Friday, November 30, 2007

Thank God for Censorship

x-posted from zombie chow.

I've been reading some shiz about livejournal doing automatic cuts on "adult blogs". Tee hee. There are "adult blogs" on lj? Why haven't I been reading these?

I'll tell you...

Last night the wife and I decided to watch a little TV in bed--we have DirecTv and that might explain some of the lunacy that follows. I flipped on the guide to find A SHOT AT LOVE WITH TILA TEQUILA or a rerun of HELL DATE on BET, when what should I see? Why only THE ADULT TOY SHOPPING NETWORK, that's all. Like deer in the headlights my wife and I sat mesmerized shielding the dog's eyes from the 10 inch dongs (this is apparently a technical term), 8 inch dildos, rabbits (which were kind of cute, but what were the pearl's for and how'd they get them inside?), masturbation sleeves, penis pumps and a bizarre contraption that looked like a big diamond ring (but could have been a new-fangled Pear of Anguish), and seemed to fulfill a similar purpose (union, albeit a vibrating one). What had us rapt in silent laughter was the Men's Prostate Stimulator with Perineal Vibrating Arm. The show hostesses seemed to enjoy describing in detail how it worked, and that they wouldn't mind sharing it with their boyfriends (at that we both went quiet, cuz--ew--dookie germs).

Don't ask me how...but after the TV was finally turned off, we ended up talking about donut shaped soap on a rope and old men whittling prostate stimulators on the front porch, "I'll be Goddamned if I get another splinter up my tuckus, bring me the fine grade sandpaper, boy!" We were laughing so hard the dog's probably thought we were seizing.

So, it goes to show that I (my wife, either, really) cannot be exposed to "adult" material without devolving into a giggly 13-year old.


If that post doesn't get tagged adult, nothing will. Fuck.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

...And Now for Some Distractions!

Writing Schmiting, I'm roaming the internet looking for laughs and catchy tunes. Won't you join me?

Why here's one now, plus it's educational.

I love this song...

What is it about vague Hollywood extravaganzas that intrigue me so? Take Cloverfield, for example. You actually know less about the movie, after, you see the trailer...

Now, I'm off to the grocery store and Borders because they emailed me (and only me) a time-limited 40% off coupon that's like crack from my printer.

Good Day, Heathens!

Book Review: Ill Wind by Rachel Caine

It seems like it takes me longer between books than it used to. Not just seems, it has been. Definitely. I've been finding it difficult to focus on reading while I'm in the midst of revising/creating/editing book 2. So...the summer reading list fell apart. And, I'm fine with that. But I need to keep reading. The alternative is a persistent vegetative state. I know how I get.

That's why I'm glad I picked up Rachel Caine's Ill Wind. Ms. Caine is one of my urban fantasy peers from the Fangs, Fur and Fey group--I've been building quite a library from the authors on that list, so I figured I should justify the expense. Plus, this book didn't appear to have any of the usual suspects (vampires, werewolves, faeries, or zombies).

In Ill Wind, Caine introduces us to Joanna Baldwin, weather warden, car enthusiast and smart ass. So, you're asking what's a weather warden, well it's not your local meteorologist people, think Stephen King's Carrie running her shtick in a hurricane. Joanna's got a big problem, she's been saddled with a murder rap and a nasty demon that's slowly taking her over. The only person who can help her out is missing. She's skrewed, no? Well yes, at least once.

Caine sets the story on the road and it plays out as fast as Joanna's vintage Mustang. The world is inventive and populated with interesting characters, especially the Djinn, or genies, to you and me. These are only the second djinn I've read in recent years, the first being Christopher Moore's snarky creation in Practical Demonkeeping. Always fun stuff.

My rec? Check it out. This would have been great summer beach reading. Totally.

Next book: Four and Twenty Blackbirds by Cherie Priest

Monday, November 26, 2007

WWJD? Grow, Apparently.

On Saturday, we hosted poker night, partly to catch up with friends and celebrate a birthday and partly just to get rid of the lingering Thanksgiving leftovers. Fun was had by all (though I can't guarantee this, as I didn't do a poll, or anything). As nights like these go, we never got around to actually playing poker, due to more triptophan than is legal, I suspect. Instead we sat around the TV, feeling bloated and watching the only Intervention not having to do with speedballers and alcoholics. No. In honor of this gluttonous holiday, A & E served up a heaping dish of Anorexia Nervosa.

Do you smell that? It's the salty scent of irony.

Anyway, that'd be the end of that story, had someone--our good friend, Jo, to be specific--not brought us the following item:

wait for it...


Aw yeah! Like a portent from God himself (or herself, or them, depending) I was bequeathed my very own Grow Jesus! Is it a sign? I like to think so.

It's a sign of good times, ahead.

Why just check this out...

The box says that the amount of Jesus's growth is directly correlated to the amount of water in which he is submerged (though I fully expect that he'll either float, or stand atop it). It promises up to 600% growth, what other male do you know that can deliver on that one? Needless to say, Jesus is going to be going in this container...

I won't be satisfied until he's life-sized. Not since Richelle Mead's Black Snake/Bath Tub series have I been so enthusiastic about a home science project...or is it a theological expedition?

The experiment begins December 1st. I'll post progress periodically, as well as, assess whether my Christmas spirit escalates as a result of the increasing mass of Jesusness in our Master Bath.

Check back!

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Holiday Wraps

...and no, I wouldn't think of desecrating the Thanksgiving leftovers by encircling them in organic whole grain wraps, that'd just be...creepy.

Thanksgiving went off with only the minor hitch of the turkey being undercooked in the lowly dark meat (just the thighs really and no one ate those), as this year I was thankful for zombies, I treated my family to a rollicking viewing of Robert Rodriguez's seminal tale of the undead in Texas, Planet Terror. My father loved the Machete trailer, which is awesome and hilarious, but when it came down to zombie gore, he was all groans. My mother loved it. I was overjoyed with both reactions. As an aside, my father has been talking up my book to his church friends without having read it himself. Tsk Tsk. Easter Brunch is going to be interesting, this year.

Friday morning came early, as we partook (partaked, God what an awkward ugly word)--how's this--dragged our tired butts out of bed at 4:45 am, pulled on Thursday's clothes and trudged off to Target for elbows in the ribs and flat tires galore. The good news? We finished the vast majority of our Christmas shopping by 11:00 am. The bad news: Black Friday was low on the deals, and high on the crowds.

That's about it. In between were many naps, snacks and nearly a full season of Nip/Tuck, cuz what says the holidays more than a couple of oversexed thirty-somethings carving up drug mules for breast implants full of scag. I can't think of anything.

One more thing...

This week, my agent, Jim McCarthy, swings by the League of Reluctant Adults Lounge for Mai Tais and witty repartée. You'll want to sneak by for his take on query letters, paper cuts, and the state of urban fantasy in the marketplace.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Grab Bag...with Turkey!

Today starts the serious kitchen business as I'm the main cook for Thanksgiving this year and every year. So between typing pages, I'll be prepping side dishes, making the cranberry sauce and grumbling copiously.

That's why I did my weekly league post last night, oh yeah, it's up and grumpy. Within its bitter words, the winners of the ARC contest are revealed.

In honor of holiday grouchiness--which I don't particularly suffer, but enjoy watching in others--here's Eli Roth's Thanksgiving trailer, again. I've posted it in the past, just couldn't resist.

NSFW! Nudity, Sexual Situations, and Violence. Yay!

Monday, November 19, 2007

False Alarm. Insane, Nonetheless.

We have contact from said author. Plus blurbage! Life is good.

Now, signing off to rock myself in the corner.


Am I Completely Insane?

I'm a bit in the doldrums right about now, and it has everything to do with being a complete fannish fucktard. You see, there's a scene in HAPPY HOUR where my main character is tearing up books by her nightstand--shredding them like so many anxiety-afflicted do--picks up the last one, waxes fanatically about the author and then leaves it pristine.

I'm not talking about a fictional author here, I'm talking about a real living breathing writer that I admire.

Last week, I got notice that all blurbs, that would make it into the book, had to be in my editors email by tomorrow. He asked if I'd secured a blurb from said author. Of course, I hadn't. I'd made contact and they were interested in reading the damned thing, but, in fact, I was nervous about how they'd receive the section in the book. Would I come off as insane as I clearly am?

This was last Thursday.

I wrote two letters. The first was handwritten and resembling a serial killer's diary entry. The second, I typed, and rambled and was generally retarded or *ahem* differently-abled, for those fragile few among us. Then slid on my shoes and scrambled for the closest UPS. An hour and thirty dollars later, the ARC was on its way to the author and I've been nervous ever since.

It's Monday.

I haven't heard a word. I'm in a Hell of my own making. I wonder if I should send apologies to the other celebrities I mentioned in the book. Do you think Jami Gertz is listed?

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Ira Levin 1929 - 2007

A while back, I was telling a friend about my new novel and explained that I wanted it to have an "Ira Levin feel." Her response (and I'm in no way picking on her) was...who's Ira Levin? I was deeply saddened. Ira Levin, who died Monday of a heart attack in his New York home, was a master of horror and suspense. Stephen King had the following to say about the late author and playright...
"(Levin was) the Swiss watchmaker of suspense novels, he makes what the rest of us do look like cheap watchmakers in drugstores."
Among Levin's amazing cache of work are Rosemary's Baby, The Stepford Wives and The Boys from Brazil. The most well-known of his plays, Deathtrap, was nominated for a Tony.

He will be missed.

The Soundtrack of My Life...For Today

While the entries are rushing in to the ARC contest...HERE...I couldn't resist doing the iTunes soundtrack of your life meme that I swiped off of bluesauce!

So here's how it works:
1. Open your music library.
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every heading, type the song that's playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button.
6. Don't lie and try to pretend your cool.

Opening Credits: Blondie/Hanging on the Telephone

Waking Up: The Killers/Midnight Show

First Day at School: Kate Bush/Babooshka

Falling in Love: 808State/Timebomb

Losing Virginity: This Mortal Coil/Waves Become Wings

Fight Song: Sisters of Mercy/Walk Away

Breaking Up: Smashing Pumpkins/Disarmed

Prom: Cocteau Twins/Whales Tails

Life: Death Cab for Cutie/The New Year

Mental Breakdown: Pizzicato Five/Groovy is My Name

Driving: Coldplay/Don't Panic

Flashback: Natalie Merchant/Wonder

Getting Back Together: Lamb/Ear Parcel

Wedding: Tori Amos/Ribbons Undone

Birth of Child: Foo Fighters/I'm In Love with a German Film Star

Final Battle: Silversun Pickups/Three Seed

Death Scene: Muse/Knights of Cedonia

Funeral Song: Keane/Can't Stop Now

End Credits: Fiona Apple/Paper Bag

There you have it, with no excuses. Plus bonus videos!

I couldn't find Waves Become Wings, so here's Acid, Bitter & Sad...

Do you love it?

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Who Doesn't Want to be a Contestant?

When the prize is a HAPPY HOUR OF THE DAMNED galley? I'm running the contest over at The League of Reluctant Adults as part of my regular hump day post. Head on over read about critique groups and make sure to comment! Couldn't you go for a little zombie, right now?

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Who's That at the Door?

I was just sinking in to the couch to devour Rachel Caine's ILL WIND, the fireplace was roaring, the dogs snoring and dusk whittled away at the light, when what should break into my late afternoon repose?

A mysterious ringing.

The doorbell.

I checked my watch. 4:45 pm. Could it be the neighbor kid? Had he lost his ball/frisbee/mind over our fence again? I was nearly certain of it. But rose to quiet the dogs grating yaps. I checked the side window. No one there. I opened the door, looking down the sidewalk and up the street. No horrible devil children. Not a one.

But what's this...

It's no puffy envelope, that's certain. And it's heavy. I grabbed a knife, nearly severing an artery in my haste, and slashed at the paper and reinforced tape, until...


Do I need to tell you I stopped breathing? I was expecting to wait at least a couple of more weeks for the Advance Reader Copies. But, no. Here they are. And there are tons. Tons. 72 to be exact!

Why so many?

Well, right now they're busy collecting my drool and there's a ton of that so...for promo, of course. To send off for reviews, for blurbs, for blogging authors who don't mind giving debut novelists like myself a public shout out during my release week (do you see how I slid that right in there), to grease the wheels of bookselling, and a few left for contest giveaways.

There might be one coming up this week (hint, hint).

Now, I've got to go find my lists and email everyone for addresses. Like I said, I thought I had a couple more weeks. It was on my list, swear to God.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Subways, Museums and the Papaya King

Day Three

What could be more exciting than subway travel? Teleportation? Ricshaw? It's hard to be sure having never done done any of those. Lucky for me, my agent's office was far enough away that it forced me to explore transportation other than the aching bloodied dogs at the end of my legs.

Oddly enough, once you get past the dense urine smell and the proximity to tons of people in a damp basement, the New York subway system is surprisingly self explanatory, and it costs the same $2 as a decent cheese slice. The 6 train downtown took me to Union Square where I'd be meeting Jim. I got there early and couldn't resist roaming the artist stalls, farmer's market, and picking up a pie and some cookies (I hate to arrive empty handed and if I can't be emaciated then no one can!).

It was nice meeting everyone at Dystel and Goderich and Jim took me to this awesome hamburger place called Stand that had these amazing apple pie shakes, which are literally a slice of apple pie blended with ice cream, and made of awesome, as you can imagine. We talked about the zombie series and the new series, JOE, which I'm super excited about. Much speculation ensued.

Afterward, I was all about MoMA, the Seurrat sketches and Martin Puryear's dramatic wooden sculptures. Speaking of which:

Yep. That's a ladder. Have to say, not so impressed. But I really dug the furniture design and in the photography galleries there were these amazing Dianne Arbus photos of the developmentally delayed wearing halloween costumes in a field. Brilliant. But back to the furniture. I've got devious blood splatter in mind for these Bouroullec modular bookcases:

The painting galleries started on the next floor (there are 6) and I was awestruck. Multiple art history classes as an undergrad did the trick and seeing the masters up close had me weak-kneed. Here's one now:

Arshile Gorky's Death of a Seducer. Dark, gloomy, and would look totally great on my office wall. Just in case you're wondering what to get me for Christmas. The Cezannes, Gaugins and Picassos are great, but I was all over the Rousseaus for some reason. I went to take a picture and then the unthinkable happened. A f**king tourist tragedy. My camera battery went dead.

Moment of silence for the end of MoMA pictures. So here's one last one of the museum itself...

Everyone's favorite Anton, Anton Strout, met me outside to grab some dinner and conversation, which was awesome, loaded with World Fantasy Con recap and book release strategy. It was great to finally meet my zombie nemesis. You're wallets will be damning us both to hell come February 26th. Muhahaha.

Day Four

My last day in New York found me scrambling for a new camera battery and sadly, denied. I checked out of the hotel and took the subway up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I'd only alotted two hours (those who've been there will be laughing just about now), which won't get you very far in such a monstrous building, where entire egyptian temples have been recreated and dead great white sharks float in massive tanks of formaldehyde. I did get to see an awesome Chuck Close painting, which is photorealism and if you don't know his stuff, look him up. The European masters were, again, overwhelming. I'm in love with the Vermeer maid.

After I grabbed hot dogs at Papaya King, which is a must--they've got these snappy casings and toasted buns that I guarantee you'll love--and then back to the hotel to catch my shuttle out.

The big question: was it worth the expense? Absolutely. For any writer that is experiencing a lull in creativity, nothing can get you jumpstarted like meeting all the people that are depending on you to get off your ass so they can do their jobs. I got some great ideas for a forthcoming villain from, of all places, the Seurrat exhibit. Yes. He of the happy little scenes of lakeside lounging. Dark pencil studies make me think of victorian s&m, what can I say?

After a sort of scary start, I'm almost surprised at how much I want to go back. Can't wait to show Caroline around, and next time actually see some big touristy things (shows, Ellis Island, Central Park). We'll need at least a week.

Ciao, off to plan.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

In the Valleys of Concrete and Books

Day Two

After an absolutely great night's sleep--the hotel mattress was perfect and nice thread count sheets--I went to get coffee in the penthouse atrium. The view was amazing, and yet someone kept forgetting the camera. That'd be me. Coffee in hand, I headed back to the room and opened the shades to let in what morning light could make its way down the chimney to my window. I tried to connect to the internet with no success and since the coffee was awful, I grabbed the phone book to find a coffee shop. I was perusing the yellows, when I noticed the room across the gap and one floor up was lit up like a photo shoot--of the pornographic variety. Apparently, that particular hotel guest was proud of his body and in the mood for sharing. Now, exhibitionism is great in fiction--I'm all for it, in theory--but I was in no mood to process stranger nudity before my caffeine had kicked in, especially the hirsute variety.

Off to Starbucks and internet*, where I saw my first pseudo-celebrity--very pseudo--Jared Cotter from Fuse's The Sauce. You may know him from last season's American Idol, though he didn't quite make the final twelve. I spent a lot of time at the coffee giant on this trip. I figured I better do it now before the book comes out and the company bans my presence (you'll have to read HAPPY HOUR for that particular explanation).

My meeting at Kensington was set for noon so I meandered through midtown, getting a feel and my bearings. If you go to New York, you should know that jaywalking is a birth-right and the corner extends well into the street, no one seems to watch for the red hand to go white. When there is a gap, it's time to go. I learn quick. Along the way I saw Radio City Music Hall, voici:

Rockefeller Center and the famous skating rink, which is surprisingly small. The Today show had finished filming or I would have gone over to look in the window like a crazy person.

What I was most happy to find was St. Patrick's Cathedral, which is so beautiful...

And had these amazing doors...

When I arrived at Kensington, I was a little sweaty, I have to say. It was only ten or twelve blocks max, but New York blocks don't have any comparison to normal city blocks, they are these mammoth stretches that are probably the size of three to four regular city blocks. It was so awesome to meet John, my editor, for the first time, and his assistant Peter, who seemed to be either excited about the book or just to meet someone who was as addicted to reality TV as he. We all talked I Love New York 2, which is totally insane this season and recast the Today show with Tiffany doing the news. John's office is wall to wall books, literally floor to ceiling. I'm not joking. Guess who scored some freebies, including the ARC of Rayo Casablanca's 6 SICK HIPSTERS, which I'm so excited to read. Then, he took me on the tour.

First up was the foreign rights agent, who had nice things to say about HAPPY HOUR and just returned from the big Frankfurt Book Fair, where they sell American books to foreign publishers. She was optimistic about making some rights deals, so that's great and she forced me to love her. I met my cover designer, Kris, and we gushed about Amanda and the shade of blue that makes the art so striking. I met my publicist, Maureen, who's lovely, and the sales team who are working magic, particularly a lady by the name of Helen, who I hear is a literary world legend. We ran into her on the way to the elevator, along with the publisher, who was pleasant and busy. Here's how the Helen conversation went:

John: Helen, this is Mark Henry.
Helen (in gorgeous NYC accent): Happy Hour of the Damned. I just did a huge order with Barnes and Noble and it's going on the tables.

How much did (and do) I love Ms. Helen? Um...a lot. Tables are big news, because the publishing house has to pay what's called co-op to achieve that kind of exposure. I was stoked, John was stoked. We celebrated by eating, because food is love. French Thai at Vongs, Tom Ka Gai and a chicken dish that was delicious.

At that point it was all about 70s and 80s horror movie trivia, books and future projects. John is a great guy and cheerleader for the book.

The rest of the day wasn't nearly as exciting, unless you consider running into Meredith Viera growling into her cell phone and chomping awesome cheese slices at a tiny pizzeria with an angry couple melting down in Italian exciting, which I do. I very much do.

Here's another shot of Times Square just for kicks and because I wanted a Rice Krispies treat from again Starbucks*.

*A quick note on Starbucks pastry: it appears that Starbucks ships all these out from their Seattle vendors, same stuff. The further you get from Seattle the staler the bakery products. I'm just sayin'.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Zombies in New York? Just One.

Oi. I'm in recovery people--and not in the sense that I've given up alcohol, cuz that'd be straight up nuts with a twist. No. I'm in recovery from New York City. I'd blame it on the time difference, except I know that's not it. It's the speed difference...and Speed Kills! To steal a line from Annie in Halloween.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Starting at the end is a bad habit.

So here it is (warts and all)...

Day One

Monday was an early one, so I packed the night before. Caroline dropped me off at the airport at 6:00, where I was securitized and prodded and flushed out into the most shopporific airport in the world. Too many food choices and a Starbucks in every corner, kiosk and bathroom stall. I like to get to the airport early to try to get upgrades because I've got these damnable long legs that end up twisted like pretzels in coach. This, I would be denied. No exit row, either. I resigned myself to discomfort and was settling in when I heard this:

"We've got a leak. The mechanics are going to check it out, fix it, and get us going as soon as possible."

Uh...Uh...A leak?

My mind went to all the wrong places. Jet fuel filling the baggage area, fumes filling the cabin, and fiery death. All with the added bonus of physical discomfort while I awaited the inevitable woosh of ignition. You see, I used to fly a lot. My father was civil service and we moved with great frequency. I used to love to fly. But after awhile, the odds start to turn on you. That's how I figure it anyway.

Needless to say, we sat on the tarmac for an hour and a half waiting to die. I'm just assuming everyone else was with me on that. I didn't ask or anything.

Turned out the flight was fine and I'm just insane, but not so insane that I couldn't tell that our in-flight movie, Hairspray, was not nearly as good as has been purported. Do watch the original. Please. There's something missing like the filth has been scrubbed away, and that's a dirty shame.

The flight ended up being fine, of course. Got to JFK, got my bags and grabbed my shuttle to the hotel.

The first thing you notice about New York is the scale. You can imagine how big it is, all you like, but it doesn't prepare you for witnessing it first hand. The skyline just seems to go on forever. I'm not talking about Manhattan alone here, I'm referring to the whole thing, all the bouroughs. And that it was night, didn't help my overwhelming inability to orient, which is a totally new experience for me. I'm normally like a savant when it comes to direction and finding stuff.

Anyway. Here's the first shot of New York. I was too awestruck to take any of the twinkling skyline so you get Times Square.

My residence for the week was The Time hotel (so named for its proximity to Times Square) is a trendy little outfit next door to the Eugene O'neil Theater and across the street from the stage where they put on Chicago. It was all floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist furniture and a restaurant that opened the day I left. It also has rooms that come in primary colors (mine was red), which seems like it would be too bright, and it would be, except you get there and here's the view:

Magical, right? Before you joke, yes, that is mid-day sun. Tune in tomorrow to find out what I saw out of said window. The room is a cave, roughly the size of our master bedroom closet, which I guess is par for the course in New York and all for the low low price of $300 a night.

But lest you think I was being treated like royalty, understand that I paid for this trip myself. Not to visit family or friends, but simply to meet my editor and his peeps at Kensington, and to talk about the book and future projects with my agent. I can't guarantee that having the foreign rights agent, publicist, and sales team know my face and that I'm serious about this writing gig will pay off, but it sure as shit couldn't hurt.

Plus...I got some exciting news, that I'll share tomorrow.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Hump Day Post? Um...Yep!

Having a good time in New York and will travelogue it with pictures on Friday...or Saturday depending on my lag. My League post is up now, keeping the Writers Helping Writers train rollin', plus. And it's a big plus...

I've got an interview with Jackie Kessler, author of HELL'S BELLES and its sequel, THE ROAD TO HELL. So swing by and see what naughtiness we're talking about.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Goin' To Find Pliskin...Be Back Friday

I will be doing my weekly League post on Wednesday, including an exclusive interview with Jackie Kessler. Her new book, The Road to Hell is in stores this week,'ll want to see what we're talking about.

Ciao Bellas

Friday, November 02, 2007

Maybe Voodoo Can Save You From the LKH Zombies!

Cross-posted from my livejournal.

I'm in my family room, recovering from all the Laurell K. Hamilton madness (and there was madness). Tons of fans (I felt like a spy), some of whom were quite verbal about their polyamory (I wish I could take an SOS pad to my mind to get the image out). Ms. Hamilton is a charismatic speaker, I'll give her that and her fans ate it up, with ferocity (they would have gladly eaten the author, as well, I fear). As Cherie said, "(Regardless of what you think of her writing) she's doin' something right." I have to agree, the turnout was impressively salivating. Overall, I enjoyed the evening. Thanks in no small part to cmpriest and Kat Richardson. That's katatomic to you eljayers. She's cross-posting her blog here, so show her some love.

The page proofs went back to Kensington yesterday, so I'm relieved that I can focus entirely on the manuscript. Particularly since everyone on my friendlist seems to be typing their fingers bloody. Solidarity! *raises fist* LKH did have some words of advice on writing. She said she started by writing two pages a day, five days a week. I know of at least three writers in the back of an auditorium that raised their eyebrows.


The fireplace is roaring (or whatever the verb is to connote a reasonable gas powered facsimile), and it's entirely true that the neighborhood is blanketed in an appropriate mid-Fall fog bank (as opposed to an inappropriate one, which I'll leave to your creativity to elaborate). I'm listening to Four Tet do that acid jazz/experimental thing (3625 Pt. 1), while I write about vodou ritual and haute couture (who knew describing incantations and processes would be so difficult?).

Help me Papa Legba!