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WTF New Year

Yes, I’m still alive. I was going to post something at the end of the year, but I’ve fallen so far out of the habit of blogging, I just didn’t feel like it. Even now, I’m pretty meh about starting up again. I’m just not feeling the whole new year, new resolutions, new me crap. I still live in a garbage can. I’m still covered in ants. New year, same old same old.

I’m still working on FrankenNovel (yes, I know, SHUT UP), but there is a definite end in sight. That end may of course involve putting the finished manuscript in a shoebox and shoving it under the bed next to the dust bunnies (and, I’m pretty sure a small devil), but at least it will be an end! Oh, of course, it probably won’t be as bad as all that, but I’m all about being as dramatic a bitch as possible. Is that really a surprise to anyone? I thought not.

Anyway! After FrankenNovel is finished, and a couple stories sent off to various anthologies, I’m going to spend the rest of the year on two projects. One will be my next collection: four short (around 20-25k) novellas, all contemporary horror (i.e., nothing as lavishly fantastical as “Her Deepness”, but more in the style of “At the Edge of Ellensburg”). I don’t have a market or publisher for these – these are all just novellas I’ve been wanting to write for a long time. The second project will be starting my next novel. I have no idea what it will be – FrankenNovel is part of a series, but if it isn’t picked up by an agent, then it doesn’t make sense to write the next novel right away (although, yes, I will write out a synopsis, just to hedge my bets). There are a couple of stand-alone novels I can start on instead.

Yes, there are other things I plan to do this year besides writing and cavorting with insects, but I’ll save those for another post.


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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