Unwritten Novels

Over the last several months, things have moved, publishing-wise, that have given me some optimism about the future.  I can’t talk about them yet, since I do not yet know how it will all come out, but I am not sanguine. I’ve stumbled over too many obstacles over the last 35 years to start celebrating before the check has cleared, so to speak.

This morning, as I write this, I am about as unmotivated as I’ve ever been. It will pass, I’ve been here before: a combination of disappointment, weariness, and frankly disinterest. I have projects, certainly, but I just can’t muster the energy to give a damn.

There are novels sitting here, in my files, waiting for an opportunity to be published. Let me see….seven, I believe, all complete and ready to go. From time to time I have to deal with the possibility that they will never see the light of day. But what I want to talk about here, now, are the novels that might have been, ought to have been, written had The Career gone in a better direction.

When the first publisher of my Secantis Sequence went under back in 2005 or so, we had been discussing the next book after Peace & Memory. I was enthused, I felt flush with ideas, and I wanted to do a direct sequel to that one, called Motion & Silence. I had ambitions.  There was also talk of doing a short story collection of tales set in the Secant, the anchor of which was a novella I had been working on which later I developed into a complete novel (one of those now sitting in a file). At that time I expected to continue writing in that universe for at least half-a-dozen or ten novels. Then the bottom fell out. I won’t go into details, those involved know the story, but it pretty much, as it turns out, buried my chances of having any kind of major breakout.

I had a few notes for Motion & Silence, but I got pulled away from the Secant by other projects, most of which never materialized. There was an element of desperation attendant upon all this which muddied my thinking. I was casting about for some way to salvage something from the wreckage. I made a few poor choices. One of the goals at the time was to reach a point where my writing could support my working from home. Alas, I couldn’t manage it and had to continue working a day-job to pay the bills. Now, as you may know, this was not all bad, as I landed at Left Bank Books and spent a decade at one of the best jobs I ever had.

But it cuts into your time, day-jobs. Anyway, I had projects and made the time to write them. As well, I continued trying to find an agent.

But it is those unwritten projects that sometimes haunt me. I had a large-scale one way back, a historical thriller, jut barely SF, set during the Reconstruction Era. As originally conceived it would have been huge, six or seven hundred pages, and I duly set myself to acquiring the knowledge base to write it. Unfortunately, I burned out on the research before chapter one was done, but that novel continues to haunt me. I will write it.

I’d still like to write Motion & Silence, but as time passes and the Secantis Sequence recedes into the fog of  might-have-beens, the devil of “what would be the point?” natters at me.

There is a historical quasi-fantasy I wanted to do, set in ten or twelve thousand B.C.E. That one is still just a vague set of ideas.

I have, somewhere, about eight-thousand words of a dark contemporary mystery about the occult I wanted to do. Also, a contemporary love story built around music.

I also have an idea for the next novel following the alternate history trilogy that is sitting in the files.

And now, possibly, I’m looking at having to write the sequel to one of ones that has been waiting in those files.

For the first time in my life I am troubled by the idea of having too little time. No, there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m in ridiculously good health for my age—hell, for any age—but that’s just it. My age. I’m 69. Realistically, I might manage ten more really good years. I’m looking at the list of unwritten novels and starting to do a kind of calculus.

I published my first historical novel last year, a bit more than 12 months ago,  Granger’s Crossing. When I wrote that—more than a decade ago—I conceived a series of perhaps ten novels, covering a specific historical period.  Then it seemed very doable. Now? Do I have time to write nearly a million words, along with all the rest? Frankly, whether I even try or not hinges on how well the first one does. Assuming it does well enough for my publisher to ask for the next one, what about the others?

And then there’s the short fiction. I’m just shy of 80 published stories. I decided a few years ago to stop working on novels and concentrate on short fiction, and that has worked well. I declared my desire to publish 100 short stories before I can’t write anymore. So, 20 or so to go. It’s doable.

But is it doable along with the novels?

I have no idea. I decided to lay this all out so I can look at it in one piece and try to assess. With a little encouragement, I think I can manage it, but lately I seem to be struggling uphill against…myself.

And those unwritten novels tease me. I think about them and how cool they could be.

Thank you for indulging me. I needed to get some of this out of my head so I could clear the air and maybe see where and how to go next.

Meantime, the battlecry of all writers bids you assist: BUY MY BOOKS!

Be well, everyone. I’ll let you know what happens.