Just a bunch of assorted items of some minor interest.
First up, I did a new interview! Jared Anderson runs a blog specializing in author interviews and he asked me to contribute. Mine is now up, for the pleasure of anyone interested.
Apropos of writerly things, I have finished the second book of my Oxun Trilogy. The first book, Orleans, is currently making the rounds via the good offices of my agent, Jen Udden. Among the various projects I had on hand to work on this past several months, I decided finishing book two might be a good idea. Oculus is finished. At least, it will be once Donna completes picking the nits from it. I hope to hand the manuscript over to Jen some time next week.
This opens the way for volume three, which I intend to call either Orient or Ojo. Haven’t decided yet. Ojo is Japanese for rebirth (roughly) and fits with the theme of the book. This is the one I’m both really looking forward to and dreading, as it will be primarily historical.
Meantime, I am about to dive into the rewrite of my historical mystery, per my other agent’s notes (yeah, two agents, it’s complicated, don’t ask, it works), which will likely take up the rest of the summer.
This afternoon, my friend Russ is coming over with his horn for our last rehearsal before this weekend’s coffeehouse. We’ve been working on a version of Harlem Nocturne, which we both love and hope to do Saturday.
Prior to his visit, I have to go mow the lawn. Tedious but necessary.
In between all that, I’ve been working on some new short stories. As I’ve mentioned from time to time, I’ve been having difficulties with short form for—well, for the last several years. A few months ago I got very angry with myself and just sat in front of the computer, staring at a story fragment, refusing to do anything else until Fred (Fred was the name Damon Knight gave to the unconscious, which he acknowledged but didn’t like calling the Unconscious)—as I say, until Fred belched up the story solution. I promptly finished three or four more and I intend to keep hammering at the others. I must have a couple of dozen half-completed short stories and there is no good reason for them not be completed. Except for Fred.
Donna’s sisters will be coming into town next week (one from Florida, one from Iowa) and, I assume, hijinks shall ensue. In the middle of their visit will be a major party and ongoing we have housecleaning.
I’ve been reading Ray Bradbury, prompted by his death. I wrote about Ray here. The other day I finished Something Wicked This Way Comes and, through the eyes of experience, I marveled at the exuberance of his language, something I sort of took in stride the first time I read it back at age 12 or 14. I’m going to go through I Sing The Body Electric next and then maybe The October Country. Ray was a unique voice in American letters, a high-wire act and a national treasure. Unlike many great artists, he did get acknowledged and rewarded. I think he had an exceptional career, all the more so for having done pretty much what he wanted to do most of the time. He will not vanish into obscurity, I think. He was misidentified as a science fiction writer. What little genuine SF he wrote fell apart on most metrics of good SF, but that’s not what he was trying to do. He was an American mythographer. His stories were about the things that informed our national character, down deep inside where we live, and reflected the romance of a national vision that was fractured at best, overambitious always, and essentially naive. Not that he wrote naively—on the contrary, I think he wrote very perceptively about naivete, and somehow rarely in a judgmental way.
We’re on the threshold of summer. We inherited a gas grill which I need to figure out how to get working, because this year I want to barbecue, something we haven’t done here in years.
There’s more, but I’m rambling. So to conclude, let me offer up another photograph and bid you adieu till next time.
