Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen

My Friends Jump Off a Bridge. I Follow.

On my friendslist there are several people who are posting lists of their potential/unfinished novel projects. Only the ones with outlines and prose on them! That look shiny at the moment, I mean. Not counting the one I'm revising right now (like, two seconds ago! Right now! Because I'm organized like that!) and the one that is rough drafted but needs revisions, we have:

The Sequels and Related Works Section:

Midnight Sun Rising. The third book, following Thermionic Night and Copper Mountain (which is the drafted but in need of revision thing). Several years later. Should be completely readable by people who haven't read either of those, which is not the case for Cu Mt, so there's actually some point in writing it without a book contract for the stuff before it. Maybe. If I get to feeling like it.

The Winter Wars. Stand-alone prequel to the above stuff. YA instead of adult. Set during The Winter War, very Finnish, very snowy, very...enticing and shiny and fine. But not right now.

There are also a number of other essentially stand-alone books in that universe outlined, one with my favorite character from TN and Cu Mt running around with interwar Polish mathematicians/cryptographers. More fantasy novels need mathematicians and/or cryptographers, I feel.

The Alder-Wood Statue, The Vine Princess, Island Duel. The three books that follow Dwarf's Blood Mead and The Mark of the Sea Serpent. Also there's an untitled prequel that occasionally demands words. I don't intend to write these soon, but I didn't intend to write The Mark of the Sea Serpent, either, and you see where that's gotten us.

The Evil Regent Goes to the Evil Empire is the non-stick working title for the direct sequel to What We Did to Save the Kingdom. I've outlined it and its sequel, And We All Hate Eleanoh. (Family joke, in FDR voice: "I hate wahhhhh, Eleanohhhhh hates wahhhhh, and we all hate Eleanoh." I don't actually hate Eleanor Roosevelt, or the Eleanor I know personally, for that matter. But that doesn't change the nature of the family joke and thus the non-stick working title.) There are also two more stand-alone-ish books in this universe in a similar time frame, with colonialism and elephants and plagues and artificers and revolutionaries and smugglers and court musicians and all those good things. I'm hoping that if this world continues to jump on my brain, it can do so with one of the stand-alones. We'll see. There was no snow in What We Did, you see, so some of the other books had to come clambering on with a vengeance, because there must be snow. It's a Rule.

(I am veeeeery carefully not thinking about what happens in this universe more than ten years down the line, because if I do, I'll end up with another stand-alone trilogy or more.)

The Tides Between the Worlds and Dreams of a Young Master (last title no longer striking me as at all keen). Sequels to my first two novels (that I'm willing to show to the world), Fortress of Thorns and The Grey Road. I haven't written in this universe since 2000, so the odds that it will mug me without warning have perhaps decreased. On the other hand, I think there are still things to like in the first two, so if I think about the possibility that the series may stay forever incomplete, I'm a little sad. But not sad enough to narrow my horizons by writing more in this unpublished series without good reason.

Completely New and Standing Alone:

Island, historical SF with 19th century American women astronomers.

That mystery set in Oceanside in 1950/1951. Not speculative. Labor unions, military personnel dealing with Korean War stuff from the very bottom of the totem pole, immigrant workers, postwar cultural confusion, yay. Because when I hear family stories, my brain leaps ahead to stories with dead people and social upheaval, apparently. I've interviewed my grandparents extensively for this one but may still have to go to LA at some point for research. Some of you are in LA, and so is my godfather, but...well. We will deal with that if it comes up.

Eleven Words for Home. Oort Cloud SF. Perfumers. Radical habitat reengineering. Intentional families. This is a book in which the word "tornado" will never appear, but if you were at Gustavus in '98, you'll probably spot the tornado sweeping through the book over and over again. Or not; I guess I can't guarantee how astute you'll be about it. That's sort of your department.

Deportees. More labor unions. In space. With The Three Musketeers. Sort of.

Neuropsychology start-up company novel. Uff da.

The Dune in the Forest. The result of having read too much Madeleine L'Engle and John Christopher as a kid, in proximity to each other.

We Hate Bronson Alcott. Historical SF YA. Nineteenth century utopian communities. Smells like prairie and the way the screw on an old pocketknife smells.

The Water Castle. Secondary world YA fantasy taken out back, beaten, and mugged for valuables. The Chosen One is killed off on page one. This is going to be either an extremely brutal or an extremely gentle book, depending on how you see the world. There should be more YA novels about how you go on once you've realized that the world isn't the way you thought it was. Anyway this will be one. Also there are merchant caravans, and the titular location is very literal, and also there are these churning around in my brain with it.

The YA SF thing with nanotech hacking. And tennis. But mostly nanotech hacking.

Oh, right, and Zodiac House. Children's book, "chapter book." Half-finished. We'll see.

Sort of In Between the Two Categories:

The True Tale of Carter Hall. No other novels wandering around it, but it's related to the Carter Hall short stories. Right now when I sit down and open the file, words come out my fingers. This is a great goodness. If it stops, we'll see what happens, whether this is actually what I want to write next or whether it's just been convenient for with the vertigo. But it's been so much fun. For those of you new around here: hockey fantasy. So very Minnesotan it makes snurri look like he's from Iowa. (I'm just kidding, snurri. You could never look like you're from Iowa. You're just not that southern. You don't even look like you're from Albert Lea.) (You're welcome.)

The Aesir noir novel. Set in the same universe as Dwarf's Blood Mead and The Mark of the Sea Serpent but 400 years and the death of Baldr later. This is an adult novel, where the ones I've written in that universe already are YAs.

The Greenlandic magic novel. For which my short story "Heart-Shaped Hole" would be sort of a prequel: Milwaukee woman goes to Greenland and acquires angakok powers, which she brings back and wrestles with.

That I'm thinking of. Right now. Mostly I'm not thinking of it right now, I'm just doing what I can through the vertigo and letting the rest take care of itself for the moment.
Tags: full of theories

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