We have to make a trip to the storage unit in Pawtucket to find more things that are going to Brown. It's been well over a year since we made our first delivery to the John Hay, and on September 6th we'll drop off the last boxes.
Yesterday, my contributors copies of Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird hardback arrived. It has a handsome cover, to hide all my disappointments. So, thank you, Greg. Without you, there would have been no point whatsoever.
About the Big Dry:
I'm trying to convince myself it's simply a matter of hitting reset and moving forward, of not looking back over my shoulder at all the lost time and missed opportunity. It isn't working very well, but I am trying. Break it down. At the end of August 2015, on August 25th, I finished Agents of Dreamland and hit a dry spell that continued for about three and a half months*, during which time I finished no new fiction. I spent most of September and October working on the screenplay for The Red Tree for Josh Boone, but that doesn't count. Late in December, I managed to write "Excerpts for An Eschatology Quadrille" for Ellen Datlow's forthcoming Children of Lovecraft. At that point, things got better for a time. Between January and the end of March, I wrote, for Sirenia Digest, "Eurydice Eduction," "Study for an Electronaut's Ovid (AD 2052)," and "Pillbug," and for an upcoming Subterranean Press anthology I wrote "Objects in the Mirror." I finished "Objects in the Mirror" on March 28th.
And then things got quiet.
I wrote nothing else of note until I did "Whisper Road" between June 29th and July 2.
And then things got really quiet.
Oh, I was working my ass off, researching The Starkeeper, writing scraps that I'd hoped would become Chapter One, beginning short stories that would prove false starts – most notably "Beyond the Laughing Sky," which I worked at, fruitlessly, between July and August. It's not that I wasn't working. It's just that I wasn't able to produce finished prose. And so, the past year can be divided into a dry spell beginning on or about August 26th that didn't end until mid December, then a productive period from mid December to March 28th, followed by a second dry spell that lasted from the end of March until now, broken only by the brief respite of "Whisper Road" at the end of June.
I've never written so little in a year, not since I've called myself a writer. It's very, very scary. But, there you go, for anyone who might be curious. Oh, and a practical definition for "dry spell," as used here, is "a period of time during which I am unable to finish anything."
We watched two more episodes of Doctor Who last night: "The Woman Who Lived," which mostly worked for me, and "The Zygon Invasion," which mostly didn't (though I was amused at the attempt to pass the English moors off as Truth or Consequences, New Mexico).
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions.
* This roughly corresponds to the worst period of insomnia of my life, which, of course, must be at least partly responsible for the dry spell.