“It’s been a tough year. The main character in my second thriller started out as a passionate freedom fighter and then became a bit of a dastardly fellow when he ended up with too much power.
“His malevolent change could not go unrewarded. One hundred and thirty thousand words in, I decided he had to be dealt with. That’s when it got tough. The tale demands a bit of a twist at the end, like all good stories. So, having him simply run over by a bus or clubbed to death by his overly ambitious wife was all too mundane.
“This is the sort of problem that occurs when you’re a Rich Lister. You’ve made a nice pile, retired and begun to write thrillers to amuse yourself. The only disruption to one’s comfortable twilight era is the annual production of the Rich List. The event always spurs a torrent of begging letters to be sorted. And a few people occasionally want to know what you’ve been up to.
The distraction of letters passes reasonably quickly. Whereas dealing to a fictitious, Breaking Bad-type hero has become a never-ending pain. Closing stories was never a problem in my former publishing business. It had strict deadlines and the odd demand for reasonable accuracy and smart research. Making stuff up with no deadlines and no need to worry about paying the grocer should be a breeze. But it isn’t.
“This lack of a satisfying conclusion to the book project hasn’t been all my fault. I had other demands on my time. (Stop reading this if you’re a socialist). My wife Kati insisted I attend my 70th birthday party. She blew up a lot of my retirement funds from a barge full of high explosives and fed gout-prone guests tonnes of crayfish.
“Then I had to accompany her to inspect the renovations on the Gold Coast property. Disappearing to Huka Lodge for a break took up more precious time, as did several property transactions. And deciding on the colour of a new Rolls Royce convertible was a drawn-out affair. Before you ask: It’s Salamanca blue.
“All these interruptions have left my creative process in tatters. My self-imposed deadlines are now only of interest to those who read the first book and are now pestering me for the next one. After all, they point out, the first one, A Line Too Far, topped John Gresham in the Amazon Top 100 best sellers list for a brief moment in publishing history. And a smart man bought the screen rights.
“So, okay, I know, I should get on with it. At least then I can report in the 2019 Rich List that I did get one challenging thing done. It can’t be that hard to kill off a wayward hero. I’ll read the trifecta government’s thinking on soaking the rich with its new, inventive tax policies. That will work me into sufficient fury to deal to a mere character who’ll deserve whatever he gets.”