My depression is coming. Right now it's just a distorted face, pressed against the window, causing me to be unsettled and a little disturbed. I can't ignore it forever. Every winter, I try, and every winter I fail. Some winters, to a lesser degree than others. Actually, since I began writing two years ago, the face has backed up a little; there's the oily smudge against the window, but at least the dark man isn't in the room with me like he usually is.
This is why I'll be starting a new book soon. It will keep him away a little longer, and keep me a little saner. I'll try to NaNoWriMo it up, but with my adjunct position, NaNo might not be a feasible option. Still, I think I'll try.
In the mean time, Nightmare on Query Street (my entry is here) is this week and PitchWars is shortly after that. I've got a few fulls and partials out with agents already, so all this is very exciting. I can feel this novel working. I can see it being published.
If you haven't taken the opportunity to read the first chapter of WINTER ON BRIMSTONE HILL, please consider it. Of course, I'd love to hear what you think about it.