Thursday, November 20, 2003
I think this image, which appeared this morning on Karlsweb, just about says it all:
Yesterday, we proofread the remaining 88 pp. of Murder of Angels. On page 441, my new editor called and we talked about the book and other things, such as my old Mac Color Classic, Pandora. He's allowing me to turn in the ms. via e-mail, as an rtf, which seems weird, but will save me time and money and all the frustration that usually comes from producing the final hard copy of a manuscript. We're even talking about editing online. Sometimes, the future pours over me like a bucket full of rocks.
Now that I've read through Murder of Angels as a novel, start to finish, I find myself far more in love with this difficult child of mine than I ever thought I would be. Back in July and August and September, we were locked in such a death grip, this book and me. We sat and growled at one another. And now I see what it is, what it has become, and why it was so difficult, and why writing it was making me sick, and everything almost makes sense. I am grateful I made it to THE END again, because there are terrible and amazing things inside this book. We embrace all our children, no matter their monstrosities or how much blood they draw from our souls. Wasn't that the real lesson of Frankenstein? Of course it was.
Meanwhile, I owe Bill Schafer a cover ("Mercury") and a novella. Those things are next on my list, in that order. I figure I'm only three weeks behind. I've been lots more behind than that.
The cryosphere is chewing at my bare feet this morning.
Having a hard time finding the perfect Thanksgiving present? How about a copy of Low Red Moon? It doesn't come with a collectible Gollum polystone statue, but it won't pee on your carpet, either.
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