http://www.murkydepths.comThey have a MySpace slideshow in there of Wayne Blackhurst creating the splash page for my Philadelphia demon story "Nine-Tenths of the Law." Glad that one's up, that's another one that took a pound of flesh to get right.
Hung out with Ken Scholes yesterday at the Delta and talked shop into the evening. The man just got blurbed by Orson Scott Card, and Card's reaction was something like, "Give me more! Now! Yesterday! Why aren't all five of these books done?" Damn.
Anyway. Eleven stories went out last night, and new ones ready to ship pretty soon. I have about thirty first drafts, thirty ready to become first drafts, and fifty raw ideas that are just a para or two. Then another fifty that are just a line or two. I've got them lined up and ready to be assembled. Moo hoo haa haaaa.
![[Unknown friend &] Harry Harrison; Worldcon, 2006](http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/148/828139579451303/220/z/179618/gse_multipart5003.jpg)
2 comments:
When once we talked of being professional writers . . . alas, it has come to pass. I recall things that I can't put in words, memories of what never would be and dreams imploded, my finger on the pulse of so many ideas and, yet, knowing that there would come a time when things fell into place. Journals, letters never mailed, words I can no longer comprehend; I have lost the key to that place--youth passing to middle age. and the cycle begins anew. Ed's head, I hear tktktktktktktkktktktktktkktktktkktktktktkktktktktktktkkttkktktktktktktktktktktkkt a thousand words a second on that old 486.
erase this garbage. Scotch induced babble.
Second try.
It isn't garbage, Nelson, and I deeply appreciate it. I sacrificed EVERYTHING to get where I am, the house, the car, the 2.3 kids, the good paying job, all that stuff that everybody told me I wanted. At the risk of quoting myself, "I never sold out. I stayed true. And here I am."
I sometimes do wish I had it the other way. People on the other side of the coin don't know how lucky they are. The mental illness, alcoholism, fucked up upbringing and all the other stuff that made me a writer... I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
But gods DAMMIT this is so much fun. And you reminded me of that tonight. That old 486 I humped back to my folks' house that one winter... Loading the disc changer in your room with Primus and the Bosstones and all that good stuff and just wailing... Shawn. The BatCave. Jessi Mack's cute lisp. The Bowel's Best. Sigh... All gone, the Temple you knew, the one I knew too (see the Bastard Army group on myspace for a more detailed account of that...)
The Scotch is gone for me now, as are most everything else but Genesis 1:12 sorts of things. I am mostly domesticated myself, though in a very different way than the standard definition. (The house is a rental, my 2.3 kid lives with her psycho bitch of a mother in Corvallis, and the car is an electric moped...)
But the fire still burns high, and the one thing I never quit is the one thing I am shamelessly and unrepentantly addicted to more than caffeine, nicotine and alcohol put together.
You reminded me of that. You reminded me what I am still fighting for. Bless you, Nelson. I am not removing your post. Ever. Matter of fact, I just might print it out and look at it the next time I get in a shitty mood. Well done, ---ed.
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