The last several days have been interesting.
I survived Publishing Hell, even though I made a few mistakes along the way, and I get to do it all again as soon as I work up the back cover copy for Hyperion. My Go-To Reader, the amazing Teralyn, says it’s even better than Dawn. I don’t know about that, but here soon, I’ll leave it up to you to decide.
Now… as for the interesting part… well, I have struggled to write ever since I finished Hyperion. I finished it on January 6th with a combined 13,389 words across two days, and since then, I’ve only added 9,752 to the month. It’s not a matter of knowing what to write. Every time I have sat down to write, I feel… tired… I guess. Fatigued, maybe? I managed one 3,393-word day on the 14th on a completely different project, and frankly, I’m not quite sure how I managed that. Maybe I’ll nip into it later today to see if I can do it again.
A writer friend who is also my cover designer now said this is common for her as well.
It begs the conclusion that maybe I am simply a burst writer. Maybe that’s my best fit for a writing style. My writer friend said I should lean into it, if it is.
I’m not sure if I really like that, though. I’ve always felt like I’m losing time when I have the huge periods of downtime after a major writing project. I think I’d like to be more of a consistent, daily writer. People who have been professional fiction writers for a while call it a work ethic. Back in the pulp era, there were writers who would consistently hit an average of 4,000 words per day, year after year after year. If they could do it, why can’t I? That’s the primary thought running around in my mind when I look at my Writing Log.
Dean Wesley Smith has quoted Harlan Ellyson as saying, “The problems in your writing are the problems in your life.” Ever since I first heard that, I’ve always wondered what problems in my life could be affecting my writing. I personally don’t think there are any… but being on the inside looking out… would I really know?
Okay… I think that’s it for now. Breakfast is probably cool enough to eat, and I want to see about writing today. Hopefully, I’ll be back later with a Writing Log update.
I haven’t made any secret of the fact that I finished Hyperion, the second book of Sorcerous Pursuits, earlier this month. I am really proud of it. I love how it turned out, and I love that my initial feeling for the proper ending wasn’t right. I figured that out as I wrote that “proper” ending and realized the story wasn’t finished yet.
I have decided to go ahead and publish it on Knightsfall Press, while setting up a pre-order for February 5th everywhere else. This is just an eBook pre-order. I’m delivering the files to my narrator on Monday, so the soonest an audio version will exist is probably March.
I’m still proofing audio for The Shepherd, but I’m not going to wait any longer to publish that one. It’ll be going live soon on Knightsfall Press as well.
There’s an excerpt of Hyperion at the bottom of this post for your enjoyment.
So, yeah… I don’t think I’ll be writing today.
I still feel kinda blah when I open any of the projects that I currently have “on deck.” I’ll keep checking on it, but I’m thinking I’ll pick back up writing for certain on or around February 1st.
I’m thinking that I’ll also try to round out my day so that I’m going to sleep at 8pm with a 4am wake-up. A consistent sleeping habit has been as as big of a challenge for me as a consistent writing habit, and I’d love to have 8pm to 4am be my “default” sleep time. Definitely better for interacting with the world than a 4am to midnight sleep schedule…
If it wasn’t for the fact that I currently live about 35 to 45 minutes from the banks I use, it wouldn’t be a big thing. But by the time I feel mostly human after waking up at noon, it’s often already too late to make it to the bank before they close.
Google Play and Barnes & Noble are still processing Hyperion, and I’ll update the book page with those links as soon as the processing is complete. If Dawn is any gauge, it’ll be sometime next week before I get working links on both of those stores. I still have Ingram to go, in terms of publishing Hyperion, but I feel very strongly that it’s a “tomorrow” problem.
I’m between books at the moment, so I think I’ll see if I can find something appealing to start my wind-down.
Hope the days treat you and yours well. Stay safe out there.
Hyperion — Chapter 1
Penthouse, Stigium Tower
New York City
15 July 2025, 10:30am (Eastern)
Clouds randomly dotted the sky, following the winds that carried them in a generally northeast direction. He stood at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed him to look out over Manhattan and the eastern Burroughs, and not for the first time, he allowed a slight swell of pride at the achievements he had witnessed over his long years. Mankind had done rather well for itself, even accounting for all the problems like rampant pollution and climate change and nuclear proliferation. More than once, he had considered taking some action on the nuclear proliferation issue, but he always came back to one, simple conclusion.
He had survived this long by living in secret, pretending to be one of them. Why risk exposure?
He was so, so close to his millennia-long wait coming to an end that he had no interest in taking any undue risks. Not now. Especially not now.
His neutral expression turned into something between a snarl and a frown at the thought of his most recent risk. The gambit with the griffon had not turned out how he expected or desired, and the whole affair had left a rather foul taste in his senses. He couldn’t remember the last time one of his stratagems had been such an unmitigated failure, and… well… he did not like that.
If anyone passed him on the street, they would see a man who appeared to be in his late twenties to mid-thirties. His complexion suggested Mediterranean ancestry, and his dark hair and Patrician features narrowed that down further to the Italian peninsula. At six feet in height, he was a bit on the tall side for the peers of his youth, but then, his other gifts countered the vast majority of health issues prevalent at the time.
The man wore a graphite-colored suit with a tie whose base color matched the suit and had diagonal white stripes to match his shirt. It—like all his attire—came from a designer and tailor so exclusive that barely a handful of the so-called ‘one-percenters’ knew he existed. He worked on referrals only and spent six to eight months vetting every potential client. He didn’t accept even half of those referred.
The speakers in the ceiling overhead broadcast a chime that most people would’ve called a doorbell. He extended his senses to the penthouse’s vestibule and found Jameson at the door. A simple thought unlocked the door and opened it, and a second projected his voice.
“Come in, Jameson. I’m in my office.”
Less than ninety seconds later, the man he had chosen years ago to act as his primary agent and right-hand in the world at large entered his office. He was of compact and sturdy build. Some would refer to him as stocky, but that would be a lie. He kept his body at the pinnacle of fitness. His sandy blond hair trimmed in a buzzcut; his blue eyes hinted at the man’s cunning, predatory intelligence.
Jameson knew most of his secrets… at least those secrets related to his vast array of businesses and investments plus a general sense of who and what he was… and he routinely sifted through the man’s mind silently to ensure his continued loyalty.
“Good morning, sir.” The man’s voice was on the low end of the male tenor range. It wasn’t quite bass, but it was close.
“That remains to be seen. What do you have for me?”
“Our agents have confirmed the asset’s discovery. He is en route to the nearest trauma center, which of course is the hospital in Hornbeam.”
He turned to regard Jameson with a rare smile. “Ah… excellent. I am pleased.”
But Jameson did not seem to share his pleasure. He looked… pensive… uncertain… perhaps concerned.
“What is it, Jameson? Do not make me waste the effort to read your mind.”
“Mister Cato… sir… are you certain about this idea? I mean… the asset… well… he’s a very dangerous man. Moving forward with this plan could endanger many people.”
By the end of that response, the man Jameson knew as Cato had lost his smile. In fact, his expression had hardened almost to a glare. “Jameson, I find your sudden convictions a bit… disturbing. The matter with the griffon did not seem bother you thus.”
Jameson lowered his head for a moment, as if he considered the carpeting that spanned the room. After a moment, he lifted his head and made eye contact with his employer once more. “It did bother me, sir; I just didn’t say anything. After how that ended, I… well… I hoped you would consider the matter closed. I don’t even understand what’s so special about some random kid in Hornbeam, Illinois.”
Now, Cato’s expression surpassed a glare and then some. “You have served me well and with distinction for longer than most humans live, Jameson… and while I trust you with a great many facets of my operations and interests in the world, the matter of Thornton Adams is not one I wish to share. If you are unwilling to assist me further, should we transition to discussing your severance?”
Another heartbeat of silence.
“No, sir, Mister Cato. I do not wish to end my employment with you. I merely wanted to be sure you considered all ramifications of this latest… test. The asset, after all, is a mage terrorist with a price on his head in most of the countries in the world.”
“I know. That’s why I selected him for this task. I’m sure you have matters that require your attention. You may see to them until there are updates on the asset.”
Jameson nodded and executed an almost perfect about-face before leaving the office.
Cato watched him leave in silence and followed him with his senses once Jameson left his line of sight. When the elevator doors closed with Jameson inside the car, he turned back to the window.
“It will be interesting to learn how my dear nephew handles himself this time.”