Final Kiss at Seven

The title of this article is the title to my new work in progress, the second installment in the Stanley Bentworth series of mystery novels. The first is out for beta reading, and I got bored waiting for feedback, so I started writing. This morning.

I wish successful writers wouldn't tell us that they have a quota of, say, five pages a day. Robert B. Parker said that. So did Lawrence Block. When they hit that quota, they quit for the day. So it takes them a little over three months to write a 100,000 word book. That's four books a year, figuring you can multitask editing and correcting with writing. (Don't check my math. I didn't.) That's a lot of books when you're 30 or younger. It's not enough when you're old.

At noon today, I looked down at the bottom margin toolbar and saw that I'd written 10 pages of deathless prose. Am I supposed to quit and go swimming? Or mow the grass? Or wash the car?

I know, it's November. But I live in Florida.

See what you can make of the title. It came first. I didn't write it, but I've had it for 48 years.