There are places I’ve forgotten. There are people I’ve forgotten.
What’s worse, these are people and places that never existed, but which lived, strongly, in detail, in my mind.
For most of my teen years and early twenties, I lived mostly inside my mind, in these places — future worlds and parallel worlds, and places I had no rational for — and hung out with these people.
Once as familiar as my own face in the mirror, they’ve grown fuzzy and distant, and I had a moment of panic when I realized I didn’t remember some of the names, and some other stuff might be gone forever. Particularly in the one world that, as I lay dying — as I thought — at 33 was the one weighting on me as “this will die with me. No one will know it.
For various reasons, but mostly because I have a friend who is trying to put my psyche back together or… perhaps together in a better way, I’m writing that world and (for now) posting it in a private group every week (I’m late this week.)
And it’s amazing the effect it has on… well…. everything else. I’m feeling the first stirrings of an interior world, for the first time in decades.
It’s as though I’d set off on a road long ago, with the intention of going somewhere, and then got sidetracked to all sorts of other things.
Imagine you set off on a difficult road because you really wanted to go home, but then while you’re on the way, you’re also visiting all your relatives, and perhaps stopping to do a lot of shopping and 20 years later you realize you’ve accomplished a lot of things, except the one thing you actually wanted to accomplish.
Sure, I’ve written some of the worlds I meant to write — Darkship Thieves, mostly — but I’ve also written everything else. And a lot of the worlds and places that I used to dream about are yet to write.
Look, I’m the first one to say that you should cut your cloth to suit your pattern. I.e. you might have the most beautiful and detailed world in your head, but if it’s too weird, or even something that most people are just not that into, then you’re not going to sell any, and it’s going to be still in your head, largely. So you have to write what will sell, or adapt your worlds to sell.
But look, it’s only in very extreme cases you can’t sell a well written book (series, actually. Single books don’t sell very well) in indie. Sure, if you write something like the aliens my son once wrote, who are single cells that communicate by chemicals, it’s going to be really hard to find more than — incidentally barely sane — fans. BUT most other things? You can find fans for.
Trad pub… that was different, which is why I’ve spent so long pursuing what the gatekeepers were willing to “buy.”
But at 56 I don’t think I have much more time to get these books out. Fortunately I write fast.
I remember — now — where I was going. There’s a place over the rise where the light is golden and the worlds are immersive and full of fascinating people.
I’ve been away long enough. It’s time to go back. It’s time to write the books of the heart, as well as the books that pay the bills.
It’s scary as hell, and I don’t know what will come of this, but I’m going home to that place in my mind, wherefrom dreams spring.
Hopefully people will come along.
Oh, I’m doing a Holiday Sale Extravaganza on Amazon.
Right now I have this for 99c:
The France of the Musketeers has changed. Decades ago, someone opened a tomb in Eastern Europe, and from that tomb crawled an ancient horror, who in turn woke others of its kind.
Now Paris is beset by vampires, the countryside barren and abandoned. The Cardinal has become a vampire, the church is banned, the king too cowed to fight.
Until now, the three Musketeers, Athos, Porthos and Aramis have stood as a bulwark against the encroaching evil, their swords defending the innocent and helpless.
But last night, in a blood mass, Athos was turned into a Vampire. And a young vampire orphan has just arrived from Gascony: Monsieur D’Artagnan.
Things are about to get… complicated.
And this is free:
When D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis discover the corpse of a beautiful woman who looks like the Queen of France, they vow to see that justice is done. They do not know that their investigation will widen from murder to intrigue to conspiracy, bring them the renewed enmity of Cardinal Richelieu and shake their fate in humanity. Through duels and doubts, they pursue the truth, even when their search brings them to the sphere of King Louis XIII himself and makes them confront secrets best forgotten.
Yes, I now that there is a typo on the description of the mystery, and both covers MUST be redone, and … sufficient onto the day the trouble there of. This will happen soon.
For now they’re on sale or cheap. Go and get.