Or at least it’s going to start off stormy. A transplanted Ohioan such as myself expects stormy summers rife with buzzing electric air and clingy humidity right — before the thunderclaps rattle their way through the landscape. Which incidentally, is usually around 5 p.m., daily, on weekdays. At least they were when I used to work until 5.
It kinda “thundered” a little last night. I prepped the tea (Green Chai *bliss*) and waited…for… nothing. Oh well.
The writing goes slowly. I despair of finding niches or markets for modern ya fantasy set in rural Ohio or “Gothic horror” (I’m a touch unsure of this label, but it will do for now) traipsing it’s way through various turn of the century settings. But I suppose we must press on. The Burning River (I really need a new title for this nonsense. It doesn’t even take place in Cleveland, though the city of rock is mentioned…twice.) is currently at about 17K word count. Not where I had hoped to be, now in June, but getting there. Much of the tedious expository work has been done and I’m ready to tear my teeth into the meat of it now. The epic — well, at the very least quasi-epic — battle meat of it all.
I’m about half-way through a re-read of Lovecraft Tales. I think I shall blame that rather off-putting last sentence on that. On second thought…that just doubles the creepy.