I’m not going to say the end of my novel is pleasant, or even hopeful. It’s realistic. And in a real situation, when one has suffered and lost, one learns to survive and adapt. And the society and its citizens are recovering, fragile mentally and economically, so even when it hints at brighter days, there is the intrusion of the pessimistic creeping in. I didn’t plan for my novel to end in tragedy. It was not my design. It ended by its own volition (if that makes sense). There’s even a flavor of Quentin Tarantino in one scene. Think Shakespeare –not the language but the tragic outcomes. Hubris. Power. Greed. Lust. Suicide. Debauchery. Murder. I covered it all.
Sigh. Now what?
Now to convince an agent to represent me. That will surely be an undertaking.