Being the New Year, I think it's appropriate to take a look at ongoing projects and see if they still measure up as the best use of my time. I have three novels in progress. The oldest, the circus novel (originally a novella), is fully realized and plotted, and I have about 60,000 words in place. My feeling is that I'll end up with twice that word count. SInce there's been some real interest in the book, I'd like to finish a draft by March.
The next oldest is the alternate WW2 novel, where Germany wins the war. Yes, I know that's been done before. But so has the other side. I venture to say that there are thousands of novels depicting the Allied victory, so my story is still in the minority. I also think my story can be fresh and interesting. I'm stuck, though. After a dozen versions and eighty thousand-plus words, I'm not sure that I've located the beginning, middle or end, or discovered whose story this really is. This started out as a novella, and starred Che Guevera in an alternate world. He's still in it, but the world has opened up and his desires no longer drive the plot. Stay tuned.
The most recent novel (in conception, about seven years old) is high fantasy. I think of it as my Conan story - a thinking Conan. I'm a great admirer of Robert Howard (and many other Weird Tales writers of old) and would be pleased to have my story compared to Howard's work, in any way. I'm also a great admirer of Edgar Pangborn's Davy, as well as Jane Gaskell's The Serpent, and feel those books (and writers) influenced me. But antecedents notwithstanding, the main thing about my novel is that the story sprawls. And sprawls. And gets drunk and staggers off a cliff, into an azure sea.
I don't even want to think about short fiction (I have about 30 unfinished/or need to be revised stories in inventory). I'll mention one new story idea. Years ago I read a J.G. Ballard short story about certain information hidden in a museum painting (this was written in the 1950s, I believe, and is vastly more entertaining than that turgid Da Vinci Code). The second piece of the puzzle fell into place for me last month when I began to read 3000 Years of Deception, a book by Frank Arnau that discusses fakes and forgeries in the art world. And last week, I saw a film called THE RAPE OF
EUROPA, a documentary depicting how the Nazis (significantly, Goering) during their reign of terror
stole about twenty per cent of the fine art in Europe from museums and private residences. The Nazis also
destroyed tens of thousands of pieces of art by Jewish, Russian, and
Polish artists, calling their art degenerate. After all these years, owners are still trying to recover their property. Much of that art will never be seen again.
I'm not sure how my story is going to come together. I do know that Nazis always make a story more interesting.
I just hope this isn't going to be a novel.