Today, I have an interview. I'm actually beginning to loathe talking about myself. Maybe I always did.
Here in Providence, after finally getting summer in August, we seem to have nose-dived suddenly into early autumn. There's even a hint of color to some of the trees, and the mornings and nights are so chilly I'm wearing sweaters.
I do hope people were happy with Sirenia Digest. Feel free to comment here. I'm trying to think of something special for #50.
Lots of thought has been going into the next novel, as I'm going to need to get something like a proposal to my editor at Penguin this month. I'm still thinking of it as Blood Oranges, though that likely will not be the title. "Werewolf Smile" (in the latest Sirenia) was me playing around with themes that may form much of this one. The real question right now is whether or not I'm ready to bring Albert Perrault out of the closet, as it were, and place him in this novel, as a sort of catalytic agent. I've been writing him, here and there, since 2001 or so. I still don't know if I'm ready to commit.
And there's The Red Tree. I'm finally, a month after the release, beginning to come to terms with the likelihood that this will not be the novel that "breaks out" and finds for me a much wider readership. It will not be "celebrated," in that sense that a lucky few books are celebrated. Most of the fanfare has already come and gone. There will be a few more reviews and interviews, a couple more readings, but I'm moving along to the next novel. I'll keep adding "evidence" to the website, because I'm enjoying doing that.
The good news, I was never kidding myself. I stopped doing that with Murder of Angels.
Yesterday afternoon, we made a late matinée of Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds, and I loved it so much I am willing to say this is his best film yet, and perhaps even his first truly great film. It just shines. And it more than made up for having suffered through what Frank Miller did to The Spirit, which we had the misfortune to watch a few nights back. Awful, awful thing, that sad, silly mess of a film. Also, we finished Season Three of Dexter, and I'm already missing Michael C. Hall. And I've been doing lots of reading, but more on that later, maybe.
Now, I have to finish waking up.