I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel. (The Productivity of Procrastination)

The quote is from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, and it has nothing to do with anything. I just watched the end of that movie and remembered how much I love it. My fantasy author photo is me screaming Pee Wee-style holding two fistfuls of snakes.

Anyway this post is about procrastination. And edits. But mostly…procrastination. Because I have to come to its defense. Procrastination gets an enormously bad rap. Tell someone you’re a procrastinator, and they look at you like you’re an unsavory breed of bug. You’re a layabout! Their expressions scream. A useless bug-type thing who can’t be depended on to meet any deadline! If they happen to be a Type A personality (like one of my very dear friends who shall remain nameless. You know who you are, to-do list Nazi) they might hit you a little. But here’s the thing:

When you procrastinate, a lot of stuff gets done. Take, for example, the procrastinating of edits. Edits for GIRL OF NIGHTMARES just hit my inbox a few days ago. They’re great. Sometimes you get those edits that make you weepy, or that force your living mates to hide the stemware, but these are not those. These are the kind where you just have an odd sense of shame, like you should have put those scenes in already and can’t quite understand how you could have been so inept in the first place. The point is, I’m not dreading them. Doesn’t stop me from procrastinating.

During my day of procrastination, I’ll do anything and everything that I can possibly think to do to avoid doing the edits that I’m not dreading doing. Make sense? Of course not. But that’s what happens. So today, I answered emails, did interviews, did the butt-butt workout, washed an apartment’s load of dishes, prepared a few meals, caught up on some very important TV watching, took a French lesson, paid some bills and did some snail mailing. Even this blog post is part of the procrastination process. And what a productive, productive process it is.

So go ahead. Procrastinate. Watch the way your desk clears. And then….don’t forget your deadlines.

Make a Wish. Hold Your Breath. Count to Three. (Kirkus Review and Title Announcement)

I might’ve gotten that backwards. Or mixed up. Either way, if anyone was here right now, I would totally be pulling out the top hair of their heads and letting it fly. Because the quote is from Willy Wonka…not because I’m some kind of nutjob.

Getting right into it, Anna Dressed in Blood received a starred Kirkus review last week. And I am just blogging about it now, because I’m a lazy moron. Also, because the LJ goat has still been munching. Anyway the review knocked me off my rocker. Those of you with Kirkus subscriptions can read the entirety in advance of release at the site. Those of you without…I’ll just quote a bit.

Abundantly original, marvelously inventive and enormous fun, this can stand alongside the best horror fiction out there. We demand sequels. – Kirkus Reviews

I think I blacked out for a minute there. They demand sequels. So sequel they shall have! The title of Anna 2, formerly called The Girl From Hell, will now be known as GIRL OF NIGHTMARES. What do you think? I like it. The Girl from Hell was sort of funnier, but Girl of Nightmares has more of a ring to it. Anyway, it’s due up for editing next.

Saw the last Harry Potter film. It’s finally over. And it ended well. Except for that one part in the last scene…MOM-HAIR ALERT!! Now to look ahead to next year’s blockbusters. I don’t know what I’m more excited for. The conclusion of Nolan’s Batman story, or going back to Middle Earth. Or…The Lone Ranger? What the heck is that about? Seriously, Tonto. I’m afraid. Even if you are Johnny Depp.

This post took so long to get up that I’m going to have to post another something relatively soon…about International deals.

Farts are Perennially Funny. It’s Just a Fact of Life.

To paraphrase the excellent comedian Louis CK: Farts are funny. Because 1. They come out of your ass. 2. They smell like poop, because they’ve been hanging around it all day, and 3. They make a trumpet sound. You don’t have to be smart of laugh at a fart, but you have to be stupid not to.

I came into direct contact with fart humor this week, when I went to a swanky movie theater to see Super 8 (which was excellent, by the way. Completely Stand By Me, but action intense). The chairs reclined, but every time you reclined them, they made a long, hilarious fart. And everyone in the surrounding area giggled. It happened all over the theater, numerous times. Farting chairs. Ha. Ha. Hee. Hee.

Dumb humor. I love wit as much as the next guy, but there’s something to be said for dumb humor.

I am waiting for books this week. Waiting for the Game of Thrones boxed set. Waiting for an early copy of The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer. Also waiting to decide what my first ebook should be. Because I got a Nook for my birthday. It’s also a tablet so Dylan can play Angry Birds.

In writing world, the series outlines were agent-approved this week. Yay. But sort of a boo, because I feel like I might know what happens now. I’ve been thinking a lot about how this series got started, how many tries it took to find the way to write it, how many false starts and failures. I wrote an entire novel of clunk. Then three more chapters of clunk that were re-written three times. And just when I thought it was dead, it gave a subtle shift, and pretty much fell onto the page. It was there the whole time, just waiting for my stupid ass to learn how to do it. Now that I have, I hope I have the chance to write the rest.

But no worrying about that just now. It’s my birthday week. (Actually I claim the whole month. You should try it. People let you get away with murder during your birthday month.) I foresee good food and perhaps an arcade where I will shoot many aliens and dinosaurs and stomp at air hockey.

Hey, Giada De Laurentis…Your Boobs Don’t Make Me Hungry.

But my brother has always disagreed. Anyway, boobs aside, I love me some Everyday Italian. Food Network is almost always on in the background whenever I’m working. Drives Dylan nuts.

Watched Rabbit Hole last night. Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart both live up to their usual level of excellence. It’s a careful, beautifully acted film and I recommend it.

There’s about two months until Anna Dressed in Blood is out in the world. Weird. I wrote it more than two years ago, now. And I signed with Tor last April, if I recall. To everyone who has read it and taken the time to leave a thought: Gratitude. For everyone who has pre-ordered: Gratitude.

Ah, gratitude. I’ve obviously been watching too much Spartacus.

Anna will be going on blog tours this fall, one with Teen Book Scene and one with Kismet Book Tours. The Teen Book Scene will feature a lot of fun content, character interviews, lists, etc. The Kismet Tour I think will be sort of like a game of Clue, with a prize of a Kindle with an Anna Dressed in Blood gelskin and the book pre-loaded on it. They’ll also be interviewing my editor, Mel Frain, and the artist and art director behind the el awesome superbeasto cover: Nekro and Seth Lerner.

I just finished reading my first verse novel: The Day Before, by Lisa Schroeder. It’s fantastic. I had a completely visceral reaction to it. Though that might be because I’m adopted and didn’t have a long leap to empathy. Beautiful verse though. I’m not going to hoard it, either, as it was a gift from Shanyn at Chick Loves Lit. So one of the bloggers who comes to my signing in MN will get it re-gifted.

Since much of my work demands that I sit in a chair, I’m always in peril of developing Desk Butt. So in an effort to put this off, I started this ridiculous Butt Workout. Seriously, it’s marching around at hyperspeed flapping your arms like a chicken. Much of the breathlessness is from the uncontrollable laughter.

*Oh, addendum…Down Home with the Neelys is on in the background and I thought I just heard Pat Neely say "Everybody’s gonna get here before we can boink, girl!" But I’m pretty sure he said "blink." But if you’ve seen the show, Boink would make just as much sense.

Sparkly eyes technique. Are you ready?

Sparkly eyes technique, for those of you who have not seen The Men Who Stare at Goats, is a method of disarming someone that basically involves giving them…well…the sparkly eyes. I don’t recommend it. If George Clooney can’t pull it off, then you probably can’t either. But I do recommend the movie. While it may not be the uproarious comedy it touted itself to be (or at least that the trailers touted it to be) it is endlessly fascinating, and has driven me to read the book.

Another screen thing that has driven me to read the book: Game of Thrones. Damn you Sean Bean. Now I’m going to be engrossed in swords and sorcery all summer.

Anyway, this post is the equivalent of sparkly eyes technique. There’s nothing much to it. It’s just a placeholder, telling you some other places that I’ll be in the next two weeks, where I hope to be much less sparkly eyes and more substance.

Sunday I’m over at The Night Bazaar, where I’ll be discussing my favorite horror novel. Friday the 24th I’m chatting live (with other authors too) about the publishing biz over at Eve’s Fan Garden as part of their Summer Camp feature. Sunday the 26th I’m at Books at Midnight, as part of the Five Flavors of Summer Feature. And look, here’s a pretty button:

Also, Tor is running a sweepstakes for five copies of Anna Dressed in Blood, and they’ve posted the first chapter free. Very cool. If you’ve entered to win, or read the chapter…thank you. I hope you win, and that you enjoyed it.

Writing world has changed gears briefly as I delved into edits on Secret Project S, which is headed off to the agent next week for final tweaks before submission. I also have to put together a query pack and synopsis because the damned thing wants to be a trilogy. I suck at synopses. I suck intensely. Luckily, my agent seems quite deft at unsucking whatever I toss her way.

And hopefully soon, we will know whether the new title for The novel formerly known as The Girl From Hell, has stuck.

I Know Kung Fu. (The Matrix and Writerly Neuroses.)

Whatever, Keanu Reeves. Just stop talking and look pretty. Seriously though, I wish life was like the Matrix movies. Not that we’re all naked and plugged into machines and being fed liquefied dead people intravenously, but more like, you hit a key, and BAM! I know how to fly a helicopter. Unfortunately though, learning stuff takes time. And effort. And from what I’m told, all that time and effort makes the end result more meaningful. But tell that to my frustrated throat, trying to learn French. Screw you, Rosetta Stone!

I didn’t mean that. I’m very grateful for Rosetta Stone. Even if it is sometimes more like a kidney stone. And this Matrix business, is going somewhere.

A few posts back, I said I was going to talk about the fear of the next book. Here it goes. Exercising demons in five, four, three…

I’m never going to write another book. I can’t. There are no more books in me. There will never be another decent idea. It’s over. Nice knowing you. Time to trash the laptop.

That’s what happens every time I finish a book. Like clockwork. And even though I know it’s just part of the routine, I’m always convinced. This one is the last one. This one is it. "But it never is," my rational brain says. "Just because it hasn’t been yet, doesn’t mean it won’t be one day," my other rational brain says. "One day, it will really be the last book. So…it might be today!"

I’m not sure which, but one of my brains is a serious a-hole. Here’s another writerly neurosis. See if you can hum along.

This book isn’t going anywhere! It’s not even going to be a book! There is not enough plot here, and I don’t know where it’s going, but I’m fairly certain it’s about to derail and leave me stranded in shit creek. What am I at? 25k? And I need how many words? There aren’t that many words.

That’s the one that strikes when I start a book. Because every time I wonder if what I’m starting is really a book, or just feels like one, and in a few weeks I’m going to turn a corner and run into a brick wall, or worse, find myself on the most boring street of the most smelly town in Contrived-ville. This neurosis is directly linked to this next one:

You want me to write how many books? But I can’t even see past the end of this book! And you expect me to know that there are more books? Okay, but in a few months, we both might look pretty darned foolish…

That’s the one that happens when I’m in the midst of a duology. Or a trilogy, like I’m currently attempting. (Not Anna. Anna’s duology already survived this neurosis.) And I watch movies like The Matrix marathon on AMC (see how I brought that back around?) and halfway through Revolutions I think, "they should have knocked this off at 2. Or one." And then I think about my trilogy, and apply the same logic. Cue the restart of the spiral.

I should probably be less crazy. But what the heck. The writing life is never certain. So some healthy worrying and paranoia and all around wackanuts never hurt anyone. There are other sets of neuroses, too, less related to the actual writing and more related to market forces. Maybe I’ll tackle them one day. But not today.

Baby Can You Dig Your Man? (He’s a Righteous Man, He’s a Righteous Man!)

That’s from the Stephen King miniseries The Stand, adapted from his novel about the survivors of the apocalypse. I suppose the recent non-rapture has me thinking about the end. Humanity ground to dust, and all the elephants say "Hey-O! Now we can stop evolving our tusks away because poachers will no longer totally kill us for them. Good thing, too, because digging for water is way harder with these big, dull feet."

I hear that The Stand is going to be adapted to the screen again. But I’m pretty fond of Gary Sinise as Stu Redman, so, producers, do so at your peril.

Time is starting to pass funny. Anna Dressed in Blood comes out in about 12 weeks. That’s going to be here…yesterday. There are only a few more months before it’s out, speculation over, we know what’s what. I alternate between trying to slow these days down and whip them to a lather. (Why does everything I whip leave me? Ah, Homer Simpson.) Almost time, too, to revise Secret Project S, and send the query pack for the trilogy off to the agent. There are still a few questions about the ending. But from her first-read reaction, I think she’ll be okay with whatever direction I decide to go. I suppose I should stop calling it Secret Project S pretty soon, but I’m a superstitious piece of crap, and in the writing community, I don’t think that puts me in the minority. (Not the piece of crap part. The superstitious part.)

People ask for blog posts now, and to participate in chats, but it’s always a struggle to come up with ideas, because I hesitate to give any kind of general publishing/writing advice. Who am I? What do I know? Just the answers to a very particular set of circumstances, and sometimes not even that much. But I think, when I look back, I’m going to have the urge to tell people to enjoy whatever stage they’re at. Wring the most enjoyment out of it as you can. Pretty basic. But sometimes we all forget to do it.

I…Am…So…Pissed…Off…Right…Now…

Cartman from South Park, you’re still my favorite. I spent the better part of this weekend quoting him, after watching the season finale of FRINGE. I love Fringe, and I loved Fringe’s season finale. I’m not pissed at it. I’m pissed that I have to wait until the fall for any more of it. Very. Very. Pissed.

And Anna Torv rocks my socks.

Fair warning, it’s going to get a little horn blowy below. As in, I have a small horn, and I’m going to be tooting it. For like eight sentences.

Here are some blurbs that have come in for Anna Dressed in Blood:

“I loved Cas! And the world he inhabits is terrifyingly vivid and utterly compelling. Get ready to sleep with the lights on because this book has teeth. Sharp ones.”–Stacey Kade, author of The Ghost and the Goth series

 “Anna Dressed in Blood is easily one of my favorite books of all time and is exactly what I’d hoped it would be: Gorgeous, brutal, heart-breaking, merciless, and cool as Hell. This is the kind of book I’ve been dying to read!”—Courtney Allison Moulton, author of Angelfire

And Melissa Marr said she read it and enjoyed it in an interview here. And as was previously announced, Anna was nominated for the ALA’s Quick Picks List for Reluctant Young Readers.

That’s it. And it’s awesome and I’m grateful and EXTREMELY relieved that these authors have read and enjoyed the book. I should also mention that I no longer feel like the book is something I wrote. Instead I feel like it’s a thing that I’m just incidentally involved in. It’s a weird feeling but I’m somehow okay with it.

I finished Courtney Allison Moulton’s ANGELFIRE last week, and it reminded me why I love and hate to start series before they’re completed. Now I have to wait for more story. And I’m no good at waiting. See above, Re: I Am So Pissed Off Right Now. And I’m halfway through Holly Black’s The Poison Eaters and Other Stories. So far my favorite is A Reversal of Fortune, because it made me long for a candy store, and also because I had a craving to re-read Stephen King’s O Henry-winning story, "The Man in the Black Suit", and it stilled that craving. Anyway, both of these books, highly recommended.

Next week, I think I’ll ball up and address the fear that I’ve lost the ability to write my next book. But I’m not up for it today. As luck would have it however, that fear never really goes away.

Last item of business: the other day I saw the first request for a fileshare of Anna Dressed in Blood. Okay, now I know this is going to happen, and I’m not going to get all Metallica on you and flip my shit. All I’ll say is this: Please don’t. I understand if you want to read it (and am really psyched about that, actually) and can’t afford it, or heck, just don’t want to spend the money, but do try other things first. Please request it at your local library. Because then you read it and also get to feel good about supporting your local library. Most of em can even get it to you via e-reader. Everybody wins. Over and out.

I Sort of Thought He’d Die in a Freak Shuffleboard Accident

Osama Bin Laden is dead. Killed during a military operation in Pakistan.  In the coming days, it will be interesting to listen to the world. People are going to have plenty to say, and I think I’ll just shut up and listen. Only…it had been so long…and they kept saying how old he was…I had sort of thought he’d die in a freak shuffleboard accident and we’d never hear about it.

Moving on…I think my DVR is turning me into a demanding, TV watching asshole. I thought it’d really free up my schedule, unchain me from the moving picture screen and the computer. Instead I’ve become impulsive, all GIMME GIMME GIMME! when I see a new show. Before I know it I’ve got an epic stack of recorded things to watch. I used to brag that the only show I was remotely addicted to was House. And then Fringe happened. And then Chopped. And then I started recording everything I ever watched because I couldn’t be bothered to watch it with *gasp* COMMERCIALS. Now, between Camelot, The Borgias, The Walking Dead, and Game of Thrones, it’s fair to say my life is over. I’m exaggerating here, but oddly enough, not that much.

In the reading world, I’m closing in on the midway mark in Courtney Allison Moulton’s ANGELFIRE, which is completely addictive, and the pages go by without me even knowing, except that it continually tries to give me papercuts, because I think the thing feeds on human blood. I also keep trying to break into Dancing After Hours, but my comparison of Dubus to Carver is undermining the effort. Once I stop being such a headcase, it’s going to be brilliant.

Saw Insidious. You should too, if you like things that are uncertain and scary. Also, if you enjoyed Poltergeist. If you didn’t enjoy Poltergeist, then you should leave after the first ninety minutes. But those first ninety minutes. Yow. Dylan got so scared, he bit me. That’s what he does when threatened. He’s a biter.

People are reading Anna Dressed in Blood. They are kind, and I am grateful. One of these days, I’ll write a post about what it’s like to try to sit in front of a computer screen while simultaneously shuffling your feet, looking at your shoes, stuffing your hands into your pockets and saying, "aw shucks I’m uncomfortable." But not today.

The London Book Fair! And Small Presses

No quote today. Because I’m half-dead, having returned from London on Thursday night and still feeling the jet-lag, or time change, or post-motion sickness patch hangover. Whatever it is, it has left me pretty dumb, and with poorly functioning eyeballs. But it was worth it. Nearly two weeks of playing tour guide for Dylan and walking miles along the Thames, and eating way too much fish and chips, bangers, and mushy peas. Despite the walking I gained four pounds. So, hey, fish and chips and bangers…a plague on both your houses.

And then of course, there was the LBF:

 
It was a bustling and enormous trade show. Walking the floor, my head spun seeing all the displays and brushing shoulders with so many people tagged with titles like Acquiring Editor and Subrights Agent. I spent several hours at a small booth, promoting my small press book, Sleepwalk Society. Never heard of it? Don’t worry. Few people have. Despite the fact that I and my small press have been quietly pushing it for months, and despite good reviews. It’s not one of those big, slam bang blockbusters. It’s existential, and character-driven. it’s about finding a future, and falling in love when neither of those things are certain.

A few things about small, independent presses. I remember being at a writer’s conference in Madison, Wisconsin, and listening to an agents panel. I only remember one exact quote, and that was an agent who sometimes advised her clients to consider a smaller press, because "you can really be treated like a star." That’s certainly been the case with my small press publisher. Working so closely, directly with the publisher themselves, has a very, in-the-trenches-together kind of feel. And for a significant portion of the year, my book has been front and center, and she has scrambled, and managed, and micro-managed, and forged contacts, and tested waters, to make sure that everything went smoothly for me. 

Now, after a lovely phone call this morning, it feels as though we’re at an end. We’re both moving on to our new projects, and the word, "backlist" was thrown around. She’s still working diligently, shopping film rights, -so hey, Darren Aronofsky, you listening?- but most of the push is over. And my focus too, is shifting more fully to Anna Dressed in Blood. But we’ll still keep in touch.

This is not to say I don’t love the team at Tor. Duh. They’re awesome. This is just a little love letter to PRA Publishing, thrown out into cyberspace.

There was also some post-writing location research at the Tower of London, and some of the north London neighborhoods, just to make sure I hadn’t gotten anything horribly wrong. And luckily, my memory seemed to have held true. Location research for what, you ask? Well, you can probably guess.

And, lest I forget, Dylan realized one of his lifelong goals, by touching a penguin:


The penguin seemed more surprised than anything. Of course then he gave us the stinkeye and muttered, "damn tourists," before waddling off.