My writing practice (aka “The Fell Beast”), was, in fact, a beast that fell.

In a pre-Substack blog post last year , I set out the two big projects that The Fell Beast (the working moniker for my writing practice) would encapsulate: a suite of short stories and a sequel to my novel.

Then, over the holidays, my mom died—and my mind set about reshuffling the deck, until I was (once again) ready and able to deal the cards.

Suddenly, my writing brain was broken, except for poetry. Short stories sputtered and faded from consciousness. And the sequel was stalled, altogether. My writing practice became semi-random ministrations. In fact, as I look back, those efforts were more akin to menstruations—failing to give birth to something, I was left to periodically expel what I could.

But, times change. Progress pretends to happen. Or we happen upon some. Either way, recently, I’ve come to realize that the two projects I had planned were really just one project, a project that I was over-complicating. And so the sequel will be a mosaic novel.

Meanwhile, my poetry is still a thing (notice the elegant word choice—yeah, that’s right, I got game). As I mentioned in my Substack, a couple pieces have already been excepted by a journal for 2024.

And I’ve even been able to generate a couple of nifty, new short story ideas that are tentatively standing on their own like newborn foal.

The Fell Beast has awakened.

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