stuck, I’ll improvise. Fuck the rest. If I want stress on my free time, I can go to work an hour early.