June 11th, 2009

chi3

I never used subject lines at Blogger, so why do I need them here?

Eight hours sleep last night, but, as has been usual of late, an assortment of nightmares that will require most of the day to clear from my mind. And we're on our fourth consecutive day of grey, rainy, March-like weather, with more coming tomorrow. I need summer. Real summer. Too hot to walk barefoot on the sidewalk without blistering your feet summer. Sweltering after dark summer. There's no sign of it in the extended weather forecast. Right now, it's 58F Outside, here in Providence.

You should all know this: Charles Harvey, in The Red Tree, is not a parapsychologist. He's an anthropologist and folklorist. Recently, it was pointed out to me that synopses of the book appearing online speak of him as a parapsychologist, which, as I've said, he is not. I wrote my editor at Penguin, who very apologetically told me that somehow the copy was rewritten after I approved the supposedly final version, and, so, on the cover (the covers are already being printed) Harvey will be described as a parapsychologist, even though he's nothing of the sort. But, what the hell. Maybe it'll sell more books, if people think they're getting a parapsychologist (even though they're not). It should have upset me, hearing about this, but it didn't. I am vaguely concerned that it hasn't upset me. I fear I am losing the ability to care about what happens to the books once I have finished writing them.

Also, I never meant to give the impression that my publisher is paying for the book trailer. I'm paying all the production costs myself. I'm pretty sure I never said otherwise, but there were comments yesterday that indicated some readers had drawn that conclusion.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,281 words on "The Alchemist's Daughter." I hope I can find THE END of the story by Saturday evening.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, as we're hoping to defray the cost of my attending ReaderCon in July with this round of auctions. Thanks. I honestly do not know how writers afford to attend more than a single convention a year, and even that's a stretch. Well, there are those very few authors who make a lot of money, and have their expenses covered by cons, because it's all a vicious circle.

I have got to escape this house soon. I've got to see the sun. And the moon. Just now, I'd trade any number of valuable possessions for one muggy night.
stab

Twitter loses another star.

Trent Reznor has decided to leave Twitter. You may read his reasons here. I'm mostly posting this because a) I'm a fan of NIN and b) I've now lost count of the people who've listed him as one of the three or or four people whose "tweets" I absolutely MUST start following or risk death by explosion or some such, and c) it articulates some of my own observations about the failure of social-networking sites.

Kudos for this quote: "Cutter's tip for my friends there: remember to cut along the length of vein, not across. Bigger payoff."

Also: "Anyway, we're in a world where the mainstream social networks want any and all people to boost user numbers for the big selloff and are not concerned with the quality of experience."

And this whole thing got me to thinking again, not so much about Twitter, but about how artists are perceived by fans, whether the artists in question are musicians or writers or whatever. I've reached the point where some people read Silk, which I wrote between 1993 and 1996, and they expect me to still be the person I was back then, still writing in the voice I wrote in back then, and, what's more, to resemble, in real life, various characters from the novel (usually whoever happens to be hisherits favorite). They learn I'm someone else, instead, and they get...weird. Or angry. Or bitter. Because, you know, writers and musicians and painters and dancers and what-the-hell-evers, we're all supposed to be bugs in amber, waiting patiently for someone to find us and identify with us, so that we may validate their existence.

Admittedly, near as I can tell, these folks are in the minority of my readership, thankfully, but they have megaphones.