D.T. Neal's Blog, page 13
January 30, 2024
WIP
I'm 30K words into my latest novel, am very pleased with the progress so far. I'm shooting for 80K words for it (shorter than I typically go with books), so I'm cruising on it.
I don't feel my usual writerly elation while working, which kind of sucks, but I'm satisfied that I'm at least able to write something that readers'll hopefully read. Who knows?
This one'll likely appear in 2025. Not to be a tease, but I'm not going to talk more about it except to say that it's a paranormal thriller (possibly a parody/satire in the mix -- I can't help myself). I don't tend to otherwise talk about WIPs, because I liked to keep the creative steam in the brain boiler, where it belongs.
However, at the current rate I'm going, I should have the first draft done in two weeks. I'm happy with that.
I don't feel my usual writerly elation while working, which kind of sucks, but I'm satisfied that I'm at least able to write something that readers'll hopefully read. Who knows?
This one'll likely appear in 2025. Not to be a tease, but I'm not going to talk more about it except to say that it's a paranormal thriller (possibly a parody/satire in the mix -- I can't help myself). I don't tend to otherwise talk about WIPs, because I liked to keep the creative steam in the brain boiler, where it belongs.
However, at the current rate I'm going, I should have the first draft done in two weeks. I'm happy with that.
January 26, 2024
My Audience (?)
I write what I enjoy, with the understanding that what I enjoy, most people don't.
My readers are few & far between & even if I managed to garner an audience, it'll never be a mass audience. I don't even know if I have any fans at this point.
My books are for the freaks & geeks & smartasses & misfits. Those are my people, along with Romantics and philosophers. I don't write for the norms (and, yes, titling one of my novels NORM was willful).
Harvey Danger | You Look So Happy
My readers are few & far between & even if I managed to garner an audience, it'll never be a mass audience. I don't even know if I have any fans at this point.
My books are for the freaks & geeks & smartasses & misfits. Those are my people, along with Romantics and philosophers. I don't write for the norms (and, yes, titling one of my novels NORM was willful).
Harvey Danger | You Look So Happy
Transmutation
I think in my almost 54 years of life, I've slowly moved from being a secular humanist to a secular transhumanist, enough so that it's crept into my fiction.
It's not a bad thing, and I'm not ashamed of it. But my perspective on transhumanism isn't rooted in the idea that we need to become cyborgs or whatever.
Rather, it's an awareness that our humanity is part of the problem we face as we continue to roll forward as a society. We're still primates, despite everything we've accomplished as a species.
The recent trend of billionaires (themselves deeply problematic in a supposedly democratic society) building bunkers might as well be a return to caveman living, yes? The irony isn't lost on me--a billionaire's bunker is a damned cave, even if it's a posh one.
Mankind had to be a ruthless species to attain our position in the world. The mass extinctions we've caused over the past 400,000 years speaks to that ruthlessness.
In many ways, civilization's slow march forward (aka, progress) has been as much in spite of our humanity as because of it.
And now we're nearing a wall--call it The Great Filter or whatever you like--it's human civilization running up against our old habits as a species. It's why poverty still rages, why wars still rage.
In order for us to evolve into something other than a doomed species on a doomed world, we need to honestly assess ourselves as a species and try to do and be better than our human nature will allow.
The stakes of it couldn't be more serious--if we are unable to become enlightened as a species, are simply cavemen (and women, yes) in designer clothes, we're bound for extinction. If we're a world that worships the wealthy and the famous, we're bound for extinction.
A transhumanist evolution needs to take place if we're to have any chance of avoiding self-annihilation. Maybe it's more of a lift than we're capable of as a species. Maybe we're doomed to just be plutocratic primates.
What idealism I have left in me hopes we can rise above our natures and leave behind that ruthless, sociopathic cave dweller we once were (and still are haunted by, whether we know it or not), and realize a true world civilization of shared peace and prosperity.
Our brains set us apart from most of our fellow animal peers, but civilization has allowed so many of us, aided and abetted by technology, to be cruel and brutal on a scale that would strike our most ruthless ancestors with awe.
I try to remain hopeful, but that hope is grounded in a transhumanist recognition that we are part of the problem--at least the humanity we currently are. To progress, we must do and be far more than we are.
It's not a bad thing, and I'm not ashamed of it. But my perspective on transhumanism isn't rooted in the idea that we need to become cyborgs or whatever.
Rather, it's an awareness that our humanity is part of the problem we face as we continue to roll forward as a society. We're still primates, despite everything we've accomplished as a species.
The recent trend of billionaires (themselves deeply problematic in a supposedly democratic society) building bunkers might as well be a return to caveman living, yes? The irony isn't lost on me--a billionaire's bunker is a damned cave, even if it's a posh one.
Mankind had to be a ruthless species to attain our position in the world. The mass extinctions we've caused over the past 400,000 years speaks to that ruthlessness.
In many ways, civilization's slow march forward (aka, progress) has been as much in spite of our humanity as because of it.
And now we're nearing a wall--call it The Great Filter or whatever you like--it's human civilization running up against our old habits as a species. It's why poverty still rages, why wars still rage.
In order for us to evolve into something other than a doomed species on a doomed world, we need to honestly assess ourselves as a species and try to do and be better than our human nature will allow.
The stakes of it couldn't be more serious--if we are unable to become enlightened as a species, are simply cavemen (and women, yes) in designer clothes, we're bound for extinction. If we're a world that worships the wealthy and the famous, we're bound for extinction.
A transhumanist evolution needs to take place if we're to have any chance of avoiding self-annihilation. Maybe it's more of a lift than we're capable of as a species. Maybe we're doomed to just be plutocratic primates.
What idealism I have left in me hopes we can rise above our natures and leave behind that ruthless, sociopathic cave dweller we once were (and still are haunted by, whether we know it or not), and realize a true world civilization of shared peace and prosperity.
Our brains set us apart from most of our fellow animal peers, but civilization has allowed so many of us, aided and abetted by technology, to be cruel and brutal on a scale that would strike our most ruthless ancestors with awe.
I try to remain hopeful, but that hope is grounded in a transhumanist recognition that we are part of the problem--at least the humanity we currently are. To progress, we must do and be far more than we are.
January 25, 2024
Harvey Dangerous
Harvey Danger were a band that spoke to me far beyond their "Flagpole Sitta" tune that most normies know of. Their debut album and subsequently ill-starred albums were full of catchy, smart alternative tunes.
Their consistently good work failing to catch on resonates with me (except I never had a hit with any of my books).
All the same, their final tune highlighted all that was great about them -- it was an exuberant curtain call for a band calling it quits (this was years ago, but it always hangs in my head).
The Show Must Not Go On
As an artistic statement, I can only smile, because even at the end, they were still delivering quality music that was unappreciated.
In that spirit, I continue to work as a writer. I'm grateful for the handful of readers who enjoy my work -- I just wish there were 10,000 of you out there (or, optimistically, that the 10,000 of you out there would somehow learn of my work and enjoy it).
Their consistently good work failing to catch on resonates with me (except I never had a hit with any of my books).
All the same, their final tune highlighted all that was great about them -- it was an exuberant curtain call for a band calling it quits (this was years ago, but it always hangs in my head).
The Show Must Not Go On
As an artistic statement, I can only smile, because even at the end, they were still delivering quality music that was unappreciated.
In that spirit, I continue to work as a writer. I'm grateful for the handful of readers who enjoy my work -- I just wish there were 10,000 of you out there (or, optimistically, that the 10,000 of you out there would somehow learn of my work and enjoy it).
January 1, 2024
Another Year
I guess I should do my first post of 2024, yeah? So, that's what this is. Last year sucked, and this year is going to be a trying one for this country, likely a historical struggle that'll have massive effects, regardless of how it plays out.
I've got a couple of novels coming out this year, squarely in the Science Fiction genre place. We'll see how it goes.
Hoping for a better year, bracing for everything that's headed our way.
I've got a couple of novels coming out this year, squarely in the Science Fiction genre place. We'll see how it goes.
Hoping for a better year, bracing for everything that's headed our way.
December 7, 2023
The Living and the Dead
I'm admittedly mystified why the BBC's excellent THE LIVING AND THE DEAD (2016) never got a Season 2.
The obvious reason was BBC said it didn't get enough audience interest to justify another season, but I'm still surprised, given how much good stuff is in that show.
They get ghostly/supernatural stuff so right in it, and there are interesting characters and scenarios throughout it. The Gothic vibe of it is very pronounced, and I don't get why people didn't dig it.
It just reinforces my belief that stuff I like invariably doesn't appeal to the majority of people. Weird. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, give it a look. It's eerie and atmospheric, made for a compelling show with lots of ghosts! Who doesn't love ghosts?
Or was it just not gory enough? Is that it?
The obvious reason was BBC said it didn't get enough audience interest to justify another season, but I'm still surprised, given how much good stuff is in that show.
They get ghostly/supernatural stuff so right in it, and there are interesting characters and scenarios throughout it. The Gothic vibe of it is very pronounced, and I don't get why people didn't dig it.
It just reinforces my belief that stuff I like invariably doesn't appeal to the majority of people. Weird. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, give it a look. It's eerie and atmospheric, made for a compelling show with lots of ghosts! Who doesn't love ghosts?
Or was it just not gory enough? Is that it?
November 29, 2023
Looking Back
We're at the time of year where people typically pile up their annual accomplishments, so, I figured I'd join in, for the hell of it.
In terms of my own work, I got THE THING IN YELLOW out there, which is one of my favorites, being a collection of King in Yellow-inspired short stories. I'm very proud of that one, even if it's garnered only a handful of ratings and reviews (typical for everything of mine).
Everything else I did in '23 was to help other writers get read by editing, publishing, and marketing their work, including:
Grayson Daly | THE UNTIMELY UNDEATH OF IMOGEN MADRIGAL
Coy Hall | THE PROMISE OF PLAGUE WOLVES
Catherine McCarthy | A MOONLIT PATH OF MADNESS
And of course, the 19 short story collection of...
THE FIENDS IN THE FURROWS III: FINAL HARVEST
So, looking back, 2023 was a very busy literary year for me, even though most of the work was on behalf of other writers, not myself.
In all the cuddly community talk that so often occurs in the self-serving social media circles, I'm not sure people know, appreciate, or particularly care about what I've done for others, at my own expense (at a time when expenses are of considerable concern to me).
But I came through. In the arena of empty gestures that is social media, I was there for folks in '23, as I'd been in previous years. This year was just very fraught for me, one of the worst years I've had (so far, haha), so I guess I take a measure of grim satisfaction in getting good work out there, even if most of it wasn't mine. Most people in "the community" can't say that.
In terms of my own work, I got THE THING IN YELLOW out there, which is one of my favorites, being a collection of King in Yellow-inspired short stories. I'm very proud of that one, even if it's garnered only a handful of ratings and reviews (typical for everything of mine).
Everything else I did in '23 was to help other writers get read by editing, publishing, and marketing their work, including:
Grayson Daly | THE UNTIMELY UNDEATH OF IMOGEN MADRIGAL
Coy Hall | THE PROMISE OF PLAGUE WOLVES
Catherine McCarthy | A MOONLIT PATH OF MADNESS
And of course, the 19 short story collection of...
THE FIENDS IN THE FURROWS III: FINAL HARVEST
So, looking back, 2023 was a very busy literary year for me, even though most of the work was on behalf of other writers, not myself.
In all the cuddly community talk that so often occurs in the self-serving social media circles, I'm not sure people know, appreciate, or particularly care about what I've done for others, at my own expense (at a time when expenses are of considerable concern to me).
But I came through. In the arena of empty gestures that is social media, I was there for folks in '23, as I'd been in previous years. This year was just very fraught for me, one of the worst years I've had (so far, haha), so I guess I take a measure of grim satisfaction in getting good work out there, even if most of it wasn't mine. Most people in "the community" can't say that.
November 26, 2023
Write Now
Not like anybody cares, but I'm definitely back in my writing place, which is good, since I'd mothballed any new work for the better part of a year.
Perhaps more importantly (for me, anyway), is I experienced the euphoria of writing again, which had eluded me for the whole fallow period (aka, the end of '22 and most of '23).
It gives me hope that I'll be able to crank out some new work again.
Cream | I'm So Glad
Perhaps more importantly (for me, anyway), is I experienced the euphoria of writing again, which had eluded me for the whole fallow period (aka, the end of '22 and most of '23).
It gives me hope that I'll be able to crank out some new work again.
Cream | I'm So Glad
November 20, 2023
Scarred, Not Scared
After being deeply wounded a whisker over a year ago, and dealing with the shock of that, I was in a place where I simply couldn't write anything new.
But I suppose the psychic scar tissue forms, and one carries on. I'm definitely more in that place, in that my muse (who had politely kept quiet when I was in my bad place), has started speaking to me again, conjuring up ideas that need to be novels.
So, I'm guardedly happy about that. This past year has been terrible for me, but I'm finding my footing again, and am limping back into my writerly place, which brings me some comfort (?)
I use "comfort" loosely because the masochism inherent to writing is always there. I guess it would qualify as "familiar pain" if nothing else. There's reassurance in that, on some level.
I mapped out ten books I need to tackle over the next three years. The first are ones that were done that I need to just revise a bit before they're ready for the world. The rest are new works. The important thing is that my muse is back with me, urging me to create again.
I don't even mourn the past year (except that it was a bad time). All I have is the present and the future, and a desire to claw my way out of the shallow grave I'd been tossed into by circumstance.
But I suppose the psychic scar tissue forms, and one carries on. I'm definitely more in that place, in that my muse (who had politely kept quiet when I was in my bad place), has started speaking to me again, conjuring up ideas that need to be novels.
So, I'm guardedly happy about that. This past year has been terrible for me, but I'm finding my footing again, and am limping back into my writerly place, which brings me some comfort (?)
I use "comfort" loosely because the masochism inherent to writing is always there. I guess it would qualify as "familiar pain" if nothing else. There's reassurance in that, on some level.
I mapped out ten books I need to tackle over the next three years. The first are ones that were done that I need to just revise a bit before they're ready for the world. The rest are new works. The important thing is that my muse is back with me, urging me to create again.
I don't even mourn the past year (except that it was a bad time). All I have is the present and the future, and a desire to claw my way out of the shallow grave I'd been tossed into by circumstance.
November 2, 2023
Full Circle Jerkin'
Even as the ship sinks, I keep seeing writers promoting one another in that whole Faustian enterprise of praising each other in hopes that doing so will be just enough blowing to get a fire lit around their own works, relative to the increasingly elusive unicorn that is readership and fandom.
The conceit is that maybe if singing other authors' praise hard enough, that'll somehow circle back to praise of one's own work ("What a nice singer that writer is! Maybe I'll read THEM, too!"). I've yet to see it work, although people still go at it, likely out of desperation, given the state of publishing these days.
Maybe I'm too old school for my own good, but writing's the loneliest profession for a reason. We're all on our own writerly islands (some more fertile than others, some marooned on rocks), and calling out to other writers is no substitute for true readership and/or fandom (e.g., readers who will consistently turn out for a writer's work and actually PURCHASE it -- aka, not freebies).
I'll always be a purist in the sense that only the work matters. Writers reading other writers and singing praises isn't close to the kerosene of readers enthusiastically touting a writer's work. Only actual readers matter.
Mentally, emotionally, I'm slowly crawling out of the hole I've been in the past year. It's been a terrible year, and I've been badly scarred and burned by it, although my books still sell here and there. I'm still fucked, but my muse has been speaking to me again after politely keeping mum while I was trying to get my house in order.
Now, my house still disordered, yet my Dionysian self has let out a madman's cackle, desiring to tackle some new works and give them life, despite myself, in spite of my circumstance.
I'm not naive enough to have hope, but I'm spiteful and vindictive enough to force myself back into the writerly discipline to at least produce new work, rather than let the pummeling I endured keep me down.
Most other writers who even know me don't sing my praises -- they sing only for other members in the circle o' jerkin', but I've never written for them; I write only for myself, and for the readers, wherever and whoever they are. I feel like I've come full circle. There's more I could say, but for now, I've said enough.
The conceit is that maybe if singing other authors' praise hard enough, that'll somehow circle back to praise of one's own work ("What a nice singer that writer is! Maybe I'll read THEM, too!"). I've yet to see it work, although people still go at it, likely out of desperation, given the state of publishing these days.
Maybe I'm too old school for my own good, but writing's the loneliest profession for a reason. We're all on our own writerly islands (some more fertile than others, some marooned on rocks), and calling out to other writers is no substitute for true readership and/or fandom (e.g., readers who will consistently turn out for a writer's work and actually PURCHASE it -- aka, not freebies).
I'll always be a purist in the sense that only the work matters. Writers reading other writers and singing praises isn't close to the kerosene of readers enthusiastically touting a writer's work. Only actual readers matter.
Mentally, emotionally, I'm slowly crawling out of the hole I've been in the past year. It's been a terrible year, and I've been badly scarred and burned by it, although my books still sell here and there. I'm still fucked, but my muse has been speaking to me again after politely keeping mum while I was trying to get my house in order.
Now, my house still disordered, yet my Dionysian self has let out a madman's cackle, desiring to tackle some new works and give them life, despite myself, in spite of my circumstance.
I'm not naive enough to have hope, but I'm spiteful and vindictive enough to force myself back into the writerly discipline to at least produce new work, rather than let the pummeling I endured keep me down.
Most other writers who even know me don't sing my praises -- they sing only for other members in the circle o' jerkin', but I've never written for them; I write only for myself, and for the readers, wherever and whoever they are. I feel like I've come full circle. There's more I could say, but for now, I've said enough.
