Friday, December 12, 2003
Yesterday, I wrote 942 words on the "Untitled Novella," which was a relief after the blank spot that was Wednesday. I'm still not sure where this one is headed, but at least it's headed somewhere.
But mostly I'm still wallowing in the relief, the fact that my editor is so pleased with Murder of Angels. I had more fears for this book than any I've ever written. This is a novel that I allowed to go to very, very strange places, very dark places (some think darker than Low Red Moon), trusting that whatever unconscious parts of me guide the providence of my stories knew better than the conscious bits that never have any frelling idea what's going on. I did things in this novel that seemed at once The Right Thing and Terribly Risky. There is an outlandishness to Murder of Angels I'd never before dared attempt at novel length. And now there is only relief, and hope that readers and reviewers like it as much as my editor.
Spooky and I saw The Last Samurai last night. Superb. Perfection, except Ebert might have been right about the ending. Maybe. It truly is a beautiful film, the best thing I've seen since Kill Bill and surely one of the best films of the year. It fills the space in me that Gangs of New York filled this time last year. I was pleased to see Timothy Spall again, with whom I first fell in love in Mike Leigh's delightful Topsy-Turvy. Now we only have five days left until The Return of the King.
Oh, Leh'agvoi sent me new Nar'eth manga pages this morning, for those of you following her adventures on Nebari.Net. I hope to have them up by tomorrow sometime.
Was I especially curmudgeonly and misanthropic and vicious in yesterday's entry? Well, it wasn't intentional, I assure you. I'd meant to be sweet as treacle, just like always. Honest...