A fellow member of an online writing community confessed to us all that he has a comic book coming out, a “supernatural noir thing”. His name is CJ Hurtt, and he pointed us in the direction of the book’s “nifty 3-D interactive site”. I’ve decided I read too many Literary things and not nearly enough comic books (or graphic novels). I hope my sons don’t grow up to follow my example.
My dog Hobbes went into surgery today. The vet won’t say anything definite until the results from the biopsies come back tomorrow, but I did manage to pull out of him that he doesn’t think it’s cancer.
So Hobbes is sedated and recovering, swaddled in what the vet termed “a bear hugger”, which sounds rather cute in a rather pitiable sort of way. Looks like we’ll be bringing him home on Saturday, after he’s had enough time to be Observed by the right people.
Now that I know he is most likely going to come out of this just fine — if not cured, at least in a condition that can be managed through diet and medicine — I am enjoying the amazing quiet that rolls through our house even when someone rings the doorbell.
It was Sarah Pinborough’s turn at Storytellers Unplugged the other day. I’m thoroughly enjoying every column by every writer who posts there, but I could relate to Sarah, who was born in the very same Year of the Rat as I, and who came to mass-market fiction without many (or any) short-story credits. She comes off as an absolute sweetheart. Which makes me think of something my mother-in-law likes to ask me every now and again: “What’s a nice girl like you doing writing things like this?” I suspect Sarah has also heard that once or twice, from people who, when they hear “she has a book coming out” probably think something like “oh! chick lit!” if only because there don’t seem to be many other options for female novelists these days.
Maybe if enough of us dark-fantasy and horror female-writer types manage to get enough attention, we’ll get grouped together under a cute and perky label of our own.
And I would like to take a little moment here to be thankful for the White Stripes. I finally picked up GET BEHIND ME SATAN and found myself wishing for one of those very special LA traffic situations that would enable me to sit in my car for fifty minutes, sip my coffee from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf (the coffee chain that, at least in Los Angeles, seems to be kicking Starbuckian ass) and listen to Jack and Meg. Where is gridlock when you need it, dammit?
I was too jaded to think they could ever come close to recapturing the sheer listening bliss that is ELEPHANT, yet they seem to have done exactly that.
I confess: this was actually the second time I bought that CD. My first copy of SATAN I managed to lose, in that impressive way I tend to lose things.