I wasn’t going to write any more Young Adult books. That’s what I promised myself when the novel I was working on ground to a halt after ten thousand words. I was going to concentrate on adult thrillers and reinvent myself!
Fine words that didn’t last long. For along came a shiny new idea, seeping into my conscious, pestering me like a hungry cat that wants to be fed.
So for the past few months I’ve been scribbling away at something new. Something different. And now the first draft is complete. The tweaking and editing begins.
Is it something that will actually sell? Will any agents be remotely interested? Maybe it’s a bit too different? It breaks the mould, doesn’t follow conventions, and I’ve not seen anything remotely similar on the book shop shelves. So maybe there simply isn’t a market for it.
There’s only one way to find out.
I’m glad I wrote it. I love my characters. But soon I will have to leave them and turn my attention back to my thriller – and a different set of characters who are stamping their feet and feeling unloved.
