Well, there's a new poem out. It's not speculative in any manner. I have no idea where to go with it. It definitely requires rewriting. And maybe some more thought. It's a rough poem, I haven't felt this way about writing for a long time. A WTF am I doing? I'm sure it will pass.
The title? Dead Things I Mistook for My Dad. Four stanzas of four lines. Some of it feels good, like there's something there there. Other parts aren't so solid in my head yet.
Also, it does appear I'll be writing three novels at the same time. The other day a rewrite of what I though was a short story, then I realized would need to be a novella, but now I think is a novel flowed out. Dang it. But, you know, you have to write the way you write. Trying to channelize it into a prescribed path is, for me, the surest path to dead mind syndrome.