If there's two words that sum up everyone around me now, me included, it's boredom and impatience. We're sick of holing up and waiting, and we want to Go Out And Do Stuff. (One of the books I never wrote but keep circling, with the tentative and ironic title Action Packed Adventure, is a story about a cadre of young people who make a vow to do exactly that every weekend, get out and do stuff, and how the bonds formed between them while not doing anything much at all help them navigate a situation that is bigger than they imagined they could deal with.)
I'm dealing with all that on top of another form of impatience: I want to get Fall Of The Hammer finished and put to bed so I can give it to all of you -- yes, all six of you reading this -- and get on with the next big thing. Of which I have, at last count, three or four to choose from. Let me count the ways.
I mentioned this one just now, and there's a chance it might fuse with another project I've been flirting with that has a lot of thematic overlap. We all want to "do something" with our lives, and sometimes when we get faced with the real meaning of that, it stops us cold.
This is what I've come to call the "sex and god" novel, for lack of any better way to put it. The fact that I have trouble even talking about it in a coherent way is a hint as to how unformed it is.
Imagine William S. Burroughs's "Nova Mob" running afoul of the likes of an antiheroine. Again, very unformed, but a lot of raw energy here that I want to put to use.
This entry is so new it's only as of last night I had even a placeholder title for it. But it has a surprising amount of cohesion for such a new project. Without spoiling anything about it, I will say this:
New York City
Other Lives Of The Mind