What the Future May Bring

 I usually have massive superstition around speaking my plans out into the open air. It seems like whenever I do, the universe laughs in maniacal glee and I land on my ass at the end of the year wondering what happened. But I'll tell you. After the past two years, who the hell hasn't? So here we go. 

Plans for 2022:

FINISH THE DAMNED BOOK. Yes. This would be book 4 of the SFR series. Shortly after I hand that book off to my editor (if she hasn't died of boredom or old age whilst waiting for it), I want to fast draft the final book in the series. Fast draft. FAST. I'm yelling at my brain. Not you. The goal is to have both books done in at least first draft form by the end of the year. Then, you see, I could move on to other projects that are knocking around in my brain. 

There are some assassins who want their stories finished. There's a story that isn't science fiction, fantasy, or paranormal. I'm not sure where it came from or who I am that the story even crept up on me. But I'll give it a shot. It feels important for some reason. There are myriad other stories that want to see light of day.

I have low daily word count goals at the moment. I'm doing the distance runner thing - logging a bunch of slow miles in order to get faster over time. (This will take you to a Tik Tok video about this very subject.) This is all a part of having to learn how to be alone while being constantly in other people's company. While pandemic and lock downs have been fine for many introverts, those of us living in houses full of people are not all right. Finding alone is harder than it sounds like it ought to be. And yes. It matters because I'm one of those people whose thoughts show on their face -- and there are just some scenes in books that get dark and terrible. Everyone in the household is happier if no one sees those thoughts as I think them. It turns out my family doesn't like it when I frighten them. 

Now. If you'll pardon me, I'm going to go make some word count on a book that needs finishing.

What Not to Ask Me

So you know how you make some random blanket statement that your life is an open book and you have nothing to hide? And then, inevitably, out of nowhere, someone tosses out a question that makes you recoil while certain nether regions pucker?

Yeah. Who'd have thought something so innocent as 'how do you plan' would be my hill to die upon?

To make a long story short: Not answering the planning question.

Oh.

You're still here. Uhm. Okay. I, uh, look. How about why I don't like chatting about plans? It's superstition. I like to keep my plans, like my poker cards, close to my vest. Not that I play poker well. It's just that in any creative endeavor, I feel like the energy of beginning is fragile and easily dissipated. So I don't talk about my plans (for fiction or drawings or paintings or photography) with anyone. Not even crit partners. Once projects are well underway, they seem to withstand being discussed and dissected. At the point that I have the legs assembled and the brain and heart of a story plugged in, the skeleton can handle all kinds of challenges being tossed at it. Until then, I'm super susceptible to being utterly derailed by someone saying, "this bit here doesn't make sense." Stupid but true.

Do I wish my brain worked differently around this? You betcha. Instead, I have to be the weird little muppet in a Jim Henson skit who gasps and vanishes into her hole, pulling a rock in after her. Here. Have a cat.