One of the judges said this: “I’m wondering if you’re really intending this to be an erotic novella.”
Well, yeah, that was the intention. But you know what they say about how the best plans of mice and men get laid.
There’s no actual sex in the first twenty pages, so, no, Fast Lane seems not to be an erotic novella.
I no longer have to follow the rules of a genre I’m probably not cut out to write.
I celebrate my freedom by forging ahead not with the story I’d intended, but with the one that’s emerging.