That's me. A science fiction writer whose knowledge is limited, and what little there is was gained from elementary school textbooks when I was a student or from haphazard research now that I'm an adult. And, yes, the writing is often dreadful, but my brother assures me the Cheese-O-Meter hasn't pegged out yet.
Five days into vacation, and I've spent far more time doing other tasks than writing. House painting is slow work in this heat; I've been getting up in "the wee hours" and working until the temperature becomes too much. Every time I sit down to write, I want to fall asleep instead. Three in the afternoon feels like the end of the day.
Episode 13 of Thieves' Honor is underway, and I'm hoping to dive into the reason for the rebels' existence, maybe bring up the humor level again, alleviate the darkness. (Ray Gun Revival still has one more issue in its current format, and Episode 12 will appear in that publication.)
The as-yet-untitled supernatural novel needs to be finished, and soon, but I'm nowhere near the halfway mark. All I've written on it this week is a few sentences in this non-spoiler paragraph:
This was his first visit to the haven in three years, and only the fourth since she left. Each time, he never took a direct route, and spent more time looking in the rearview mirror for tails than he did admiring the view, but he'd been there for a couple days now, and looked as sweat-stained and dust-covered as any ranch hand. Haven? Absolutely. Heaven? As close as anyplace could be, and still be here on earth.
The fantasy manuscripts haven't been touched. That circumstance is starting to give me itchy fingers -- and an itchy brain. Must be one of the symptoms of writing addiction, and I've been away too long.