Monday, November 03, 2003
On the other side of a long weekend that went very, very fast. I'm not used to having "weekends," in the sense that they're something other than Friday evening, Saturday, Sunday. That is, I'm not used to spending a whole weekend doing weekendy things. I'm a little disoriented this morning. It both helps and doesn't help that it's going to be 82-degrees here in Atlanta today. It helps, because I dislike fall and loathe cold weather and this little bit of Indian summer is at least a short reprieve. But it adds to the disorientation, because it's starting to look like autumn out there.
Anyway.
My thanks to Cleve, who sent me a purple origami Iguanodon. It is now sitting on a shelf in my office, between The Black Doll and an empty absinthe bottle. It looks happy there. It promises to tell me stories about the fires and smoke-filled skies.
Tomorrow is the official release date for Low Red Moon. The book that I began writing on December 17th, 2001 will be released. The book I spent eight months writing a first draft of, and that I've been tweaking ever since. And it's always a little daunting and frustrating and oddly disappointing that after all that time and work, people will go out and buy it and many of them will read it in a day or less. Of course, that's the way it works. A great labour for a small amusement. Or, perhaps I should say, a brief amusement. I wish that, somehow, I could write books that would take at least as long to read as they take to conceive and write and rewrite and proofread and un-copyedit. Add to that my worries about how the book will sell, and the fact that a story which ended for me late in August 2002 will begin for you tomorrow, fourteen months in between, and it's all just a little strange. Some people, some people besides the reviewers have already found copies, because some bookstores have put them out early. Spooky saw one at Borders on Ponce de Leon yesterday. And tomorrow will be attended by no fanfare. It's just a date on the calendar when the book will suddenly be easy to find. Amazon (grrrr) will start shipping it out. No parties. No book tour. No signings. J. K. Rowling got all of those. There are none left.
I have never been so absolutely certain as I am now that I've written a good book. A book worthy of being read. And my fear is that this one will not get even as much attention as Threshold, though it deserves far more. The word "deserving" has no place in art in general, and even less in writing, specifically.
Tomorrow, please buy it, if you can, or order a copy online. Especially if you're one of those people who reads this blogger and not my fiction. You owe me. Yes, you do. I'm giving you this for free. Now, quit being a lazy, voyeuristic cheapskate and go buy the damned book that is the only reason this blog exists. But whatever you do, do not write me to ask me where you can find a copy or to tell me you can't find it anywhere. Because, in the first place, if you're reading this you know where to find it and, in the second place, if you can't find it, I don't want to know. Distribution is something I have no say in and no power over. Complain to a bookstore. They can do something about it; I can't.
Sorry. I don't mean to sound like such a bear (though I am a bear). I wonder if I shouldn't shut this journal down tomorrow. It would be a logical end. Conception to birth. This is what it's like to make a novel and all that.
But I won't shut it down.
It has become another nasty habit.
Today, I have to draw all those little monster doodles. Thanks to everyone who bid or bought. And I have to work on lowredmoon.com. Tomorrow, I need to do the cover for "Mercury." This week I have to begin the novella for Subterranean Press. There's more stuff on my plate than there is plate.
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