It’s time to start a new novel. I have 40 short stories, and this is probably enough for now. I’m sure I’ll come up with more ideas as time passes and slot them in, but novels sell and stories don’t, really, and the entire purpose of this effort is to make it possible to quit my day job.
The elevator pitch is as follows:
Someone is murdering members of Atlanta’s homeless population. The killer strikes at the new crescent moon, and leaves a message in flowing Arabic calligraphy on each victim’s chest. Detective Diana Siddall and Inspector Mustapha Alawi have to navigate a hysterical media, a homeless population trained to be skeptical of the police, and the mayor’s demand to end the killings and bring the killer to justice. The detectives quickly find that the case isn’t nearly as simple as an Islamic serial killer: in a city whose symbol is the phoenix, a large homeless shelter in the middle of a gentrifying corridor becomes the focus of more than one investigation.
What I’m going to do over the next few posts on this topic is write up the major plots and interweave them: by the end of June, I ought to have a fully-detailed outline to work from. I’m going to force myself to put it all online as a way of disciplining myself.
The big question is what is the title? It needs to have the word Sun in it somewhere: the first novel is Universe, the second Judgment, so I’m going backward through the Tarot arcana. I’m going to let this one sit for awhile: titles tend to come to me late. Single Mom became Publish and Perish at the last minute.