Thursday, February 19, 2004
Yesterday we made it through chapters Eight and Nine. We should be able to finish with the Murder of Angels manuscript today, and it'll go back into the mail tomorrow. I've never before spent so much time with a CEM.
And today, with sunny weather and something resembling warm temperatures, I'd really much rather be doing just about anything other than reading these pages.
I don't know why I keep watching Enterprise. I suppose it's the need for a TV sf fix and, at this point, it's pretty much a toss up between Enterprise and Stargate: SG-1. I've chosen the lesser of two evils, surely, but that's little solace. Sometimes, like last night, I wish that Enterprise would at least muster the energy to be bad. That's the thing. Unlike Stargate: SG-1, it's not truly bad, it's just absolutely and utterly dull. Towards the end of last night's episode, when Phlox and T'Pol realize that the region of distorted space is much larger than they'd guessed and they both start freaking out, it was almost joyous. At last, someone was emoting! There are, again, rumours that Enterprise may soon be facing cancellation. I think that would be merciful. On the other hand, last night's episode of Angel, a series which has already been cancelled, was an utter delight. Joss Whedon's shows are always a bit hit or miss with me. I enjoyed the last couple of seasons of Buffy, The Vampire Slayer, but find the earlier seasons unwatchably silly. I loved Firefly. Generally, though I only started watching last season, I prefer Angel to Buffy, and the episode last night justified the entire series. "I'm going to tear you a new puppet hole, bitch." Nice.
According to a statement I received from Penguin a couple of days back, to date the trade paperback of Threshold has sold a modest 10,935 copies domestically and abroad. It may not seem like much to publishers looking for bestsellers, but it seems like an awful lot to me. Figuring in the percentage of those sales that were to public libraries, and the fact that people loan their private copies to friends, I suspect this means that something like twenty to thirty thousand people have read the book, and that just kind of freaks me out if I pause to think about it.
At the Species of One shop, our geeky little revolution continues. If sci-fi conventions and athletic shoes are worthy of t-shirts, so are novels.