Spooky, scary skeletons.

I’m thinking of this blog thing almost like a diary, because I don’t think anyone is going to read it except maybe my wife sometimes (hi, Kelley.) It’s kind of like me just screaming into the void, right? Which is fine with me; I’m not complaining or anything.

Anyway. I currently have a cockatiel sitting on my head and, “He didn’t save you. Lestat did,” floating around in my head aimlessly. Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. The rudest part of that whole thing was Louis accusing Marius of grooming Armand. (I understand the argument can be made. You understand that Marius is Queen Babygirl.)

Amadeo.

I always preferred the name Amadeo.

My mental health is not doing so good. Um. I’m not prepared, even in the void, to get into the list of why that is, but it is what it is and I’m trying to hang on in the small ways that I know how. Vampires and writing. Writing… vampires? I have a vampire short story in my novel, but I don’t know if I would have another one in me. Too many vampire stories turn out to be cliche and tired and I’m always afraid mine would just end up in that category.

As far as my work goes, I am somewhat actively working on what will hopefully be a novella, called THITHERTO. It involves lesbians and caves, because I’m writing it for my wife and she loves cave horror. And yes, I realize I’m going to have to give up my all caps, archaic, single words at some point but at least not with that one. Not yet, anyway.

I am also waiting on beta reads back from EXEQUIAL; I’ve only received one so far, but I gave them thirty days, so I’m holding on until the end of November. Hopefully they will have good feedback that will help me improve my stories. I’d be terrified right about now, but it’s either about hyperfixation or just trying to stay alive to me. I don’t have the energy to worry.

EXEQUIAL is such a… a weird little book. I wrote most of it in three days in a fever dream, that kind of force that tells you that if you stop now you’ll break entirely. And the subjects and subgenres of horror swing wildly, as if to show that fever dream. I wrote things that I did not know that I could write in that book. That I may be interested in pursuing writing more of in the future. If only I could think of plots.

“He didn’t witness the play, he directed the play.”

I suffer from a lot of brain fog, so plots do not come easy to me. Most of the time, it’s like I’m reaching out and just grasping air. Sometimes I get lucky and manage to grab something else, but… well, it’s one of the various reasons why I took such a long hiatus from writing. The big old plot problem.

I’m going to end this here before I start in on my lecture on why Marius is Queen Babygirl. We’d be here for days.

WordPress tells me there’s 4 errors found in the readability of this post. Is that all? I thought my score would be higher. Pfft.