Fortnightly update 15: 22.06.2020 to 05.07.2020
In this blog series, I share my fortnight-to-fortnight triumphs (and failures) as a writer. Despite all the ups and downs, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So I moved out with my partner this fortnight, and IKEA is the third deepest circle of hell. It’s been a challenge keeping on top of my work during this transition, but I’ve so far managed to stay afloat, even take on some smaller new projects (more on these later). This new area is so very, very green. Rosebush jungles choke witch houses whose tiles are made of moss. The clouds don’t go away, and I can’t feel my toes. Conducive to writing? I’ll give that a big fat thumbs up. Can’t feel my thumbs either.
The Oracle of Aegis Isle
So as you’ve probably seen, I released my D&D adventure The Oracle of Aegis Isle on the Dungeon Masters Guild last fortnight. You can learn more about it here, but I thought I’d let you know I’ve sold 25 copies and given away around 80, and I’m taking that as a victory, especially for my first D&D project. The next one is already in the works, but it’s a fair ways down on my priority list for now.
I write scripts for the popular World War II YouTube channel The Front. We uploaded two videos this fortnight, as usual, and the first was about the best fighter planes of the war.
The second was a counterpart to the first.
I write scripts for the popular Star Wars YouTube channel Geetsly’s. Several videos for which I wrote the scripts for went up this fortnight. We’re clearing out our reserves before they get too outdated. Vids don’t keep like pickles.
I also wrote another chapter for the Tales of the Jerk’E’Club blog series. Haha, it’s always so much fun writing those.
I write 250-character “stories” using the #vss365 word prompts on Twitter under my own name. I had a whole lot of horrific fun with them this fortnight.
The valley was most verdant where there lay eternally unrested the bones of the missing platoon. The trees atop were tallest, glutted on their bullet-packed flesh, but no bird flew over, and no child played near, and poor Earth bore their secret to her own fiery grave.
He sculled out to sea a day from death. His nerves were snapped guitar strings, and his joints wore like chalk, but no land burial would suffice. In a valley of swell, his mother called to him, and into her ink arms he leapt, sliding back down into the place he was born
Overall, I’m looking to get my routine back on track following the move, and honestly, my old maritime desk lamp is helping.
Thanks for reading ❤