Wherein Our Hero Acts the Pompous Jackass

So in the absence of Codex to work on (although the work of revision is apparently endless) I have been dabbling in other realms of fiction, just to keep my brain lubricated for when I start the second book.  I've been tooling around with creepypasta just because I want to work on my overwriting and the bare bones medium forces me to make every word count.  It sucks on the one hand, when all I want to do is gamble about tossing flowery phrases over my shoulder like some sort of syphillis addled satyr, but on the other hand it is a medium that is literally designed for nothing more than a flesh crawl, the horror equivalent of a cheap nut.

I've also been reading but not writing fan fiction for a project I am contemplating where I write the most atrocious troll fiction ever written for all the various fandoms I have a Hate-On for.  Fan fiction is a medium I've dabbled in before, God Forgive Me, but I really think it is the best method to skewer certain types of fiction and I think I am going to savagely enjoy it if I decide to develop it.

All of this has had my Lovecraft story suffering badly.  The problem with TCM is that I don't really have a central plot and so the whole thing suffers from lack of focus.  (Well, that and I have no idea how real detective work goes, which is why it resembles a sexy summer blockbuster more than anything by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.)  Of course, all I want to do with it is establish the Chris By-The-Throat Lovecraftverse in my head; the actual story I am writing for that universe is another project involving coyotes but some of the settings and tropes are being tested out with Everyone's Favorite Unicorn Hunters.  I'll finish the story-I just can't promise the ending will make sense or even resolve any issues; it's just psycho fluff.

Anyway, that is the story of the Dread Scumfuck's Quill and what he has been doing with it.  I'll have a section of Codex up on this blog again as a preview in honor of submitting it to the fourth publisher so far.  I'm not quite on the verge of swallowing my pride and self publishing, but I can see it without a telescope.

Goodnight, heathens.