Lately I've received a few messages on Tumblr and email pressing for updates on the sequel to Merrick. I could not be more thrilled. Seriously. I wish I could make valentines for everyone who takes the time to express their interest.

Things are coming along. I really hope anyone out there who's keeping an eye out for the next book will tune in to this blog for updates, and be patient! My main goals for this sequel are: 70K+ words, a plot that holds its pace til the last word, and a final product outdoes the first book in character development and background depth. I'll be taking my time to make sure those goals are met, because I really want this book to blow your mind.

Confession: Merrick was written in a little over a month. It was a short story that decided to explode, and it really caught me by surprise. I just went into a frenzy -- put everything on hold, rushed home from work every day and shut myself in to write. Any spare time at my day job I spent re-tooling scenes on spare pieces of paper. It just poured out of me.

Unfortunately, this won't shock a lot of readers -- as a novel, it leaves some things to be desired. I'm not bummed about it, though. I'm super-happy to have these characters and this story to tell. But the sequel will be given all the time it deserves and needs.

I've been extremely unsatisfied with my writing for the past several weeks (hence the delays with Take Off). That's life, man, I know! Unfortunately there come times when I can't summon the vocabulary to describe a chicken burrito, and my punctuation looks like junk jewelry on a drunk kindergartner.

It's burnout. I know. It's hard to pace yourself when all you want to do is write.

In New York the clock is always ticking. Wake up, day job, gig here, break, gig there, home, write, pass out, wake up... To an extent this is invigorating. Some really thrive in it -- you know the NY bohemian lore. I'm not really of that order, although I draw what energy I can from it, pretending I'm in Madonna's Ray of Light video. But it can be a hardscrabble, sleepless life, and I often wake up in the middle of the night with the lamp on, having passed out in bed with my laptop on my stomach (hands on the keys, the last typed sentence trailing off into llllllllllllkjlk).

Woe is me! This is not my natural state. I'm a Romantic from the Northwest and I need time and space to muse, wind and trees and stories to soak up. I burn out quick here, trying to keep up the pace and volume of output I'm used to.

But anyway, I moved here. I live here. And all you can do is adapt! I'm adapting. I make do with less so I can have more time to write, and when in doubt, I know to retreat to the purest stories I have in me, the clearest moods and the deepest feelings.

I'm working on a long short story now. Two missing men cross paths in the wilderness: one is an inexperienced hiker who's gotten himself very lost; the other is an misanthropic young loner who abandoned society to live in the wild years before.

It's coming along nicely and really putting me in a better mood for the real task at hand, which is, of course, the sequel to Merrick. I shelved that one for awhile after many false starts, figuring it needed a little more time to settle. I was right.

I love Merrick as much as I imagine a writer can love a spontaneous first novel, but there are a couple of things about it I wish had gone better, such as the pacing and plot issues in the last quarter of the book. I fully believe that the source of these problems is the way I handled the change in setting when Merrick decided to move to the city.

Although it felt right and necessary at the time, I'm cringing now at the fact that the story ended with Merrick and William in Manhattan, and I wish I would have seen another way. This story is a Gothic Romance, and while the relationship between Merrick and William was more than strong enough to carry the story through the final pages, I regret letting the move to the city push aside so much of the atmosphere and romantic isolation. Basically, that cottage in the woods is a major element in this tale, and I regret that the story ended without it. I figured this out when I started sketching out early scenes for the sequel. There were my characters, but where was all my lovely gloom and mystery and alluring uncertainty? Where were the fog and trees (god, story of my life)?

Happily, I figured it out. Trust this much: the first order of business is to pull the sequel right back in the mood of Gothic Romance that's always been the heartbeat of the story. I am way excited.

There's so much more I'd like to tell you about other stories I've got going on, but I have to get to work!