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The Powerhouse Quartet

That’s the name I’ve chosen for the series, of which FrankenNovel is book number one (yes, yes, insert a NUMBER ONE joke here, if you must). No coincidence that I live in a section of my city known as Powerhouse, or that I walk through abandoned factories, and past one spectacularly large 19th century powerhouse, every day to get to work. You know, I may be one of the 99%, but honestly, my life kind of fucking rocks.

The premise of FrankenNovel remains the same, but the world it exists in has drastically changed over the past six months. It’s still set in the Pacific Northwest – Tacoma, to be specific – but in a much more fantastical version of the PNW that owes as much to the splendid industrial ruins of the East Coast as to Mount Rainier and evergreens and dark grey skies. It’s been rather horrific, scrubbing out all the things that weren’t working in the first version, but the end result is much better than what I started with. It’s a novel that I think I can be very proud of, once I’m finished, and even if it doesn’t sell. Of course, maybe I’ll send it out to agents and it will sink into slush pile oblivion, and I’ll have to start all over again in a year or so, with another novel and another quartet. Maybe. Then again…

In other writing news: I have five anthology invites now lined up – and those are only the ones I’ve accepted, and not including magazine invites. It’s a bit sobering. I’m not saying this to boast, I’m saying this because I started writing in earnest in early 2003, I wrote my first story (“Brimstone Orange”) in 2004, I made my first sale (the same) in 2005. It’s taken me eight years to get to this point, and it’s only a fraction of the journey to where I want to be. I guess I’m saying that there are many keys to becoming a writer. Everyone talks about talent and skill and word counts and connections and networking and social media, amongst many other things. But I think one of the most important and necessary keys is patience. I’ve always been very patient. I’ve still got a long way to go, but patience is finally, slowly, starting to pay off.

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Originally published at Livia Llewellyn.

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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