I’d finished writing the final working draft of a novel in progress. Which meant, other than trying to get it published, marketing, future editing and revising demanded by editors and proof-readers, I’m free to work on something else.
I’d already planned to shift to a series. A murder-mystery series, I’ve published two of those novels through KDP. More are in mind to be done, and people who read the first two are politely wondering when the third is coming out.
Meanwhile, though, I began thinking about my family as I was walking this morning. Oh, yes, I could write a novel about ‘them’.
Well, it’s not really them. The novel begins with Lisa, my little sister, being suspected of murder when her friend’s body is found in her house. Lisa isn’t there, though. It’s a bloody scene, and as the hours pass, Lisa doesn’t answer her texts or cell. She doesn’t post on FB or other social media, and didn’t show up for work. Her boyfriend says that he hasn’t seen her, and her boys, staying with her father, haven’t heard from her nor seen her.
Is Lisa missing and dead, or running and hiding?
Her older sister, Gina, a young and busy grandmother and physical therapist, is concerned about her sister. She’s the one who becomes the amateur private investigator, looking for little sister. Secrets about everyone begin showing up, of course. Every family has secrets. Fractures, tensions, and disappointments grow.
I thought that “Every Family Has Secrets” was a possible working title. There was more to the story and plot thought out, but that’s enough.
It was an entertaining twenty minutes of thinking and walking. Time to go home and get something to eat.