writing (a) novel(s)

i’ve finished writing a novel. a few people have asked advice. i will make another post about what the hell i plan on doing with it, because… i have no idea! i think i’ve decided to go the old-fashioned route and send it to literary agents rather than self-publish (for now), consequently, probably building an even fuller rejection folder.

this post was inspired by an email conversation i’m currently having with n. ian mccarthy. who btw, is awesome.

before you decide to read this post, i need to present a full disclaimer: i have no idea what i’m talking about, and i am not fishing for any advice / personal opinions, although,  advice / personal opinions aren’t necessarily uninvited. i am also not saying that i am any kind of expert, because trust me, i am nothing near an expert at anything. except maybe avoiding conversations in public.


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‘There are doors’ a short story by Christine Delano & Samantha Lucero

A recent story one of my BFF’s and I wrote together. A publisher for an anthology passed on it (and my other ghost story, too. I finally found the email. which means I’ll be posting that one up eventually, too.) it’s written in two perspectives, Adelina and Vera, two single moms (and characters we used to role-play on journals in a World of Darkness setting, I TOLD YOU I WAS A NERD.) both first person. It’s about 15k words, so it’s kind of a commitment. It was partly inspired by a weird place in the hills of NJ.

And yes, it’s horror. Do you even know me?

Two single moms leave their lives behind
and start over, but … 

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she finds old stories


a long time ago i was in the midst of a serial killer phase. i would read online crime libraries all night long and consistently be baffled, appalled, and intrigued. i couldn’t understand what brought them to do what they’d done. it’s still a mystery how people can be broken down so much, to sometimes something so little, that they lose their sense of self. others have never had a sense of self, and who they are was the criminal they eventually became. their whole lives lead up to that moment when they finally let go. and when they did, they were addicted to being themselves, because they at last felt significant.

others who were spirited dwindled, eaten away with time. and they became who they never thought they could, who they never wanted to.

the following story was written during that phase. it’s about 10 years old, and the writing style of it shows its age. shows my age when i wrote it. there’s no need for me to edit it or adapt it, because i enjoy seeing how my mind used to work.

it was inspired by the werewolf of wysteria, and of course, the supernatural. it’s a long read, and is obviously horror.


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