Chapter 4
At page 219 Lee bogged down. His protagonist hung from a figurative cliff, waiting for the author to do something, anything with him. For minutes Lee's fingers remained poised above the keys in a state of suspension; he read what he'd written-read it again. He couldn't kill him.
If he did that, the book would be over for all practical purposes, and he had projected it for slightly over 300 pages. On the other hand, he couldn't resolve the man's conflict, because that too would end the book. Something had to be done; something that would carry the story at a fast pace toward a tenable conclusion. He must avoid anti-climaxes.
He lit his pipe.
Creaking sounds, everywhere, in the quiet of night, with Joan asleep and his typewriter silent. It was his favorite part of the day-a tim
