>Well, my promise to blog more seems to have already been broken. Not intentionally, mind you. It’s just that I got terribly sick for a week and then spent the next week just playing catch-up. My apologies for anyone who felt they were missing out on something exciting.
I’m still holding a “Name Ward’s Book” contest, from now until the end of the year. Put quite simply, I’m looking for people to come up with names for my new book, which will be a collection of interviews, articles, and essays. A few random stories will be thrown in, as well. Currently, the title in the lead is “Musings of an Insomniac”. If you can best that title, you will win a free autographed copy of the book, as well as YOUR NAME on the “Acknowledgements” page. Not too shabby, eh?
In the meantime, please know how pissed I am at vampires. Yes, vampires. You know why? Because every third writer out there (thanks to Stefanie Meyer) has decided to write about teenaged vampires. Now the book market is completely flooded with teenaged vampire stories. On top of that, every chick lit author has churned out a “quirky romantic vampire” book to toss on shelves everywhere. Know that that means? No vampire book from yours truly.
Yes, I was actually working on a pretty neato vampire book. It was NOT some gothic horror story or Anne Rice lovefest. It was NOT about teenagers who are pale and lonely and brood. It was NOT a romantic comedy about a quirky woman with a cat who somehow never gets laid and yet meets an adorable vampire. It was supposed to be a satirical story about the entertainment industry, with some vampires and demons thrown in who just so happened to be dripping with utter sarcasm.
But, since there are now way more vampire books than anyone could ever want, there is no agent, editor, or publisher in North America interested in another vampire story. So, my fully-fleshed-out and outlined novel will sit unwritten (and undead…HA!) on my shelf. At least for ten years, until people finally come back to vampires….when all the teenagers are grown up, I guess.
So, thanks a lot, angst-ridden bloodsuckers. Because you sad, brooding teens couldn’t get enough of being pale and being forever 17, I’ve got to toss aside my clever little jab at show business.
Unless, of course, I can re-write it to center around mummies. They aren’t overexposed yet, right?