Stories on the edge of familiarity
It’s considered bad form to mention in blog posts how long it’s been since you last published a blog post, so please excuse my bad form as I bring attention to the fact that it’s been a long while since I last wrote a blog post. What I’m supposed to do instead is get right back into things like I haven’t left, but that would be dishonest of me. The truth is, I’ve been struggling for the past several years-
For most of the years since my first book came out, I’ve been somewhat aggressively been focusing on one project at a time. This is mainly because, when I started publishing, I was still in university and it was really only the summers where I could focus on writing and publishing in any meaningful way. Which meant, in order to get a something done in those four months, I had to be really specific on what that something was and
I’ve been working with Airtable lately, which is a platform where you can really do all kinds of things with, but what I’ve done with it the past few days is put together a database of everything I’ve written that’s available somewhere (whether to buy or read for free). It also features a nice little workflow showing where various books are at in the process of getting them published. For example, right now it has a new novel at the
Sema didn’t sleep as well as she used to. Her back ached, the house creaked, and her mind would rise full of thoughts and memories when the stars shone on the ice, which was every night. So, this night, when the crash against the door that made the house shake intruded around the edges of her sleep-muzzed consciousness, she only wrapped the blankets around tighter and curled up on the bed. There was a voice in the wind, she thought
Note: This is all I have so far of an experimental sci-fi story code named Virtual Girl. Expect it to be confusing. Faded chalk art makes me think of the things that could have been and might be again. Does that make sense? I don’t know what does it should have been so simple But here I am again thrown back Blackness Immobile The beeping of machines that can never Never Wake me up again When will I see again?
Grow Your Library
