Looking down at the clutter between me and the monitor (nope, still haven’t cleaned the office…my OCD is like the old joke about cops never working to your advantage) there lies a small book, “Slang and Euphemism, Third Revised Edition, A Dictionary of Oaths, Curses, Insults, Ethnic Slurs, Sexual Slang and Metaphor, Drug Talk, College Lingo and Related Matters” by Richard A. Spears. (Not this guy)
Who it kills depends on who’s holding it.
This is something I’ve been mulling ever since finishing “Black Bottle” and sending it off to Paul. I like it when no one’s safe in a book. Right now I’m mulling the elements of book #3. As anyone who’s read “The Last Page” can tell you, the setting is fairly elaborate. And the world is easy fodder for another book. Prequel? Tangential plotting? Hmmm.
Alarm goes off at 4:30. I ignore it because it’s Sunday — even though I don’t ignore it most Sundays.
Working on “Black Bottle” has been interesting.
Tor bought it unseen as part of the deal. I had a phone call with my editor at Tor that went something like this:
I happened upon a few lists in the vain* of: Rules fer Writin’ Fiction.
And now I’m here, fixin’ ta write my own list, Texas-style, as a reaction to what them other varmints said.
This is why I suck at blogging.
(Not that I’m going to give up on it. I’ll hang in there. Hopefully get better at it. But I think it’s better to come clean now than wait until I’ve been at it for a year or two, don’t you?)
Here’s a little anecdote for you if you’ve had a bad day, gotten a rejection letter and feel like you’ll never get published.