Is that bad? As I developed my main character, a young woman facing the oncoming storm of events that make up my plot, I found myself enjoying the story of the bad guy more. “Now what?” I think to myself. A handsome criminal, his European ancestry, his family in France and The Czech Republic. Way more interesting than my heroine. I’ve spent far more time researching him, after all I know what it’s like to be an American female. I don’t know what it’s like to be a dashing, international art smuggler. I find myself wanting to let him get away. Maybe he gets a book all to himself. Hmmm.