Hey, I'm back again.

Yes, I have been thoroughly engrossed in CAINE BLACK KNIFE, as well as in recovering from a nasty flu bug I picked up at WFC. I fought off the space monkeys (I have managed to adapt kali and jujitsu into the art of the Double Quantum Banana -- don't ask -- and I'm pretty sure the fuckers will never dare to trouble me again).

WFC was a treat. I spent most of the weekend hanging out in the hotel bar with R. Scott Bakker, Gary Wassner, Robert Urell and my wife, the Fabulous Robyn Drake. Getting drunk with four people who are all smarter than me (and all like to talk pretty much non-stop, just like me) is an endlessly entertaining experience. It's a good thing the convention only lasts one weekend. We'd probably still be there.

I also got the chance to spend a couple hours chatting with one of my personal heroes, Stephen Donaldson . . . and got to watch him (entirely metaphorically, and in a very gentle, good-humored way) bitchslap Joe Haldeman and Gene Wolfe on a con panel . . . which made him even more a personal hero.

I've also been enjoying watching Our Commander in Cheat pile on the lies as he desperately tries to salvage the tattered reputation of his mafioso Administration.

There, that should bring the trolls out from under their bridges, huh?

On CAINE BLACK KNIFE:

I swear by the power of All Dark Gods that I will Never Ever Ever start another novel until I HAVE COMPLETED THE FUCKING OUTLINE.

Not that it helped me much with BLADE OF TYSHALLE. But I have to have something to blame it on.

On the other hand, I have finally figured out just exactly what the hell I'm writing about, and am suddenly more interested in my own work than I have been at any time since I signed my first Star Wars contract.

Go figure.