Leaving Raleigh --

I'm off to Boston on the smallest friggin' jet I've ever been on. It's about the size of my car. If we have to make an emergency landing, I'll put the goddamn thing in my pocket and WALK the rest of the way.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention one of the truly coolest feature of the event at Quail Ridge the other night. The event coordinator -- the guy who introduced me -- is Clay Griffith.

Who is the current writer of THE TICK.

No, I'm not kidding.

I AM NOT WORTHY. I AM NOT WORTHY.

He's decidedly cool, too -- about my age, but better looking. And with great hair.

Saw the AP news release. Funny how stuff gets twisted around. I really have to learn to just say No Fucking Comment.

I mean, this guy was asking me WHY I wrote REVENGE OF THE SITH. Simple question. And I told him the truth: I jumped at the chance to be part of the the most important cultural pop-mythic cycle in American history. Not to mention that the money's good, and the exposure's great.

So he jumps on the money. "How much did you get paid?"

Being WASPY, I don't want to say. That's where I should have said No Fucking Comment.

"Was it huge?"

"No."

"Can I say it was a six-figure advance?"

"Uh, well, no --"

"Not even six-figures? Jeez."

"Look, I --"

"High five figures?"

"Yeah, sure. High five figures."

"And royalties?"

"Writing Star Wars isn't about the royalties -- the royalties aren't much for tie-in fiction. It's about the exposure -- I go from a respected but little-known fantasy writers to one of the best-known-fantasy writers in America practically overniight. But mostly it's what I was talking about before --"

And somehow, in the article, the whole business about the privilege of being able to participate in the central pop-cultural mythic cycle of the 20th Century just got lost in the shuffle . . .

I'll know better next time.

Raleigh NC April 2 (& 3rd . . . see below)

Raleigh NC April 2 (& 3rd . . . see below)

The Great Friggin' Gonzo Revenge of the Sith Tour is officially under way!

Kicked it off this afternoon at Wal-Mart SuperCenter Store #5118 in Raleigh NC, and it was a party . . . the whole staff was so pumped to sell Star Wars that I had to do a 45-minute meet & greet in the employee lunch-room before the actual event -- and I think I signed more books for the employees than I did for the customers.

Which is cool by me.

A sale's a sale, baby . . .

And the NC Garrison of the 501st Storm Trooper Battalion turned out, too, so that I had a pair of clone troopers, a Red Guard, an Imperial pilot, Boba friggin' Fett and Darth by-God VADER doing CROWD control . . .

It was pretty cool.

And I got to meet in person for the very first time one of my long-time friends, HAWKi102, who I've been corresponding with for a couple years now, and discover that he's a perfectly normal-looking guy, with a very understanding moms-type in tow. Great to meet you, Steve.

Why do I always expect my fans to look like demented homeless cattle-mutilators?

And there was Shane, too (aka tyshalle83, brave lad) -- also entirely human. And towing the lovely Allison (did I get your name right? I met a lot of people today) [EDIT: AMBER, dammit, sorry about that], thus proving that my fans are not only handsome folk, but attractive to the opposite sex.

How did this happen?

In fact, over all, I'd have to say that my fans are all singularly goodlooking people (in addition to their obvious intelligence and stellar taste).



Later --

Did my first reading -- at Quail Ridge, a vastly cool independent store here. Of course, I'm kind of a small-timer round these parts, seeing as how they've also recently hosted none other than the legendary Zahn . . . not to mention Greg Keyes . . .

The 501st was here as well, and this time they hung out after the event and took off the armor -- without getting conspicuously naked, so forget about pictures -- and took me out to dinner, and proved my earlier contention applies not only to my fans, but to Star Wars fans in general.

I mean, I've been to a LOT of cons. SFF fans are a pack of scruffy-lookin' nerfherders, and not only will few of them deny it, most would be offended if I were to suggest otherwise.

Star Wars fans, tho' . . . these are good-looking people. I mean, you can't squeeze a fat ass into that storm trooper armor, you know what I mean? Hell, one of the troopers at Wal-Mart was a REAL trooper -- he could honest-to-Christ quickdraw his friggin' blaster, because he's an honest-to-Christ deputy sheriff. Two others are officers in the Air Force, for Christ's sake -- there was Navy represented, too. These aren't your Living-in-Mom's-Basement-Wearing-Spock-Ears types, y'know?

Later still --

Hey, Raleigh loves me so much it doesn't want to let me go. The US Airways shuttle to Pittsburgh turned around in midair and went back to the airport. In Pittsburgh. It never even got here. And then it was cancelled without explanation. And then US Airways politely explained that all other flights to Pittsburgh were already overbooked. Until 10:50 PM, which would make me a bit late for my 2:00 Talk & Signing at the Barnes & Noble #2898 on Freeport, which will consequently be deprived of my company.

Sorry, folks. Shit happens. Apparently it happens to US Airways quite a bit -- the next thing they did was start taking volunteers to skip the oversold flight to New York that was the next one out of the same gate . . .

The good news is that I get to spend an extra night in the Raleigh Sheraton, where people are very nice to me indeed, and the food's really good, and the Young Christian conference that was having a picnic in the hallway outside my room yesterday (no, I'm not kidding) seems to have evaporated, so I'm gonna quit blathering on about things now and get to work on CAINE BLACK KNIFE.

I'll see folks in Boston tomorrow . . .

Haven't been here for a while, largely because there has been some Classified Shit going on that I just can't write about, and when I can't write about what's on my mind, I don't write at all.

But we're getting down to the wire, here.

The Great Friggin' Gonzo Revenge of the Sith Tour gets under way a week from tomorrow, and here's the latest:

1) I still don't have an official itinerary. I know what cities I'm going to because I downloaded the schedule from The Force.Net (and I got a supplementary list from Colleen when we talked on Tuesday). But I don't have flight or hotel info. At all. Colleen? You listening?

(Though to be fair, I'm teasing her a little. She only promised me the itinerary by the end of this week, which in Publisher Time means before the close of business next Thursday.)

2) Though the book seems to be all over the goddamn Internet by now, nobody's sent an advance copy to ME . . . which means I get to go through security checks with a one-way ticket. Loads of fun. "No, REALLY, I'm on a BOOK tour . . . well, I don't have the book WITH me . . ."

3) I am damned close to broke. It's been a (to paraphrase George Harrison) long cold lonely fucking winter. [EDITED BY THE BORG. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.]

4) My meds are only half working. I'm mobile and functioning and will remain so, but can I just say . . . ow . . . ?

5) The AOL/Moviefone tour blog thing is still supposed to be happening, except they haven't gotten the software to me yet, and we're kinda running out of time.

6) I continue to maintain, despite how the above may read, my Jedi calm. This shit is entirely out of my hands; I leave success and failure entirely to the whims of the gods, the Force and the Random House publicity department, in that order. I will be squeezing every drop of enjoyment from my 15 minutes . . . er, 30 days . . . of nascent celebrity, and I continue to believe that somehow everything will work out just fine.

Because somehow it usually does.

It's not unlike working a blisteringly busy shift at a high-end restaurant -- which, as many of you know, I have done many, many times in my long career. When you're in the middle of it and things look like they're about to start going wrong, it seems like the fucking Apocalypse. But at the end of the shift, you count your money and go home. Meanwhile, nobody died.

Which is the main reason I became a bartender instead of a cop, a doctor, a fireman or a soldier.

And so far, nothing has ACTUALLY gone wrong. It's just the damned full-body migraine that makes it feel like it's going to, and I'll get over that by the time I'm on the flight to Raleigh.

Tally Ho!

Geekgasm

Okay, I've officially had my first REVENGE OF THE SITH geekgasm.

I watched GWL's interview on 60 MINUTES last night, and thus got to see my first Actual Glimpses of The Duel. And some of the new Capital Ship combat.

Oy.

Listen: I KNOW EVERYTHING THAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN IN THIS FILM, AND I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT TO SEE IT.

I mean, let's face it: even you spoiler-free bastards are kiddin' yourselves, y'know? You already know everything important that's going to happen, too. You just don't know how it's going to look.

Well, neither do I.

But I got a hint of it last night.

Oy.

Oy muckersplatter freakin' geVALT.

Warming Up

I am now officially In Training for the Great Friggin' Gonzo Revenge of the Sith Tour.

For the next few days I'll will be testing the muscles of my right hand in a wholly unfamiliar way . . . signing a THOUSAND FREAKIN' BOOKS.

The Special Edition, doncha know.

But it's a good way to get in shape.

Writer's cramp is a serious danger for typin' pussies like me, if I have to be signing three or four hundred books at a crack, maybe twice a day, five or six days a week . . .

Oh, my poor hand . . .

Your heart's just pumping pisswater for me, ain't it?

Ahh, the price of (almost semi-)fame . . .

Again with the misinterpretations . . .

Never did I write while under the influence. Never ever ever.

Well, okay, once.

I wrote a play in college, a screwball comedy called A PERFECTLY RATIONAL ADJUSTMENT, in which the main character was a famous playwright who'd gone bonkers and now believed he was the main character in one of his own plays (which were all screwball comedies . . .).

I did the first draft -- working late at night, after all homework and such was complete -- by downing three shots of Bacardi 151 and then typing as fast as I could until I couldn't see the keys any more (usually about twenty minutes to half an hour). Then I'd go pass out.

But that was only the first draft. And, by the way, it was terrible. I had to rewrite it six times. Sober.

Anyone who's taken a close look at my work -- especially my Caine books -- will, I think, understand that stories of such intricacy are not to be attempted while under the influence of anything except caffeine (in small, regulated doses) and massive amounts of tortilla chips. And sometimes chocolate.

The cocktails were poured only after all work for the day was complete. And they may be again.

A lot depends on how my body adjusts to the meds.

We shall see.

I'm Ruined

I'm Fucking Ruined.

They're gonna throw me out of the Real Serious Writer's Club.

That's right: I've quit drinking.

Not by choice, I assure you. It was an experiment, at the behest of my beloved wife, to dry out for a while and see if avoiding the whole Scotch/bourbon/cognac Devil's Triangle helped my migraine syndrome.

Well, it didn't.

However . . . something in my metabolism (or my meds) has changed in the meantime. Everything tastes like crap. I can't even finish a solid dram without getting queasy -- shit, I can't even THINK about it without getting queasy.

Boy, I am in trouble now.

How am I gonna survive the Great Friggin' Gonzo Revenge of the Sith Tour stone cold rumphumpin' SOBER?

All I can do is start praying to Dionysios that I get over this before April 2 . . .

Trust Me

Here I am, trying to calm people down, and I seem to be whipping them up.

Does it work the other way, too?

Anyway, here's the Real Fucking Deal:

Trust Me.

You Will Not Be Disappointed.

I Do Not Hold Anything Back.

The point is that I'm just Better At Shit now than I was when I wrote HEROES DIE. I'm better than I was when I wrote BLADE. And I have absolutely no interest in repeating myself in my work; the lovingly pornographic violence in HEROES DIE is there for a reason. If I need it again, I'll use it again, but I have, I believe, since developed new and more powerful techniques for achieving emotional and intellectual affect, and I'm gonna use them. All of them.

That's all.

Fear Not, Beloved Readers.

Shit, folks, remember that I am the author of the Dead Cities Artists' Pledge.


Those of you who don't know what the fuck I'm talking about should run, don't walk, RUN, on over to [dead cities ver3.0] right now.

right here

I'll see you there.

Correction

I'm issuing an official correction . . .

I think some people got the wrong idea from yesterday's post.

Look, nobody at Del Rey has insisted or demanded that I de-violenciate CAINE BLACK KNIFE. There has been some discussion about the level of graphic description of violence in the Overworld stories, but much of it has come at my own instigation.

I am very aware that CAINE BLACK KNIFE and DEAD MAN'S HEART are Caine's Last Best Shot at Making It . . . if he doesn't break out, he -- and Overworld -- are dead, as far as the publishing industry goes. So I asked Chris Schleup (my editor at Del Rey) straight out what he thought I could do, as a writer, to help prevent CBK from becoming the same kind of spectacular flop, sales-wise, that HEROES DIE was.

He told me that Del Rey is aware that the floppitude of HEROES DIE had more to do with marketing and packaging failure on their part than with the quality of the book itself (which is why they plan a re-package in conjunction with the release of CBK), but that he and the Powers That Be are of the opinion that some people are turned off by the exceedingly fierce and graphic descriptions of violence and suffering in HD and BLADE.

This, my good friends, is something we all know to be true.

Most people who read fantasy are looking for THE WIZARD OF OZ -- y'know, Baum wrote those books because he thought that traditional fairy tales were too scary and violent? If he'd lived to see the film made from the first of his Oz books, he would have sued the fucking studio for making the Wicked Witch of the West so, well, wicked, and for making the flying monkeys give kids nightmares . . .

So I've got a double-switch going in CBK. I've learned so much about controlling esthetic distance and using psychological closure while writing these three Star Wars novels, that I get to do shit in CBK that's actually WORSE than most of the stuff in HD or BLADE . . . but I get to do the RESERVOIR DOGS thing, where the worst of it happens in your imagination . . .

So I get to look at the beancounters and say, "Graphic violence? Where? Which sentence?"

"Well, okay, that one . . . but that's an isolated case. Except for that one there. Okay, there's one more, but really . . ."


It's honestly not a question of standing firm. This isn't about artistic integrity. I don't have any.

I can only write what I can write. I literally CAN'T do it any other way . . .

I am who I am.

GFGROTSTB pt 2

One of these days I'm gonna have to learn how to actually USE a computer, as opposed to just typing on one.

One of those old Mac macros would be useful, so I don't have to type Great Friggin' Gonzo REVENGE OF THE SITH Tour Blog Entry #Whateverthefuck each time I update it.

Anyway, TheForce.Net reports that I now have five cities confirmed on the Right Coast, and the GFGROTST is spreading toward the Left like one of those virus projections on 24 . . .

So that's all. No real news, other than I just cut 20000 words out of CAINE BLACK KNIFE.

Yes, that's the right number of zeroes.

Twenty thousand fucking words.

My recon/retcon of the story has rendered superfluous a great deal of the shit over which I have squeezed blood from my own eyeballs to create.


For example, in my orginal (now vanished) version, Act One consisted of interleaved episodes from the "modern day" [some 3 years post-BLADE] and flashes of the uncut, unedited Master of RETREAT FROM THE BOEDECKEN, the Adventure that made Caine a star, in roughly 15 - 20 page increments . . . just enough to deliver quick smacks of action and emotional content . . . and they were arranged in such a way to elegantly contrast and comment upon each other, to set the older and theoretically more mature Caine against his 25-year-old self . . . it was all very artistic, and literary, and would have given someone a swell subject for his or her masters thesis in Litcritshit a hundred years from now.

But y'know, screw that shitpile.

The other day I decided to see what the story would look like if I put all the RETREAT stuff together. Right in a row. Which is not how I wrote it to be, but what the hell.

It turned out to be eighty pages that literally had me jumping out of my chair. Jesus, what a vicious little sonofabitch he was . . .

On the other hand, The Powers that Be -- who were hoping that the violence would be toned down -- well . . .

It IS toned down.


As long as you don't have a vivid imagination.



As Caine would say, I am who I am.

Fuckin' sue me.

And they're OFF!

The Great Friggin' Gonzo REVENGE OF THE SITH Tour log

Part One

Seems early for Part One, don't it? I thought so too, till I checked in over at The Force.Net in my author thread, there to find, much to my surprise, that the tour will begin . . .













Yes, We Have a Winner -- check your office pools -- the tour will begin . . .













(wait for it . . .)




























April 2 in Raleigh-Durham, North CAROLINA!

Woo-HOO!


Now, if I can just get them to tell ME this stuff . . .

Y'know, I don't want to harp on the political shit, but Jesus CHRIST, look at what they're doing to my country:

Hey, We Fucking Torture Innocent Civilian Citizens of Friendly Countries Tra La

[html tutorial courtesy of the inimitable Chris M. (Ticketman) Billet.]

George Bush's first term made me embarrassed to be American.

His second term is threatening to make me furious.

How long beffore we start doing this to our own citizens? Oh, wait, sorry, we already have -- a kid who got shipped to Saudi Arabia.

If I disappear sometime this year, look for me in Syria.

Anybody not smell the swastikas yet?

Thanks to Shevchyk yet again for the following, which I'm reposting for those of you too lazy to read the comments.

http://www.amconmag.com/2005_02_14/article.html

You have to read this essay. It's the GODDAMN AMERICAN CONSERVATIVE, for Christ's sake.

It just goes to show that I've been tell the fucking truth all along: that this is not a liberal issue.

Shit, I'm not a liberal. I'm an American.

Every goddamn public school and courthouse that wants to enshrine the Ten Commandments should erect, instead, stone tablets engraved with a vastly more important document: the Bill of Rights.

The Declaration of Independence is a more important statement of human aspiration than the Sermon on the Mount.

And the Bushitters are killing them. Both.

Funny thing is, this is a running theme of my fiction, too. It's that blind god thing. The hunger for easy answers. "They're EEeevil and Must Be Destroyed!" The need to belong. The willingness to be lied to, as long as we like the lies . . .

The simple need to be told what to think.

Try the following on for size, the true story of three innocent British citizens imprisoned at Guantanamo Bay, without trial or legal recourse of any kind, for nearly two years.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/07/opinion/7herbert.html

Wake up and smell the swastikas, indeed.

We are the Empire.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/04/opinion/4herbert.html

Is anybody out there?

Is anybody LISTENING?

Jesus CHRIST. What does it TAKE for people in this country to WAKE UP AND SMELL THE FUCKING SWASTIKAS?

But Wait, There's More!

A relevant quote:

Two years ago, an unnamed Bush aide told Suskind, "We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you're studying that reality—judiciously, as you will—we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. We're history's actors ... and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do."

You can find the rest in Jack Shafer's SLATE.com article at the address below.

http://www.slate.com/Default.aspx?id=2113052&

Does anyone out there still think this is just some kind of fucking joke?

So this guy writes in to my forum over at SFFWorld. (This is not, by the way, the set-up to a joke.) He's been hearing about me, but he's never read me. He's been through the current crop of Quality Shit: Tolkien, Martin, Hobb, and he confesses to having read Eddings and Feist in his misspent youth. And he wants me to tell him why he should read my work.

After a moment's thought, this strikes me as an entirely legitimate question.

What makes me think I'm so special, anyway?

Well, I started to compose my standard lecture on the Consolatory vs. the Subversive in art. Those of you who've been around here for any length of time know that it's an article of faith with me that all honest art is inherently subversive; to paraphrase Tan'elKoth, "It is a truism that to a hammer, the world looks like a nail; the glory of art is that it can show this hammer how the world looks to a screwdriver. And to a sculptor's chisel. And vice versa."

Consolatory fiction (I can't bear to refer to it as art) is in the business of telling all the hammers out there that everything really IS a nail -- to suggest otherwise runs the risk of softening their solid steel heads . . .

[Which, of course, is exactly what got me into trouble with so many Star Wars fans -- and why so many of them hate the NJO in general. Star Wars was, for them, the ultimate in Consolatory Fiction. Opening a Star Wars novel was like sitting down to a Hollywood version of Thanksgiving dinner: no surprises, no danger, just a tasty feast that'd leave you sleepy and content. Nothing upsetting. Nothing to think about.

Which is why the climax of VECTOR PRIME resulted in Bob Salvatore getting death threats.

Which is why -- may the gods have mercy on their poor pathetic souls -- some few fanfreaks have gone so far as to claim that George fucking LUCAS is ruining Star Wars with the Prequels . . . because it's not spotless Dudley Do-Rights inevitably triumphing over irreedeemable Snidely Whiplashes . . .

Shit, some kid got so freaked out by TRAITOR that he wrote into The Force.Net BEGGING me not to ruin Star Wars with relativist heresy (not that anything in TRAITOR advocates relativism -- just the opposite, but plenty of people just aren't bright enough to figure that out) . . . and even the possiblity that there might be anything resembling moral ambiguity in the Galaxy Far Far Away was so upsetting that it completely blew this guy's mind. Poor bastard. They all want Player's Handbook Universe -- y'know, as long as you never actually throw Force Lightning, you haven't fallen yet . . .

What none of these guys realize is that Star Wars was never as black/white as they pretended it was -- it's not about the triumph of the Rebellion, it's about Luke's triumph over himself. " . . .remember your failure at the cave . . ." But that's a subject for another post -- probably to wait for the REVENGE OF THE SITH release.]

Anyway, here I was ramping up to unleash the long version of this lecture upon the unsuspecting head of this poor bastard, when I realized that I'd better shut the fuck up about it.

Here's the thing: I realized that at this point in my career, people who've read me faithfully -- especially the Caine books and the SW books -- can now, at least in theory, find my own fiction just as consolatory as any installment of the Young Jedi Knights.

You all have a pretty good idea how I see the world. Opening one of my books brings you into a reality where you -- through prior experience of my writing -- have a pretty good idea of what the rules are [i.e. victory is expensive, pure intentions count for fuck all, it's good to be skilled but it's better to be lucky -- y'know, the usual crap.).

Since most of you know this shit already, before you ever crack the cover -- since most of you crack that cover at least in part BECAUSE YOU WANT TO READ A STORY WHERE SHIT WORKS THAT WAY . . . my work isn't actually subversive anymore. Not for you.

Which is giving me kind of a pain in the crack.

Because I like to shake people up a little. Make you question your assumptions.

But on the other hand, what the hell can I do about it?

Write a fucking Quest Against the Dark Lord?

I don't think I can lie in a novel. Not well, anyway.

So what the hell do I do to shake up the people who already agree with me? What do I show people who've already seen what I've got?

I am not asking for answers, here. Nor am I fishing for "Buck up, big guy," comments.

I am merely relating the story of an uncomfortable revelation, which leads me to the reply I gave the guy over as SFFWorld. I told him --

I don't think you "should" read me. I think you should read what you like.

And I don't have a better answer than that.

Happy Fucking Birthday Mr Stover

Happy Birthday to Me

Y'know what I want for my birthday?



"Offer me money . . ."

"Yeah, money -- tax cuts are good fer ever'body . . ."

"Offer me anything I want . . ."

"Yes . . . property in the middle east . . . yes, anything. ANYTHING!"





I want my country back, you son of a bitch.



Where's John Dean when you need him?



I have an idea. Fuck pledging allegiance to the flag. Let's pledge allegiance to the Constitution.

That's what I did.

That's what I thought Bush did. Apparently he had other ideas . . .

It's that old conservative shuffle. We are men of principle -- right up until those principles might get in the way of power. Then we're just men.

At best.

Ahh, I always get cranky on my birthday.

Updates

Hey, Gang.

Here's the news . . .

First, the Star Wars stuff:

The Great Staggering Friggin' Gonzo Sith Tour is on -- apparently there is sufficient interest in my not-so-humble RotSing self that Del Rey is going to flog my aging ass across the whole country, though specific stops and schedule are not yet set, excepting Star Wars Celebration in Indy, which I will be Wildly Celebrating along with all the other fandroids . . .

Colleen the Publicist from Hell also wants me to keep a tour log, and post it here.

Which I think is a great idea, so I'm gonna do it. Watch this space, Gentle Reader.

Though I will not be dishing any of the dirty stuff . . . because, y'know, I'm shy, and all I want is for everyone to LIKE me . . .

Oh, okay. Save your cards and letters, huh?

The Caine Update:

I have also spoken with His Honorable Schleupness on Caine's Future . . .

CAINE BLACK KNIFE is most likely to be another trade, not unlike BLADE OF TYSHALLE. He says the only way he's likely to be able to squeeze a hardcover out of the Powers That Be is if I make CBK a virtual stand-alone.

Which I'm just not sure is going to work.

At any rate, I can't make it anything other than what it's going to be. I'm writing what I'm writing. That's the only way I can do it. I've spent four books in a row writing on other people's terms, and I AM FUCKING DONE WITH IT.

Well, until the next time somebody offers me a huge wad of money and a book tour, anyway.

There may be re-issues of HD and BoT in trades, though -- or possibly an omnibus -- though when I reminded Chris that this omnibus would total half a million words, I could hear the *doink* all the way from New York.

Anyway, I'm thinking right now that the best thing that could happen for Caine might be for HD and BoT to be re-issued in trade with NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR under my name, and nice bold letters saying --

THE ACTS OF CAINE: ACT OF VIOLENCE
ACT OF WAR
ACT OF ATONEMENT

-- and that kind of shit.

Here endeth the update.

and more

More cheerful shit:

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/01/23/arts/23rich.html

Frank Rich has become one of my favorite lefties. He does social and political commentary as seen through the lens of popular arts & media -- usually TV and film -- and he's really, really good at it. Terrific writer, too.

For you Caine fans out there:

Right now, it looks like I might be able to retcon my recon of CBK, to save most of the 200-plus pages already written; it's hard to say. The pieces are a jumble right now . . . I've tossed them up into the fog, and they descend in a slow-motion tumble. I have a hunch that they will click into place, but right now it's only a hunch.

It's exactly the sensation described in HEROES DIE, when Caine's preconceived notions of the situation are shattered and the shards fall into a new shape.

It just hasn't quite happened yet. The old brain just ain't as fast as it used to be.

Probably the meds.

Christ help the United States

I can't even talk about this. Read it.

http://www.sojo.net/index.cfm?action=sojomail.display&issue=050119#3

Holy Shit I'm back

Holy Shit, I'm Back . . . !

Thanks again to the (mostly) indefatigable -- or at least unsinkable -- gabe [hypermode] chouinard.

Looking over my final post from the beginning of October, I discover that (thanks this time to the truly indefatigable folks at LFL and Mr George Lucas) I am STILL in the process of hammering out the final reconceptualization of CAINE BLACK KNIFE, because every time I start to make headway, they come back to me with more LAST MINUTE SCREAMINGLY IMPORTANT GOTTA GET THIS FUCKING THING DONE CRAP on REVENGE OF THE SITH.

On the plus side, tho' --

That's all done now, and I think it's gonna be really really good. Finally saw what appears to be the cover art, too.

Cooooool.


On CAINE BLACK KNIFE:

Less pensive. More asskicking. Not so much Conrad. Not even Hemingway. More HD than BoT. More Chandler than Tolstoy.

I'm having fun with it, now.

Just wait.