I just an hour ago typed THE END at the end of a rather annoyingly long Scrivener project titled "Neptune's Brood".
I've been having to ration my typing due to the carpal tunnel issues I alluded to in an earlier blog entry. My hands are getting better (slowly), and despite everything I have managed to complete another novel. It's about 10% longer than expected, which accounts for most of the delay. (And I had to re-write most of it earlier this year after reading Debt: The First Five Thousand Years by David Graeber, a most interesting and provocative investigation of the sociology and anthropology of money and debt.)
If you want to know what it is, well, it's a mundane SF space opera (something that's supposed to be more or less impossible) set in the universe of Saturn's Children (only a very long time later). For added stunt writing chops, we have a non-violent protagonist (ask yourself when you last read an SF/F novel where the protagonist didn't kill someone—you might be shocked: if not, you ought to be), a financial framework for a universe reliant on much slower than light space travel, and communist space squids. There is a fat lady, but I don't think she sings. And writing it gave me a high concept nose bleed, so if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the pub tonight to cauterize some neurons.
Normal blogging service will resume subsequently, I promise.