The imitativeness shakes out, and we become ourselves again. But. One never seems to develop an immunity to some writers...or at least I never have. Their ranks are small, but their influence...has been profound. When I go back to them, I can't not imitate them. My letters start sounding like them; my short stories; a chunk of whatever novel I'm working on; even grocery lists.
I think not even my harshest detractors would argue that I lack my own voice, but I have to admit that, even now, at almost -2, I am particularly vulnerable to this problem of "imitativeness." And yes, certain writers are murder to read and keep out of whatever I'm doing. Bradbury. Harlan. Hemingway. Shirley Jackson. Kathe Koja. Faulkner. And Saki. And Woolf. So, yeah, you might detect them in "Ode to Edvard Munch." Or you may not. We shall see. Oh, and perhaps more than a hint of Portrait of Jenny, as well. The 1948 film, more than the Robert Nathan novel. I hope to finish the vignette this afternoon. I hope. I'm soooooo far behind (thank you, Editing Monster).
Yesterday, I printed out Chad Michael Ward's artwork for the new paperback edition of Threshold and noticed something wrong right off. I got out the magnifying glass to be sure. Dancy has Sadie's blue-white eyes. I e-mailed Liz, my editor, immediately and asked if it's too late to fix this, to made the blue-white pink. She hasn't written back yet. But I'm hopeful, so, once again, we shall see. Other than the eye-colour problem, I still love the artwork (which I'll post as soon as posting is permitted).
Spooky spoke with her mother yesterday, and I have a tentative ETA for the trip to New England this summer. It will probably be late July through mid August. I want to be back in time to get ready for Dragon*Con, the first week of September. Anyway, as soon as I have the exact dates, I can set up the reading/signing in Boston, and then I'll post the date, etc. here. It shouldn't be too much longer. I am very much looking forward to this trip, even if I will have to get a lot of writing done while we're gone. I'm eager for the train ride up, the beaches, the lighthouses, Del's lemonade, and about a hundred other things. Fortunately, we've found someone to housesit for us, which relieves some of my concern about being gone so long. However, our housesitter isn't up to dealing with Sophie and her injections and attitude, so she will be boarded the entire time.
It occurred to me yesterday that sheheit might make a nice gender-neutral pronoun. I detest hir, and it amuses me that sheheit sounds like shit in Southern Redneckese.
The Imogen Heap show last night was superb. I stopped writing at exactly 4:28, and the show wasn't until 8:30, but we needed to be there at 7 to get a good seat. After the writing, my mood wasn't such that I felt like being rushed, and I grumped about and wasted time, so much so that there wasn't time for dinner. Still, I'm glad that Spooky didn't allow me to back out. Zoe Keating opened, and she never fails to amaze. She was having some computer trouble, the box not responding to MIDI commands, and had to reboot after the first song, and this had something to do with her having just returned from France, but I wasn't clear what. Imogen Heap was absolutely wonderful. I am entirely seduced by her charm and her voice and her geekiness and her iBook. Oh, she also had to reboot after the first song or two. This is how I know I live in the Future.
While rebooting, she told about getting all "Jägermeistered-up" in Knoxville and letting Ryan Obermeyer talk her into stealing a cookie jar at the Hampton Inn where they were staying and almost getting arrested the next day. At this point, I realised that Ryan was out front at the merch table. I said hi on the way out. The constant reader will recall that Ryan did the beautiful covers for the The Dry Salvages and To Charles Fort, With Love, as well as the cover and endpapers of the subpress edition of Low Red Moon. So yes, all in all, a wonderful night. And even with the show, we still managed to get home in time to see Dr. Who at midnight, which rocked. Christopher Eccleston, you know. Though, afterwards, while searching for the misplaced remote, I was subjected to a few moments of Stargate: SG-whatever, and there was John Crichton, only he wasn't, and there was Aeryn Sun, only she wasn't (and she was dressed horridly), and it was all sorts of wrong. I almost had a seizure before I found the remote. Anyway, there are a few of the 85 photos we took at the show behind the cut:
The Variety Playhouse on Euclid, as the line begins to form.
Zoe Keating and Sebastian the cello.
Imogen Heap and sparkly lights.
Imogen Heap and Zoe Keating.
Those frelling naysayers at NASA have gone and lowered the odds of asteroid Apophis impacting earth in 2036 from 1 in 6,000 to 1 in 24,000. Naturally, the Immaculate Order of the Falling Sky looks askance at this change in forecast and suspects conspiracy. You know, to keep the panic to a minimum. We shall continue to hope for the best. And even at 1 in 24,000, those aren't such terrible odds. I mean, the odds of someone in America being struck by lightning in any given year are a whopping 1/700,000 (!) and all sorts of people do get struck. We must remember that that which is improbable is not impossible. Indeed, that which is improbable may often be inevitable, given enough time. By the way, I think I'm getting a permanent tongue-groove worn into my left cheek...
The platypus says that I should mention that wishing thing on Amazon again, what with only a week remaining until the dread -2, but I fear that would be poor form. The platypus cares not about poor form. Just look at sheheit...all webbed feet and fur and duck-bill...