A week or so ago, I embarked on a new novel. I crafted a new playlist. I began to think of new names. I read more wisdom from Walt Whitman.
I can hear Pumpkin’s growl and Whissen’s gentle guidance to put one foot in front of the other. I am writing again of Ascham. The city find itself in an election, reunited with a greater country. Participating in a democracy in all its messy glory. New comrades join the old family. The Chickenshits stumble into misadventure once more.
I think the received advice tells authors to stay away from a follow-up to an unpublished work. I wanted to do that, but the story calls. I will follow where it goes, towards progress, not perfection.
This will mark my fourth novel. The first, I cacked up and lost in deep despair. I wrote the second in a ten-day frenzy. The third took a month for the rough draft to emerge from the fimbulwinter snows.
None of this would be possible without perseverance against impossible odds and the cherished devotion of fans who continue to come across my work. Last year, I had a story published again for the first time in years. Through you wonderful people, I sold almost 82,000 copies of my stories.