More synopticizing. I discovered all sorts of things that I sort of glossed over, and some things that are out of order, and that my protag is much more likeable in the new flow, and — best of all — that everything would have stopped at one death if it wasn’t for the protagonist acting with the best of intentions.
I forsee guilt. I forsee personal trauma. I forsee an opportunity to say, “If this kept up I was going to run out of sidekicks.”
I am so pleased. I am so relieved. I still have that thready trail I’m following, and it’s wonderful.
Now, I am off to reread some detective novels, as a refresher for the patterns I wish to dance.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry