So I'm working hard on Time Diving, getting near the end of the official first draft. The lead character is falling apart, soon to fall further apart. I almost feel sorry for him, but, he's a wank, so how bad from him can one feel? Though I have a lot of work ahead to do the text and podcast, I am starting to think of my next book, so as to think it through, feel it out. For the first time in a long time, I don't have a book in my head which I must write. I know I'll come-up with something, but it's an odd feeling, to be uncertain. I mentioned before that I have a fantasy world outlined, so I may start that. I also want to take a stab at mainstream fiction with a medical novel, and I have a social-commentary novel about the corporate mind set. I am sort of leaning toward the corporate one, but I have to decide if I'd give it a scifi angle or not. Probably not, and I really love scifi-ish stuff, so I'm reluctant to leave the genre altogether. What could it hurt, right?
So, based on the hard work I'm doing writing, I had my wife take a picture of me chopping wood, to symbolize the actual effort I'm putting forth. What? You pictured me as, um, more mature (ie., old goat) perchance more corpulent (ie., six-pack only in my dreams if I'm lucky that dream)? Well, you were wrong! That's exactly how I look when I look in a mirror - with my eyes closed, of course. Sorry, I have to run, go do some sit-ups or something.......ciao
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