Jane of the Jungle, but taking place between Earth and another planet with people who are genetically identical but far, far more civilized. Although they're a warrior culture; but that's just part of the fun.
It's actually part of a trilogy, called The New Earth. The first book (just finished) is Rhapsody, the second, Crescendo, the last Liebestod. Yes, I love music. And ... the human lifespan is kind of a work of music. I've just started on Crescendo, and it flows. It's easy stuff to write, because I've been walking around with this fantasy in my head for oh, probably ten years or so.
Writers are dreamers. When life sucks, as it often does, there's always fantasy. Sometimes I worry that I spend too much time in fantasy and not enough in the real world; so I come back to the real world and presto! back to fantasy I go. I'm not worried that I'll go nuts. I couldn't go nuts if
I tried, and I have.
No, I work with nuts, and while I don't judge them, I can't be like them. Being crazy is a special talent, and a special brain biology that I just don't have. Instead, I have the brain of a writer. Dream, dream, and write it all down.
I even dream books, literally. The other night I dreamed a silly summer read about a serial killer who bewitches a woman to partner with him in a bizarre romance. When she finally gets out, he takes up with her sister. Puke; but hell, who else dreams movies? Once, I even dreamed an old fashioned romance in sepia tint.
So this is the plan: write like a mother*cker, have five books by September, then do nothing but promote for the whole next year. If that doesn't do something, then I'll just go back to dreaming. But not to worry - there's a dance in the old dame yet.