I swear I did not immigrate to Outer Plutonium, or remove to a secret location at the bottom of the North Atlantic Trench, or board the Marrakesh Express, next stop LaLa Land.
Rather, I have been diligently hunched over my trusty thinkpad, hacking out the final draft of FLORA REDUX.
Yeah, you've heard that one before, I know. But it's true, and now I can say in all absolute honesty that I am within striking distance of The End. Which means I shall be back to more regular blogging soon--but not quite yet.
Next week, I think. By October 1st at the very latest. I apologize for the blog silence, but please understand it's for a good cause. And, believe me, it's taken superhuman Will to keep from aloof from blogger and livejournal--for we all know, diddling away your time tracking the trivialities of your life is so much more fun than actually writing.
Anyway, I don't know why you'd be wasting time with me, anyway, when Michel Faber has a new one out: Vanilla Bright like Eminem. I haven't read it yet--another feat of super human strength, because my copy is sitting not ten feet from where I am now typing, whispering promises of the fabulousity contained within--but I know it's terrific because everything Sieur Faber writes is terrific. And also, because The New York Times says so. (For once, The NYT is surely right on the mark.)
So get thee out, get the book, and by the time you are done, I'll be back.
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1 comment:
Do hurry. We're pining away out here in the firry woods north of Califa. I'll get the Faber in the meantime but I know it's not going to last long as a stopgap. Cierra Califa! (Whatever that means.)
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