Max´s mother

OK. His mother was originally going to have also tried to commit suicide and be a drunk. Now however, there is no need for her in the story. The poor woman is redundant. So, do you think it would be convincing for her to have successfully committed suicide...it is a story of hope despite the dark topic, and this way Max can have a chance to get his drinking in order and put things right...thoughts please!

nano is completed but...

I have completed the nano challenge, so thank you for your help all. However, it doesn't stop there. I am continuing with the draft zero, up to around 70,000 words probably though much less intensive.

Then, February will be first draft, followed by a second draft in May. If it´s good enough, it will go to publishers. If it´s not, more drafts will follow.

So what I´m asking is...stick around? I´ll be needing more help for sure. If you know anyone else who might help, please send them the link. Oh, and thanks again all.

What company is my brother the CEO of

he is older than me: nearing 50. he is rich, powerful, mean, and arrogant.
He has his own office and is the CEO of a company.
What company could it be?

What jazz bar did I meet Simon in?

I met my previous partner Simon in a jazz bar in central London.

It was mainstream, playing Kenny G type jazz.

What was it called?

What is my street called?

My cottage is 300 years old, overlooking the sea from up high on the cliffs.

It is in the north of England in the fictional village of Axworth. What is it called?

a preview of draft zero

As a distant crash of waves broke upon the shore, Max stood at an odd angle in the doorway. He had carefully manoeuvred the three rough cut stone steps in the darkness, taking more than twice the time that the daylight hours required. The steps had proved even more cumbersome due to the oversized cardboard box he held close to his chest. He had gripped the box so tightly that the edges were beginning to contort; creating additional seams to those that had been in the original design. The box swayed a little almost toppling Max over where a railing had once been.

Max was feeling a little smug. He had half expected a less than friendly welcome committee. His shoes had reverberated hollow thumps around the narrow street as he’d made his way home, and although he was mindful to use lighter footsteps as he passed the Sanderson´s window, (knowing they slept in the front bedroom and seeing that the light was out) he knew he would have been noticed by many a prying eye. But the heavy door sat dark, silent and as broody as the cold winds that cut through his sweat soaked shirt. Lily would be so happy with him this time. “Stop talking, start doing” was her irritatingly precise mantra. He could hear her words now and they made him smile. He couldn’t wait to see her face. Plus, it would help make up for the fact he hadn’t come in again last night.