It lives!
Or more correctly, "I'm alive."
Man, 2016 was a bad writing year for me. Sure, I snuck Caracal's Harvest out in the 1st quarter, then after that? Nothing worked. I began two books, one which made it to nearly 50,000 words before it collapsed under the weight of too many characters and plot threads, and another which amassed 35,000 words before I decided it just wasn't working out, either.
The biggest problem with both works is that I was looking to expand my audience, rather than write something I cared about. I spent some time after these misfires debating: should I continue my attempts to write something a little more mainstream? Try to raise my profile by pandering?
The end result is that I've purged my desire to expand my reader base for the wrong reasons. Obviously, I hope for an ever-growing audience, but not at the expense of what I love to write. And I love to write pulpy, violent, occasionally raunchy dark fantasy tales based around a parade of weirdos and outcasts.
The good news is, I've been writing something for months now that's really working for me. I can't say when to expect it, because I have a hectic work schedule and sometimes can't write for more than an hour (or less!) a day, but it's coming along well and I'm extremely enthusiastic about it.
I'm not going to share a whole lot about it yet. I will say: anyone who has read my previous stuff might expect the pages to teem with oddball mythological misfits, and they wouldn't be wrong: there will be a harpy heroine! Stern centaurs! Disturbed dryads! Shady fish folk! There will be angst and dark humor, sad moments and sick moments! Mark your calendars!
Except, y'know, don't, because I still have a lot of work to do.
Man, 2016 was a bad writing year for me. Sure, I snuck Caracal's Harvest out in the 1st quarter, then after that? Nothing worked. I began two books, one which made it to nearly 50,000 words before it collapsed under the weight of too many characters and plot threads, and another which amassed 35,000 words before I decided it just wasn't working out, either.
The biggest problem with both works is that I was looking to expand my audience, rather than write something I cared about. I spent some time after these misfires debating: should I continue my attempts to write something a little more mainstream? Try to raise my profile by pandering?
The end result is that I've purged my desire to expand my reader base for the wrong reasons. Obviously, I hope for an ever-growing audience, but not at the expense of what I love to write. And I love to write pulpy, violent, occasionally raunchy dark fantasy tales based around a parade of weirdos and outcasts.
The good news is, I've been writing something for months now that's really working for me. I can't say when to expect it, because I have a hectic work schedule and sometimes can't write for more than an hour (or less!) a day, but it's coming along well and I'm extremely enthusiastic about it.
I'm not going to share a whole lot about it yet. I will say: anyone who has read my previous stuff might expect the pages to teem with oddball mythological misfits, and they wouldn't be wrong: there will be a harpy heroine! Stern centaurs! Disturbed dryads! Shady fish folk! There will be angst and dark humor, sad moments and sick moments! Mark your calendars!
Except, y'know, don't, because I still have a lot of work to do.
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