51 pages, 10,950 now. Well, okay, I guess this one IS going to be my second sports-adjacent novel... The new and improved pairs are about to get into it.

Not what I'm doing stylistically or in genre, but the principle clearly applies. Just 20 rejections? Rookie.

Got in another 6 pages or so, now 45 pages, 9650. You know, I'm not sure whether friends playing matchmaker is a blessing or a curse, sometimes...

Finished up that blocked out scene from the other day, 40 pages and 8220 words now. Things are about to shift into a higher gear.

Evidently, agents:

6500 words and over 30 pages into my 26th (and second sorta-sports (ish) romance novel.

I'm sorry, but I just got followed by a British cemetery. How can any self respecting goth not respond in kind?

Fuck AI. Corporate suits "creating" stolen work in a patchwork collage & presenting it as original "art" to eliminate creatives from the endless churn of "product."

If you count a partially scripted one, we're now two scenes in the can on my 26th novel. The opener is fully edited. Final-edited the first dozen chapters of #25. Someday in the comparative future, 24 and 25 will be added to the rest in these endless, apparently fruitless rounds of queries...

I swear, that last belated query rejection was one of the most curt responses I've seen to date. Who knows, but to my mind? Could it be that gatekeepers don't like getting called out on their bullshit? #FoodForThought

Every once in a while I sit back & look at all the queries I've sent out, all the work I've done, & say God DAMN, did I really do all that? Something is very wrong with an industry where agents routinely form letter pass on so much quality work, probably just letting AI & interns reject for 'em.

Don't be fooled, AI is not a tool like computers & wi-fi or a program like Google Docs. It's being pushed as a flawed Trojan Horse to let the lazy give even less effort, but that's not the goal. It's entirely to allow the wealthy (publishers, producers, labels) "create" product without creatives.

Don't even TRY to defend AI. It's theft, pure and simple, the attempt to put creatives out of business and remove them and the very meaning of art - humanity and aspiration - from the production of soulless, factory churn "entertainment." Fuck AI. End this shit now.

I don't (write) SF myself, but Simon's a good egg, and he definitely writes spicy, for those so inclined. Cough.

And despite much adversity on the home front (in every sense of the word) I have just finished my 25th novel. 94,600 and 565p, final tally. Edits soon to come, and on to the next...

8 more pages today, 89,700. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh? Or is it just karmic justice?

Another 18 pages today, 534p and 88,100 words. There's been a proposal...but just like everything else in their relationship, it's all upside down, backwards and gender role reversed... Expect the unexpected (and kinky!) always.

Another 8 pages, 85,100. I guess that gift was a good one! Yes, we're well within spitting distance of the grand finale.

While it's been hard to write between matters both personal & national, progress continues on my 25th novel. 83,800 words to date. So tell me true. Is everyone having this much trouble finding a reputable agent? Because I am stunned at the lack of result, given the objective quality of the work.

"If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, our culture has no use for it." Anaïs Nin

Another 20 pages in, 481p, 81,800 words now. Seems like all the loose ends are finally more or less tied up...on to the happy ending!

78,400 and 461p. One mystery cleared up...

In spite of in extremis circumstance, I did manage to get two days of brief writing in, so we're at 76K, 448 pages. Getting really close to the finale, but there's a few surprises and a little more crazy to get through before the page is turned on my 25th, still groan-inducingly unpublished, novel.

2025 has been one hell of a year, and I don't mean that in any positive sense. Unfortunately, it looks like several major concerns this year dumped on our heads like the modern day Ubu Roi & his AI payload of the contents of his diaper will continue unabated into 2026, promising worse to come.

Bears mentioning: I don't "do genre." I use genre to make deep existential & philosophical points about what it means to be truly human, love & the importance of acceptance, growth & found over actual family & rejection of the hand-me-down lies that bind us heavier than the strongest of chains.

70,825 and 432 pages, and they're off to the coffeehouse...

425 pages, 69,700. After the spice, it's time to make nice...with amateur slam poets?

19 more pages, 68k and 413p so far. And the high school secrets come out. As do some deep dark parental ones. Boy, no one makes it to adulthood unscathed, huh?

Another 10 pages, 65,150. We're moving steadily towards the big happy ending, though at a comparatively glacial pace. Too much awful stuff happening personally and nationally right now to concentrate on pumping out novel after novel, just to face agent rejections by the dozen.

Why are the guy agents nicer than the ladies? Tonight's said what I submitted "sounds like a compelling read" before rejecting it. It's sad that little things like that are what you have to hang onto with this nonsense. #QueryingHell #EndlessAndFruitlessat25Novels

And I'm banking on all of you to be among that storied 20%.

372 pages and 61,500 into my 25th novel and our reverse relationship is finally getting to the "getting to know you" stage. Not in the Biblical sense, of course. Been there, done that, explored the kinks. But after meeting her mom, he's getting serious about laying it all on the line.

363p and 60k, and just in time for the holidaze, our hero finally gets to meet her mother. The fact that it was entirely unexpected and typically toxic entirely aside...

13 more pages and the secret's out...and damn, is it kinky!

53,300 and 320 pages, and a longstanding fantasy fulfilled. It's been an eventful Halloween.

51k, 304p and she's just made a major life decision: to trim off all that hair and go pixie bob. Oh, and she just found out he's a WHAT?!?

48,800, 290 pages. They've just passed a major relationship hurdle, right? So why does it feel like we're back to square one?

45,900 and 273 pages. The secret is out at last. And nobody's happy about it. Well, maybe her ex. He just wants to rub it in.

Ha!

Another 13 pages today, Halloween is coming..and true to its pagan roots as the high holy day of Samhain, bringing some major changes with it. But will these be fires of renewal? Or will they scorch and salt the Earth they kindle upon?

251 pages, 42,020. You know shit's getting real when she's going all Spice Girls on his ass.

And the level up big gotcha moment has just been locked in. This one's effectively in the bag. * *It'll probably be another week before we actually finish my 25th novel, just sayin'...

41,040 and 245 pages. It's in the most mundane and ridiculous moments we find the truest romance.

39,300 and 235 pages and she's reduced to watching Golden Girls reruns. Or is she? Who could that be, like a raven, gently rapping at the door?

Another 14 pages, and she's a ninja-level master at stealth and investigation once more. Cough.

34,800 and 210 pages. Good friends, good wine, deep conversation and personal revelations...and a bit of slapstick comedy to cap it all off. Now isn't that everyone's idea of a well spent evening?

AI is theft. Period. Don't fucking use it or patronize anyone who DOES.

31,575 and 190 pages. And now the secrets start to come out. Maybe they would have been better off leaving it as a casual hookup, huh?