One month down, eleven to go. One novella, one short story, most of one book and the first quarter of another completed. My focus has narrowed to a knife-edge, sharpened on sentence fragments and dangling participles. I am firing on all cylinders. Migraines cluster like crows around a dying hedgehog, waiting. Always waiting.
I’m 22K into the Novel-With-No-Name. I have read some reference materials, conferred with editors, written a blurb. Characters do characterful things, in characteristic ways, moving the plot along in an efficient manner. Some books I have to sit and think about. This isn’t one of them.
I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. It’s just a thing. Sometimes, when I scan social media, I see other writers–writers I know–talking about their process, about the time they take to get things right, and I wonder if I’m going about things wrong. As if I’m committing some unpardonable authorial sin by not thinking more deeply about the beats of the plot, the characters…everything. Then I remember that I have a deadline, and that there are other books to write before the year is done.
Over the weekend, I made some notes for a handful of short stories. Nothing too in-depth, just some setting details and plot beats. One, I think, will be a follow-up to my story, “Mordiggian’s Due” from the 2014 anthology, Libram Mysterium. Another will possibly have something to do with the Great Fire of London.
And that’s what I’m working on this week. How about you?