We’ve all heard the timeless wisdom: “First drafts don’t need to be perfect, they just need to be written.”
We’re also familiar with Ernest Hemingway’s famous dictum, reproduced here in a format I’m allowed to use when speaking to high school students about writing and editing.
Authors and coffeehouses. They just “go together.”
Like butter and toast. Whiskey and a warm fireplace. Ice cream and happiness.
(And, on rare and typically regrettable occasions, nitro and glycerin.)
I’m an extrovert. I like being around people, even when I’m writing.
I don’t want them talking to me, of course — I’m writing, after all — but I’ve always found the vibrancy of sitting in a teeming pond of humanity to be the perfect creative ambiance (with a couple of caveats).
…
Tracker (Book 1) has been re-released, in print, to include the bonus short-story prequel to the Trilogy, “Rubicon.”
Available in Paperback or Hardcover
It feels like I’m always writing. I published two books last year, began editing a third, and finished the first draft of yet another.
So, saying “this year, we write” isn’t technically a New Year’s resolution. Not in the traditional sense.
It’s more of a declaration.
It’s my way of saying that — despite the concurrent uncertainties swirling around just about everything — I’m plowing ahead.
I’m a writer. That’s what I do. It’s how I’m wired.
And the regular discipline that writing requires — “butt in chair, pen in hand,” as the saying goes — was (and is) a source not only of creative expression, but also a form of author self-care.
It’s impossible to predict how this next year will play out. We just don’t know. That level of perpetual uncertainty can be like a leaking faucet when you’re lying awake at 3:00 AM. It can eat away at your soul, drip by drip.
Hence the need for creatives to practice deliberate self-care. To pace ourselves wisely. To have enough gas in our emotional tanks to encourage and lift up the people closest to us. To not run so close to the edge — stress-wise — that the least little thing drives us over a cliff.
And so … this year, I write.
We’ve just been through a collective deep freeze.
We’re not out of the ice fields just yet.
But Spring is coming.
My wife is an amazingly talented photographer.
I’ll give her a cover concept for a novel, and invariably, she’ll bring back something even better than what I’d pictured in my mind. If you want proof, look no further than the covers for Tracker and Dissident.
This cover mock-up of TKR Living* magazine, yet another example of her zany creativity, comes as no surprise to anyone who knows her.
…*TKR Living isn’t a real mag. Just sayin’.
“Kane keeps you guessing — a crisp and satisfying ending to the Trilogy!”
“Great suspense and action. Wonderful world-building.”
from the back cover
Time is running out for Amos Morgan and Aubrey Carter. Their uneasy alliance with a cadre of renegade Hoarders — vital to gaining access into the Enclave — teeters on a razor’s edge. Years of suspicion and prejudice, on both sides, wars against the need to present a united front.
The Dissidents, Mateo and Megan, claim to hold the key, but can anyone be sure whose side they’re on?
Life inside the Cascadia Enclave is deteriorating, covertly manipulated by the shadowy Givers and their power-hungry Hoarder accomplices. In a matter of days — or less — the Givers are poised to unleash an army of Trackers on Cascadia’s unsuspecting populace.
Earth’s fate hangs in the balance, leaving the Runners with one last, desperate option … dance with the Scorpion.
All links via Books2Read
(Scorpion flash fiction #3)
“How long will that hold if the Trackers find us?”
Aubrey Carter cast a dubious eye on the trapdoor at the top of the stairs, dreading the answer.
Sheila and Garr exchanged glances. The Colonel gave Aubrey a rueful grin. “How long does it take to unwrap a Christmas present?”
“It’s only meant to be camouflage,” Sheila said. “It was never intended as a barricade.”
Aubrey drew a shaky breath. She’d expected their response, but having her suspicions confirmed was still unsettling. “Thanks for a straight answer.”
…(Scorpion flash fiction #1)
Amos Morgan stumbled, almost losing his footing on the sidewalk’s cracked and uneven surface. His shoulder connected with bruising force against the brick wall of an abandoned tenement, wringing an involuntary gasp from his lungs.
He regained his balance and leaned against the rough bricks, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
The full moon painted the City’s deserted streets with an eerie phosphorescence. Amos strained to listen above his heavy panting. He held his breath, reducing the noise to a pounding heartbeat in his ears.
Nothing. If Trackers were closing in, they were in stealth mode.
…(Scorpion flash fiction #2)
“Conversion” refers to the complex surgical procedure by which a human being is transformed into a Tracker. The operation is exceptionally risky — the melding of flesh and alien technology is fraught with complications.
The physiological changes are extensive and cannot be reversed. Statistically, this rarely results in a botched conversion.
Few doctors are qualified (or willing) to attempt the surgery. Fewer still are willing to go “on the record” when questioned by the Infomedia. Rumors of failed Tracker surgeries continue to cast a shadow over the Enclave’s elite medical facility. The ruling Council, citing Enclave security, routinely labels these reports “unsubstantiated,” “classified,” and subject to vigorous Non-Disclosure Agreements.
Which leads to the proverbial “elephant in the room” question:
…When a Tracker conversion fails, what becomes of the patient?