I don't read much fiction anymore. Spending too much of my life writing too much fiction has made it very hard for me to find fiction that doesn't bore me or piss me off. I try to read, the way I used to read, and, usually, all I can see is a flavorless mess that needs fixing. Because most authors are both dull and/or ham-fisted. My mind becomes distracted with a puzzle – or game - I have invented: Can This Be Saved? The answer is usually "no," which means the player – me – usually looses. Regardless, playing the game obviously doesn't qualify as reading. I have a point here. I'm getting to it. That is, I have a point beyond the fact that I don't read much new fiction because I can't find much new fiction that's all those good things fiction ought to be.
Yesterday, I was picking through The Book of Cthulhu II, and I found a story titled "Take Your Daughters to Work" by Livia Llewellyn (livia_llewellyn). Wow. Seriously, this is one of a small handful of Innsmouth-inspired short stories I've ever read that I've enjoyed. Llewellyn uses HPL a starting point, but then...well, I won't spoil it. But "Take Your Daughters to Work" is beautiful, poignant, and horrifying, all at once. The way things ought to be. Thought went into how those words – those particular words – were laid. Still more impressive, the fact that the story is a mere three and a half pages long. Less is so much more. Brava, Miss Llewellyn. And thank you. Now I must find more of your work.
Also, I'm on Chapter Eight of Bacigalupi's The Windup Girl. No, I'm not exactly blowing through this book, am I?
Oh, and yesterday I also read, in the April 27th issue of Science, "Analytic Thinking Promotes Religious Disbelief." The results of a very cool and intriguing experiment. It appears that a link may exist between those who rely primarily on intuitive thought and a propensity towards reliance on superstitious, non-rational belief systems.
I'm supposed to have a high-rez version of the cover of Blood Oranges to post here today, but I think my publisher's design people are still trying to master interdepartmental email. Maybe tomorrow.
Yesterday, I wrote precisely 1,400 words on Chapter Four of Fay Grimmer. I'd say more on the experience, but I choose not to do so.
Have you preordered your ten copies of the Alabaster: Wolves hc yet? Have I stressed how unreasonably crucial the September/early October preorders are to Dancy's future in comics? Well, there you have it. Just follow the link, and thank you, kittens.
Here in Providence, we seem to be having One Last Day of Summer. And I haven't left the house since last Friday. So, fuck you, novel I don't want to be writing. Today, I mean to breath fresh air and see the last of the green.
* Don't answer.