Yeah, I'd still have written "I will try and speak for myself." But the general sentiment stands, despite my crippled* altruism.
Here in Providence, it's sunny and 82˚F. There's a cool breeze slipping in the office window. The tattoo is healing well, scabbed over, and not even any itching yet. I've been writing like a fiend. Alas, that does not, necessarily, mean the writing has been fiendish. I've made it almost all the way through the first quarter of a BIG project (no, I can't say what it is). I want that first quarter out of the way, so that after Readercon I can go back to Fay Grimmer, beginning with Chapter 2, and have it finished – with as little interruption as possible – by early September. Then, I write the first half of Blue Canary, so that Merrilee can begin shopping it around NYC. Of course, meanwhile, there's the digest, and I fucking promise I haven't forgotten #79. It'll be out by the tenth, and before Readercon. I just have to make time for the Assemblage. And, too, Aunt Beast's Salt Marsh Home Companion weekly podcast is going to up and running by the end of July (and free to all).
Thanks for all the marvelous comments (and emails) yesterday. I was expecting to be trampled by a wave of righteous indignation. Instead, I sort of feel like I said something a lot of people have been wishing someone would say, because they were afraid to say it themselves. I know I've been afraid to say this stuff. It's hard as hell, summoning the courage to face a bully pulpit, to stand up during a McCarthyesque trial and say "Fuck you all." The good news: reading the comments yesterday, I began to wonder if we aren't on the cusp of a backlash against the cacophonous yammering of the Art Police. Anyway, I'll be writing more on this problem, after more thought, and when I have more time (id est, after Readercon). I did want to quote this bit from robyn_ma:
Art is the only thing that can make liberal whiners sound conservative and conservative whiners sound liberal. This is why you get Republican pundits talking about the misogyny in rap music, just as if they otherwise gave the first fuck about women. Also Democrats like Tipper Gore and her heavy-metal crusade.
Big Brother is Big Brother. Even if "he's" Big Sister. Even if Big Sister is a disabled transgender lesbian Muslim with PTSD. Same difference. Meet the new boss, right?
If you've not already, PLEASE preorder Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart from Subterranean Press (or anywhere!). Thanks. Oh, and I just found this review of the collection at SFRevu (but I'm NOT a "horror writer"**).
Am I ready to be GoH at Readercon 23? No. Most emphatically no. I think I need another pair of pants. My skin is hell. My bangs need trimming. There's a bunch of Shirley Jackson and Peter Straub stories I meant to read again before the con, and I haven't. I mean to cram on Wednesday. But it will be what it will be.
That's my "Soul" Up There,
* There are people who would whine about my using crippled as a metaphor, and so brand me "ableist" and "insensitive."
** Also, no insult to Laird Barron intended – none at all – but my writing has about as much in common with his as a horseshoe crab has with a cow.