So, I changed my direction entirely. As of last Wednesday, I'd started (rather tepidly) a manuscript called The Neither.
Well, I'm now 8K words into a totally different book, this one a riff on Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, only involving elements of horror and steampunk in the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. around 1880. Think clockwork zombies. I'm calling it Loathsome Dark and Deep for now.
Is this book very commercial? Doubt it. I'm actually writing this with small presses in mind. Niche markets will never make one rich, but this is the book I want to write. Cate Gardner wrote something on another blog earlier this week that really resonated with me (I'm paraphrasing here): "I'd rather have a cult hit than a blockbuster." Me too. I don't read many blockbusters. Most that I do, disappoint me.
So I'm okay with small press. I'm okay with being a little fish in a vast universe. I'm even okay with mixing my metaphors.
And this book is a helluva lot of fun to write. A sample:
“Tell me you won’t go upriver. Tell me you’ll burn the forest down. All of it.”
“Burn the forest?”
I knew then that Pete Archer was gone. The poor soul had clearly lost what wits he once possessed. I’d seen cases, none as bad as this, of men who lost their peace of mind while logging, men who were lost so long under the shadowed canopy of those trees, buried in the folds of the mountains. None of those men came half as far to raving insane as Pete Archer. I lied to quiet him.
Another shuddering breath sounded from within the cell. I didn’t move for several seconds. No closer to any bit of information about Curt, I played strategies through my brain as to how and mine something from the lunatic.
“One more thing, mister.” Placated, his voice was calm now, slow and cool. “I need you to show me the back of your neck.”
Happy writing. Don't forget to read "Inked". And thank you.