“And it’s only Love” didn’t work the way I hoped it would at the start. It is a bad book. The fundamental idea wasn’t strong enough to save the novel, and it drowned beneath the weight of the plots it tried to carry. I am adding it to the raggedy old box in the closet where dead books go to spend eternity.
It won’t be alone in there.
I wonder, is that all there is to writing a book?
Because if that’s all there is … .