Yeah, I'm sitting on my first installment of Dead Lands. It has wings--granted, they are rotting and undead--but for some reason I'm dragging my feet.
Maybe it's the 3:00 AM feedings. Maybe it's the repeat trips to the specialist in Kansas City. Maybe I need to be slapped around by the ghosts of Edgar Allan Poe (who published some of his own stuff in journals for which he was editor--did you know that?) and H.P. Lovecraft.
In the meantime, I've written (or mostly written) two shorts. I've not written a short worth donkey spit in quite some time. Maybe these will have wings, too.
"Small Favors" features a man who cannot die (think "he coulda been a superhero") in a post-apocalyptic world. Yes, I have zombies on the brain, but I'll be damned if I can write a "straight" story about them. He's a different kind of undead.
"No Good Deed" is a pretty straightforward crime story where one good deed turns into a night of hell for a man and his wife. I guess you should probably leave the guy carrying a gas canister on the side of the road next time, eh? Why am I writing it? Readers like crime. I can't explain it; it just is.
I guess I'm not dragging my feet that much. Dead Lands is coming (once I finish "No Good Deed"). Promise. I might even have cover art soon.