Unless you're looking through me, you've got to turn around
Okay, this week is just the fuzzy end of the lollipop all round and I do not approve of it, but I just got back from picking up the recent reprint of Marty Holland's Fallen Angel (1945), the source novel for the 1945 film, and I am going to sit on the couch and see if I can't attract a cat by attempting to read it undisturbed. It looks terrific and, according to the introduction, rather like the fix-it version of the film I had wanted at the time. It appears to be part of a series of source novels for noir films. Based on their lineup so far, I can with horrifying ease see myself collecting them all.

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Right? It's to cry over, or at least go back in time and not waste the casting of John Carradine.
(And this in a nutshell is why I wanted to write novels and not follow my dad into the screenwriting business.)
The ending of your novel is definitely not loused up, so I can't complain.
(I still think someone should offer you inordinate quantities of money to adapt it for film or prestige TV.)
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