Well underway with a new novel. So I must admit it's somewhat autobiographical since the (currently) 59-year-old protagonist is getting older all the time, and, like me, she’s a bit of a hypochondriac. Also, the book begins with her sorting through lots of stuff (along with her past) in her attic in preparation for selling her house of many years, something I did not long ago. But unlike my experience, something quite extraordinary occurs while she’s up there.
This book is a tale of life, death, dread, and joy, transpiring during a holiday weekend and triggered by that mysterious “something” in the attic.
Sorry! I’m too proprietary to divulge more at this time. Stay tuned.
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