It’s odd when I say it. I have written 16 novels. I mean, that’s crazy in a way, right?
Today I finished rewrites on my latest book, Last Ditch, a book about a serial killer meeting his future in-laws, only to find they’re more fucked up than he. It’s a suspense-thriller but it’s not just about killing and fucking. I’ve been impressed by how complex the characters are and how much this book gets under my skin.
Now, the process moves on to proofreading… more specifically, me finding someone (cough – Vicky – cough) to proofread it. Then, I’ll send it around and see if people like it before I consider submitting it for representation and/or publication.
Next on my plate, I’ve got three plays in mind. One of them is so “You don’t want to do that” that I actually only have two. One is called Murder, Zombies, the Devil and Stuff and it’s about… well, like the title says. The other is a “dramedy” that I’m calling Sometimes we find our way. I don’t know which will come first, so I’ll probably work on both at the same time. Hell, it’s not like I’ve got too much else going on.