Hey, guys! No Grave is still in the middle of a lot of changes and a lot of stuff being up in the air. I don’t want to get into all the details at the moment (especially not in a public place where my embarrassment will be tenfold if things don’t work out), but know that the delay is a good sign and that I’m working my absolute hardest to make sure you can get the book in your hands, one way or another, as soon as possible.
In the meantime, I’ve been working on a couple other projects, and I figure that having something to read is better than having nothing to read, so I’m going to start posting some of the world-building stuff I’ve written, maybe even a couple sample pages from the projects proper. I hope you enjoy the new pieces as they come out, but unlike with No Grave, I can’t make any promises about any of them going anywhere specific. At least not at this junction.
Expect to see some world building descriptions, quick flash fictions, etc… especially from a little place called Oceanrest I’ve been working on for the past 2-3 years, give or take.
Why not start off with some background:
Oceanrest, Maine. Population, 1985: 63,400. Population, 2015: 35,750, including matriculated students. Oceanrest is its own grave, the living part of the city nestled inside the dead. Everything is derelict or slouching its way toward it, the remains of the city clinging to the sea, ensconced in a barrier of abandoned warehouses, dilapidated factories, and empty homes.
I’ve lived here just about my whole life, long enough, at least, to watch it fall apart. Long enough to watch the factories and warehouses shutter up, one at a time, all five of them empty long before national news started talking about the recession. Long enough to watch the roofs collapse under their own weight, disused and unmaintained. Long enough to watch the budget cuts gut the hospital and the fire department, gut them so badly that when one of the wings of the Old Bentley hotel went up, it was half-kindling before the first truck arrived. They managed to save half the building, and none of us are even sure why.
Even the logging is slow, now. I used to look up at the sinuous silhouette of the mill at sundown as if it were a kind of monument, but with so many buildings closed and half the workers gone, now it looks more like a tombstone.
We still have two colleges, employing 3,000 faculty and staff between them, almost 16,000 students, which now makes them the largest employers in the town and a sizable chunk of the overall town population. They’re on opposite sides of Oceanrest Avenue, a long, winding 7 mile road running west to east, two campuses edged in by the press of old forests and the looming shadows of long-empty structures crouched between the trees.
If you head south of the school on the East end, you’ll run into the old docks. You’ll still see big cargo ships along some of the piers, but most of them are empty. I couldn’t tell you the last time the docks were full, having never seen it happen. My parents maybe could. Now, though, the piers stretch out into the Atlantic like long bleached bones…like remains washed up on shore.
I’m more than a little familiar with what that looks like.Share This: