I have, apparently, been up to some shit.
This is not news to anyone who follows me on social media, where I have been bouncing between books, music, cover art, edits, preorder links, and the occasional existential crisis like a raccoon trapped inside a Michaels.
But I figured it was probably time to put all of the fuckery in one place.
Paper Moon
First up: Paper Moon.
This one is Half Price Hero at its most pissed off, politically exhausted, and still somehow hopeful.
I started making music because I wanted another creative outlet. I did not start making music because I had dreams of becoming the next giant streaming sensation, and I still don’t particularly care if that happens. I like making songs. I like hearing an idea that existed in my head suddenly become a real thing I can blast through the speakers in my car.
That’s enough for me.
Paper Moon grew into its own little thing—a political electropunk project about the version of America we’re constantly being sold versus the one people are actually living in. Anger, disappointment, survival, stubborn optimism. You know. Light stuff.
It exists because I needed to make it.
That’s becoming something of a theme around here.
The Best Man Problem
Meanwhile, because apparently one medium at a time is for cowards, I’ve also been writing The Best Man Problem.
This one has been an absolute joy.
It’s a queer romance with enemies-to-lovers energy, forced proximity, a wedding that refuses to behave itself, a motel, one bed, and two men who would probably have a much easier time if they stopped being idiots for five consecutive minutes.
They do not.
Obviously.
What surprised me most about this book is how quickly it found its voice. Graham and Caleb showed up ready to argue, flirt, misunderstand each other, make terrible emotional decisions, and generally ruin my life in exactly the way fictional people are supposed to.
It’s also getting very close to preorder territory, which is mildly surreal considering there was a point where this thing was just me going, “Ha. What if these two assholes had to work together?”
And now there’s a whole damn book.
The Shattered Horizon
Then there’s The Shattered Horizon.
Jesus Christ.
This book.
This is the sequel to How Far the Sky, and the first draft is officially done.
I knew going in that Book Two needed to be bigger. Not necessarily louder, but wider. The world had to open up. Consequences from the first book had to matter. People needed histories they weren’t finished dealing with. Relationships needed room to change.
And apparently I decided the appropriate response was to throw Cedar, Larak, Amy, Gus, Scarlet, Ashton, Rowan, Rodney, the Syndicate, Pittsburgh, family trauma, government conspiracies, several deeply questionable decisions, and one extremely complicated horizon into a blender.
Somehow, it worked.
Or at least I think it worked.
That’s what editing is for.
What I love most about The Shattered Horizon is that underneath all the conspiracy and danger, it’s still about people trying to figure out what home means after the ground underneath them has shifted.
The first draft ended up north of 80,000 words.
I would like recognition for my restraint.
Please stop laughing.
And Then There’s WYNY
And because I am apparently incapable of seeing an empty patch of creative ground without immediately building something on it, we now have Will You, Nill You.
Yes.
It’s queer The Taming of the Shrew.
No, we’re not keeping Petruchio’s bullshit.
The basic idea started as a joke, which is usually how I end up in trouble.
Then Kate became Kit. Petruchio became Patrick. Kit became a blond, sharp-tongued disaster named Christian who will absolutely threaten bodily harm if you actually call him Christian.
And Patrick?
Patrick is The Beef™.
Stocky. Bearded. Opinionated. Deeply inconvenient.
The moment Kit sees him is basically:
Oh, okay. The Beef has opinions. Unfortunate.
And suddenly what had been a funny little Shakespeare riff developed an actual plot engine, characters I understood, family complications, inheritance fuckery, and enough chemistry that I had to admit this thing had legs.
So now I’m apparently writing queer Shakespeare retellings too.
Sure.
Why not.
At this point I’m afraid to open another document.
So What Am I Actually Doing?
Mostly?
Making stuff.
That’s really it.
I’m writing books I want to read. I’m making music I want to hear. I’m letting myself chase the weird idea when the weird idea is interesting instead of stopping to ask whether it’s sensible, marketable, strategic, on-brand, or whatever other joyless vocabulary we’re supposed to apply to art now.
Some of it will find a big audience.
Some of it won’t.
Obviously I want people to read the books. Obviously I love seeing somebody stream a song or tell me a character wrecked them emotionally. I’m an artist, not a monk.
But I’m increasingly convinced that numbers are a terrible reason to make something.
The good part happens earlier.
It’s the moment a character suddenly says something I didn’t know they were going to say.
It’s hearing a song become real.
It’s realizing the ridiculous queer Shakespeare idea actually has a heartbeat.
It’s finishing eighty-some-thousand words and staring at the manuscript like, well, son of a bitch.
That’s the part I keep chasing.
So that’s the current state of things.
Paper Moon is out there making noise.
The Best Man Problem is almost ready to leave the nest.
The Shattered Horizon has survived its first draft.
And Will You, Nill You has apparently decided it would also like my attention.
I am very busy.
I am having a ridiculous amount of fun.
And I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to accidentally create next.