Lots of potential here: the parallels between narcotic use and necromancy are interesting, the language is often Chandler-esque in a good way, and it delves into some interesting psychological territory.
On the street, we walk, the survivors. Along side us are the workers of the fish market, in boots, jeans, t-shirts, aprons. I ask where the ferry is.
“Back in hell. Just turn around, and hang a left in the middle of hell.”
Since that spill, I’ve borne a grudge against the sinister presence that created “right” ways. That enforced its rules whimsically, letting me do it my way much of the time. Tricking me other times. Sometimes even punishing me with a broken glass or painful scrape.
Generally, I avoid books featuring fae, finding them too often derivative or pollyannish. Mississippi Missing, an urban fantasy laced with fae, came as rather a surprise. It neither demanded I know everything about the entire fairy world. Nor assuming I share a fan’s devotion to the intricacies of Welsh, Scottish, and whatever-all-esle mythologies. Sure, a […]
Popping up here, again, to show that I haven’t died. And to excuse myself by revealing the several irons I have in the fire. And playing with fire is what’s been keeping me quiet, hypnotize by the jumping flames. (Anyone who remembers me from Boy Scouts would know I’m a bit of a pyro.) Okay […]
Hey there, It has been a while. Not because I’ve been hiding, or running about entertaining myself to death. I’ve been working and will have announcements on that work soon. (Two hints: when the text gets prepared for uploading to Kindle Direct Publishing, the entire text must be reworked even if it’s already been published? A tagline I’ve been […]
This is why people watch movies. Or read books. Consume anything with a story in it:
I need some help. Yours.
Because I keep finding myself saying “I hate everything” or “I’m sooooo unhappy right now,” as I sit at my computer or walk the empty hall of my apartment.
Why? I’m not writing anymore.
Yeah, sure, copywriting is writing. So are writing proposals, and this blog, and emails, and updates, and Tweets and FB posts. But this kind of writing merely needs to be done.
None of it is the kind of writing I want to do.
The kind that made me want to write in the first place, that I’m increasingly desperate to write: fiction. Telling tales of made up people living in alternate worlds, or sometimes alternate lives in our world. I want—no need—to be a guide in the Interzone—excursions to The Way Thing Might Have Been or Could Yet Be.
So an effort to right a foundering ship I’m asking for help.
On a recent trip to Chicago, I was interviewed by Moresby Press writer Greg Beaubien. He asked several great questions, which lead to the following conversation: The Cost of Ambition and Deceiving Ourselves: Author W. Lance Hunt Discusses His Novel A Perfect Blindness As part of the never-ending campaign to help readers who would enjoy reading A Perfect Blindness find […]