The thumb is healing nicely, thanks.
Kind of a strange day today. Spent much of it noodling around with the outline for a new novel, a bit of it reviewing edits and notes on some in-progress comics work, and the rest of it actually writing the proposal for the novel.
Proposals for novels are strange, chimeric creatures. I usually only do them for sequels or when working with a publisher and editor with whom I already have an existing relationship. In this instance, it's both.
My proposals, too, are kind of strange, reading less like pitches and more like super-condensed Cliff's Notes versions of the novel itself. I sometimes even do bits of dialogue back and forth, which is probably frowned upon my someone, somewhere in such situations. But I do, and I did, so there. And its because of that neither-fish-nor-fowl (or rather a-little-bit-fish-a-little-bit-fowl) that I'm going to going ahead and count up the words I wrote for it, today. What the heck, it's not a competition, is it? (And yes, Matt is right, everything is a competition.)
So I did just south of 3K words today. 2794, to be precise. And while I'm not able to share the title of the novel, the publisher to whom I'm sending it, or any of that kind of thing, the keen-eyed among you might be able to work it out from the evidence at hand.
Here's a snippet, just to prove I actually typed something today:
At a funeral, Spencer Finch glimpses a woman from his past, a woman he believed to be long dead. He attempts to uncover how she escaped death and where she has been all of these years, but what he finds only raises further questions. Whatever the answer, it somehow involves a cult author living in seclusion, an international terrorist group, a clandestine government agency, and invaders from another world.