Some jackass once said, “To every thing there is a season.” Yeah, Solomon, wisest of all men, we know. I’ve seen one example after another in my life where the truest knowledge did not equate to maximum happiness. Knowing the night will pass is useful when you are near daybreak, perhaps less so when the sun has just set.
All that to say: I have much less progress than I wanted at this time. Sequels are hard, ya’ll. I think the balance in the elements is a bit trickier: in the early drafts when I worked out the pacing, no one knows anything about these characters. Now I’ve got just a few pages to excite with some action, elicit some nostalgia, introduce some new elements, remind of the relevant history, remind everyone of the mythos, all while convincing the reader that the happy ending of the previous book had a big enough flaw that Éo has to get back out there and cut some throats.
I’m at 16,000 words, so it’s not not happening.
What’s needed is time for worldbuilding: that’s how I’ve moved out of these slumps before. Who else is in the world and what do they want? And that’s lead to interesting questions. Who is the Amber Witch and what does she want? What’s up with those enormous only blocky structures in the mountain and why are they cursed? Sure they gods are real, but are they the only intelligence roaming the planet? What could this alien intelligence want, or could we ever know?
Project Status
Eye of Fury: 17,500 words, counting what I’ve written on chapter six. We’ve seen vampires, we’ve seen witches, we’ve had a character death. Éo’s being dramatic. Hope’s being cheeky. We’ve had a drug induced vision quest. Everyone’s been busy. I don’t know what happens next.
Hand of Sorrow: one of these days I’m going to get back into sending query letters. The problem I have is that I’ve been working more on the iPad versus a laptop, and the copy/paste into forms just isn’t great.
The Skeptic: I don’t know. Looking back, this is a book clearly written for me. It has a lot of heart, my heart. But If I can’t get query letters sent for Hand of Sorrow, you can guess where this is.
The Gods are All Liars: this one comes in spurts and fits, like the dreams of a madman. Right now it feels like I have more of an aesthetic than a book, but it’s an aesthetic I’m in love with.
Other projects: just nope.
