The Return of the Prodigal Writer

How my pandemic is going.
("The Prodigal Son," 1785. Image in public domain, via Library of Congress)

Dear Reader,

I have a lot of explaining to do. Explanations being boring, however, I'll dispense with the usual COVID excuses about strange medical adventures, homeschooling, family eccentricities, and general pandemic-related malaise.

You guys, look, I want to be productive but I just can't even right now.
(Lithograph by N. Strixner, 1819. Image via Wellcome Trust, under Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license.)

Instead, I'll just announce that, back by popular demand from my many interior guilt-demons, I'm once again publishing some Shalaby and Fecklace fiction.

In fact, the book-length compilation of five linked Shalaby and Fecklace stories is almost finished! I'm horrified to realize that I started this manuscript seven years ago. And my oldest child is seven years old. 

AN ADVERTISEMENT TO THE PUBLIC.

Are you a writer embarrassed by too much productivity? Losing friends because everyone's jealous of your consistent work habits and non-slovenly publication schedule? Try having children. In just days, you'll forget you ever knew a time when you didn't want a nap.

Children! Because do you think you're better than us? Huh? 

CHILDREN. JOIN THE CULT. THEY ARE ALREADY COMING. 

Available at any participating uterus. Subscription rates may increase over time. Returns not accepted by most cultural norms. Children have been identified by the FDA as a Schedule I addictive substance. 

Anyhow. Shalaby and Fecklace: The Deterioration of All Propriety is on track to be released by Christmas 2021. Which, I'll point out, is only a year from my original release goal. And a year of Pandemic procrastination counts for like two months, tops, of Before-Times procrastination. When you think about it that way, I'm super on top of things. Yeah.

Fecklace would totally back me up on this. 

But now my poor, shelved detectives will run amok again. In The Deterioration of All Propriety their mayhem will take them through Constantinople, Italy, London, a convent and a brothel (on the same night), jail on two separate continents, ladies' bathhouses, and England's most prestigious botanical garden. 

In the meantime, I'll be trying to get out the remaining short stories before the book. Keep an eye out for renewed activity from your very own, chastened but cheeky,

Chantelle Messier