Monday, February 24, 2003
I'm running just a little late today, my eyes hurt, and can't seem to wake up. I hate that. I think the pull of my dreams, which were especially vivid last night, are too strong. Dream gravity. Deformations in the fabric of consciousness. Comas may be black holes.
Yesterday I read Chapter Three of The Queen of Shadows aloud (this is me, seeing if I'm going to get used to that title, if it's going to stick). I'm still happy with it. Today I need to either begin Chapter Four or begin the read-through on LRM. I'd prefer the former, as I feel the need to write, but I probably ought to do the latter, instead. It's more pressing. And, I admit, I'm a little anxious to see if it still holds together. I haven't read the entire book yet, as a book. That might seem strange to some people, but I can't ever read back through a novel, not for months. It's just too fresh in my mind. It's more like something that just happened, something I've just lived through, than something I've just written. That close, it's hard for me to bring to the read an appropriate degree of objectivity and willingness to make changes that need to be made. That close, I'm still too weary from the writing, from the thing itself. But it's been almost six months now since I finished it (damn), and I think that there's enough distance.
Bookkeeping. On Saturday, I got the earnings statement for Threshold, for the period ending September 30th. Very good numbers and a very low return rate. It's something to be cheerful about. Bookstores are ordering the book and, for the most part, those copies are selling to readers and not being returned to the publisher. Returns are worse than nightmares. Returns, for authors, are worse than taxes. Yeah, I know this is boring stuff, but it's part of the Big Picture.
Here's something to make up for the boredom. It's also a fairly accurate depiction of my mood at the moment:
Shaved Cat
I've begun reading Wicked by Gregory Macquire.
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