And so it comes to pass that the year is nearly over, and I am left feeling a bit blurry and hazy on what happened, and what could possibly happen next.
Were 2018 to have an epitaph carved into its headstone, it would read:
THE YEAR THAT LASTED TEN YEARS.
REST IN PIECES, YOU WEIRD ASSHOLE.
I could get into a litany of profanity over world events, but I think it’s succinct enough to say: shit was real hinky in 2018, and 2019 probably isn’t looking any less hinky. That’s it. That’s all I’m gonna say about that, right now.
Personally and professionally, 2018 was a very, uh, curious year — generally speaking, I put out a handful of books every year, usually three or four, and I often write the same amount, too. This year? I only put out one book: The Raptor & The Wren. And I didn’t even write a book. I mean, okay, I did monster edits and rewrites on the very big book, Wanderers. I did edits on Vultures, the sixth and final Miriam Black book. And I wrote 80k on a new book, tentatively titled The Book of Accidents. I wrote a novella. I wrote a bunch of comic scripts, most of which you’ll never see —
*gives Marvel the side-eye*
That bit actually made quite a lot of news, which was bizarre.
And had a… movie made out of tweets between Sam Sykes and I?
I started a podcast about Thor: Ragnarok? With the inimitable Anthony Carboni?
I met Levar Burton?
See? 2018 was just fucking weird, man.
The good news is, I spent 2018 not actually feeling burnout — for the years prior, I’d been galloping parallel to the riptide current of total burnout, and though I never succumbed to it, it was pretty close. So, 2018 helped me reclaim some energy, and focus what energy I had on the books in front of me, which was good.
And that means 2019 sees those books come out.
Closing out Miriam’s story is satisfying and heartwrenching in equal measure — and though I have no idea if I did her story justice in the eyes of the audience, I feel happy with where I took that story. I’ve planned her story’s end for a while, and this is roughly always where it was going, and hopefully it feels earned. If it doesn’t… um, sorry? Can’t fix it now! *nervous laughter*
Yow, that’s a bigger, unrulier, much trickier book. I didn’t have a hard time with it, exactly — it came pouring out of me, as I’d been chewing on parts of the book and other disconnected ideas for years. It all connected suddenly, and out came this book — both an artifact of this time and also one that, ideally, separates us from The Now and still gives a story that is relevant no matter when you read it. The thing is, the book was so damn big. Kudos to Del Rey for letting me write the book as I needed to write it — and for letting me keep it that way, too. I’m excited for people to read it. I’m sitting on (/humblebrag) a number of unusually amazing blurbs, and I’m feeling really fortunate right now.
Hopefully I’ll bring Book of Accidents home in an equally satisfying way. It’s also a weird book? Squirrelly. Tricksy. A little more straight-up horror for me, kind of a ghost story that becomes something more than a ghost story, or something separate from one and… well, I don’t want to give much of it away. Just know that it’s a curious specimen. It is weird to be sitting at a point in my career where I can see, looking back, looking at the present, looking forward, how my writing has shifted into what might be considered a new phase? Both of output and process? And even career?
Shit, I dunno.
We shall see.
As to what else 2019 brings? No idea. I’ll travel a good deal for Wanderers, I hope. Maybe I’ll pop in your area, I dunno! OR EVEN YOUR HOUSE, LIKE AN EVIL SANTA CLAUS IN JULY. I’ll know more as the new year clicks into place.
I think that’s it for me.
More as I have it.
It’s nearly game over, 2018.
And 2019, we’re watching you. No sudden moves.