Just taking stock of how someone who works from home could possibly have stress. Here's what's going on with the work I do to satisfy my great existential fear that life is meaningless:
Just finished the rough draft of Breaking Glass, the followup to Down on the Street. It's a delightful, epic novel about Chelsea Farmer and how she tries to get out of the life of a junkie. If all goes as planned, it should be published in early summer, 2018.
I've been asked to adapt Down on the Street for the screen. So, in the evenings, I work, beat-by-beat, on making this most status quo-unfriendly novella screen-ready. It's a neat little challenge, to say the least.
I'm doing the NaNo thing, writing a rough draft of a novel. I still haven't revised the rough draft I wrote last November, but, what the hell. This year, I'm writing something lurking halfway between dystopian science fiction and magical realism (I fucking HATE that term). I had to do something radically different from Breaking Glass. Both books are depressing, but dystopian fiction is depressing in a light, whimsical manner.
And, of course, amidst all this, I am working with Richard Krauss to produce another issue of Pulp Modern. By the way, I'm planning on changing the guidelines a bit for the next issue, so keep an eye out on that. I'm working to makePulp Modern a publication that will allow writers published in it to apply for membership to the various writer's associations. That should give you a hint as to what changes you'll be seeing in the guidelines.
Well, that's my November! Sounds like I need a hobby!