This is where I’m supposed to be able to articulately sum up myself as a writer.
No, I’m not laughing. I have a cold and my sneezes sound like suppressed choking. That’s all.
Myself as a writer… let me see now. I’m getting a lot of images, none of them necessarily good… my desk, for instance, looks like a war zone, half the keys on my beat-up laptop are rubbed blank (the backspace in particular), and my work-space consists of a hand-me-down swivel chair in the middle of a supply/computer room in the very back of the house where I am in constant peril of being brained by falling bags of packing peanuts.
A web browser that crashes every other time I open it.
A search history that’s everything from ‘common poisonous plants’ to ‘what is a wormhole and how does it work?’
Countless baby-name websites open in too many tabs at once— all Norse or Celtic, by the way, with the occasional odd Greek thrown in.
Evenings spent picking an agonizing path through tangled plot-threads and wrangling obstinate characters into JUST DOING WHAT THEY NEED TO FOR ONCE IN THEIR LIVES; IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK.
A Youtube home-page riddled with two-to-three-hour mixes of ‘Mysterious Fantasy Music’ or ‘Epic Celtic Playlist’ or ‘Norse Battle Music’. Occasionally an old ballad or two.
Late nights sprawled in the grass staring up at the stars and wondering how it’s possible that something as infinite as this beautiful world can ever be captured in just words, and why it was given to me to have that same mission burning inside me as it does.
Dreaming. Yep, I’m a dreamer. Which means a lot of things, but mostly that I’m either too stupid to know my limits or just too stupid to care. I’ll tell you one thing, it’s certainly easier that way. 😛
There are sixteen separate stories burning in me as we speak. Yep, I counted ’em. That’s full novels; not even counting the short stories and poems, which are practically coming out my ears.
My big project is a series of eleven. Remembrance. An enormous allegorical fantasy that will be my magnum opus when I finish it. Most likely at the tender age of eighty nine, but hey. We all have to end up somewhere. The first and second books are roughly written already, so that’s a start.
I don’t have any other series up my sleeve, thank goodness. The rest are standalone novels. I have a science fiction steampunk called Operation Nebula, a superhero story by the tentative title of Both Sides of the Same Mask, several assorted novellas, two or three fairytale retellings, one retold myth (The Seventh Seed) and a lot of others I’m not aware of yet, but shall be soon, I’m sure. 😛 The standalones will be published before the series… that way I can actually start before I’m eighty nine.
They have all yet to be written. It’s a slow process. One word at a time, and time is something that doesn’t come in rechargeable doses. It may be a month before any of my work sees the light of published day. It may be a year. It may be longer.
But I’m inviting you to be part of that journey. This blog is my messy writer’s journal where I record things I learn along the way so I can go back and learn them again when I forget them in the heat of each new project. Be you writer or reader, I want you here to experience this with me and learn from the mistakes I make so you don’t have to make them yourselves. Eventually, we’ll get there.
Cheers. I’ll see you on the other side. 😉