I think I can be forgiven for revealing only now what I knew back in February: that my second novel, Permanent for Now, will FINALLY by published by Unsolicited Press in December 2018.
I signed the contract and have been working on edits throughout the summer. The next few months will include design, galley copies, and marketing. So, four months from now, a novel that was originally drafted in 2010 will finally meet the open air. The last eight years were full of revisions and close publications (see Jeffrey Marko and the Cursed Novel) but now the book will be realized in print. It is a relief. I was hesitant to announce its release because I’ve been burned before, and literary trauma burns like few others, but now it seems real.
Unsolicited Press has been very professional in their dealing with me and their editorial suggestions have made my novel better. I’m really excited to continue working with them in promotion of the book and press.
As the origins of this book were really in 2008/9, it has been a long time since I sat in the Parkway Central Branch of the Free Library of Philadelphia, researching subjects associated with this book; a long time since I traveled to Germany and Poland to see, photograph, and feel the places that would become settings of the novel; a long time since these characters did the things I asked and did things on their own that surprised me. Therefore, over the next few months, I’d like to go back over my notes of the last ten years in an effort to explore the novel that came out of me then and is coming out to the world soon. I suppose I’ll occasionally post blogs about the process and background of the novel, all leading up to the release and any readings/events associated with it.
In the meantime, it’s valuable for me to reflect on what has been true of my writing career since it began and is likely true for most writers: I never know where my writing will go, what it will do. Typing, I am often stalled in thinking all the work, all the effort, all the suffering, will lead to a file abandoned on my hard drive. I fight through this fatigue, this cynicism, and write on. As my hard drive would attest, I’m usually not too far off in logic. But in December, as some bookshelves will attest, I’m sometimes wrong, too.