Monday, October 20, 2003
There really wasn't much to write about Saturday, hence the skipping of a day yesterday. I have to admit to being a bit down about the missed trip, and Spooky is even more disappointed than I am. We spent part of the day out, because my knee was feeling better, and I hobbled about a fall festival in Candler Park for a while. But there were no candy or caramel apples, or even any cotton candy, to be had. What the frell is a fall festival without candy apples? Mostly, there were a lot of hippies and dogs and atrocious music and beer. I don't think I saw a single pumpkin anywhere in the park. Which is not to say that Atlanta is short on pumpkins. This year must have produced a bumper crop. They're everywhere, and plenty of cheap, pretty ones, too. So, this Halloween I shall have two jack-o'lanterns: one to sit on the back porch and one to sit near the front door.
Last night, I watched Lon Chaney in The Unknown (I still find it difficult to watch the climax, with the two horses on treadmills) and then tried to stay awake for all of the 1939 version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which I adore, but I dozed off about three-quarters of the way through, just as the Court of Miracles was storming the cathedral and being resisted by the Parisian tradesmen who wanted to protect the Church's right to grant sanctuary.
The past few days, PZB has had interesting things to say about Catholicism, her feelings towards the Church, and it's place in the culture of Louisiana. You should check it out. They are cogent and worthy thoughts. The entries in question begin with the "Our Father" entry. It's a shame that some of her readers are too busy with reactionary rebelliousness to get the point. I know what she means, even if there is far greater distance between me and the Church than I think exists between the Church and Poppy (please forgive me, Poppy, if I'm being presumptious). My doubts — and suspicions — are of such a fundamental and inclusive nature as to render all the beautiful and admittedly comforting pageantry hollow. But I've always envied those who didn't lose they're faith, or who've found it again. See Anne Sexton, in particular, see her poem, "With Mercy for the Greedy."
My agent is reading Murder of Angels, and I'm nervously awaiting her comments.
The Roc edition of Low Red Moon will be in bookstores very, very soon. I believe that November 4th is the "official" release date, though they might show up a few days earlier. Sometimes they do. You should have no trouble finding the book at Barnes and Noble, Borders, or the other chains, but if you can't, there's always Amazon.com. So, that's just a little more than two weeks.
A long neglected bit of unfinished business: Way back on April 18th, 2002, I announced the winner of a "Name-a-Character" contest. The winner was Carol Murray, who submitted the delightful Eponine Chattox. The deal was, I'd use the best name in a future story or novel. For a long, long time I'd forgotten all about the contest, but was reminded of Eponine while writing Murder of Angels and found the perfect character for that name. So, Carol Murray, whether or not you're still out there reading this, thank you again.
Now, I have a short story to write for Bill Schafer, and then a 30K-word novella, and I suppose I should get started . . .
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