A Home for the Hot-Shot Doc. Dianne Drake

the gun on his to-do list.

      “You’re not going to blow your deadline, are you, Justin? Because if you are, I need to get it squared away with your editor.”

      Deadlines, editor … Yes, he kept himself almost as busy writing as he did being a doctor these days. Truth was, he enjoyed his growing passion for being a medical mystery novelist. It had happened quite by accident, when he’d been asked to step in at the last minute to consult on the medical aspect of a movie being filmed in Chicago. A couple more movie and television gigs had come from that, along with the idea of writing a novel.

      And while Justin hadn’t been an overnight bestselling author, his career was promising enough to get him his first two-book contract for starters. Now he was on his second two-book contract, and there were faint whispers of turning his second book into a movie. It was a long shot, but exciting.

      He liked writing. Didn’t want to stop doing it. But he didn’t know how it was going to fit into his long-term plans, because his medical practice really did take up more time than he’d ever thought it would. So that was his career crisis. How could he manage all aspects of it? Or how could he separate out the aspects he wanted to prioritize?

      What he could figure out, though, was that he was staying in Big Swamp much longer than he’d expected to—it was at least giving him more time to write, to edit, to work up to that next deadline, even though he’d been brain-dead the past few days, putting off the decisions he’d have to make eventually. Putting off life in general. Also, there was something about the surroundings here that was conducive to his story setting, so much eerie nature that was a real kick to his creative mystery-writing process.