awakeCan there actually, genuinely, really and oh-my-fucking-god truly be people in the world who think "s's" is a good idea? You know, as in, "The bowl of used condoms in the top drawer, those are Francis's." As opposed to the ever so much more elegant, easy on the eyes, and grammatically correct, "The bowl of used condoms in the top drawer, those are Francis'." There must be those people, because they keep trying to "correct" my manuscripts...
Yesterday morning, I got the cover for Red Delicious from my editor. You may recall that, all things considered, I actually sort of liked the cover for Blood Oranges. It was a good match for the book. Yesterday, looking at the cover for Red Delicious, only half awake, to Spooky did I say, "Hey, that's not so bad." Four seconds after that, "Wait, Quinn has startlingly blue eyes." And four seconds later, "Hold on, the cover's goddamn purple!" Yes, I can go from pleasantly surprised to rabid in about eight seconds. Over a stupid book cover. Anyway, I wrote my editor – a fine and patient woman – and did a halfway decent job of raising my objections without coming off like a total jackass. I didn't even ask how they found artists from a planet where Red Delicious apples and blood are various shades of phlox and mauve. See? I was nice. She said she'd have a talk with those responsible, and that the issues would be addressed. Still frothing, I said that if they weren't I was going to pepper the novel with jokes about the garish purple cover and think of a new title referring to a purple fruit. She suggested, Raisin' Hell*, which is what finally talked me down off the ledge. Now, I just have to wait...and hope someone gives said artist/s a color wheel and an actual copy of the ms.
Yesterday, I wrote the first 1,053 words of Chapter Seven (last chapter!), "Bad As Me" (thank you, Tom Waits). I seem to be back in the saddle, after six more or less lost days.
It helped that I received word from another friend about whom I'd been very worried, and from whom I'd not heard in months. He's safe and sound and hard at work, and, yeah, that was another load of bricks off the shoulders.
Thursday night, Kathryn and I finished Season Three of The Walking Dead, and, fuck, but I love that show. I felt the first season was very "ho hum," then loved Season Two (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's cool to hate Season Two), and was very impressed that Season Three was even better. I think what saved the series and made it good was the realization by the creators that it couldn't go on and on and on being this zombie chomp-fest. That it had to be a story about people trying to survive in the ruins of the world, about the day after the end of the world, and the day after that. About survival and existential shock. About humanity being humanity's worst enemy. The zombies are still there, and they're an omnipresent threat. But they're not the worst of it.
And now...the words...I hope.
Still Falling,
Aunt Beast
* Yes, I know that raisins aren't exactly purple, but don't be a pedantic fuckwit.