My book LORD OF BONES is the September pick here for the Barnes and Noble paranormal and urban fantasy book club. My great thanks to Paul Goat Allen. Come by, come by, come by the forums, even if you haven’t read the thing, or even if you kind of hate it.
June and August were months of hard reflection for me, due to the LCE (Life-Changing-Event) that will continue to be cloaked in mystery (or “mystery”, if you’re a type who might want to make air quotes). Let me be clear: this is not exactly tragic. My ten-week-old son Nevada Alexander Musk died of a SIDS-related event six years ago. That event was a tragedy. This is cake. It is just a very sad cake — like the bricklike Christmas fruity kind some cousin (the weird one who has been quietly resenting you for years) might regift you for your birthday. In June.
But every now and again, the mist that hangs over all of us to varying degrees clears up a little, or a lot, and you look around and realize you’re on a deserted island*. Although you’ve got enough drinkable water to last until the next luxury cruise ship comes in, the only thing to eat is your weird-cousin fucking fruitcake. So you put it off for as long as possible. Then you eat up every crumb.
And find, in the midst of all that yuckiness — which in this scenario remains difficult to ingest despite the miraculous tasty spice of your own ravenous hunger — some deeply nourishing nugget that your soul has been desperate for all along. Otherwise it’s your doom to end up back on that island, again and again and again, only to find it shrinking in size…until you turn blue and sink down into seaweed, and perhaps some lovely coral if humankind hasn’t totally destroyed it by then.
Okay, yes, I know, it’s a wacked-out analogy. But at the moment it’s all I got.
My favorite place for aforementioned hard reflection is a stunning multileveled deck that overlooks hillsides laced with roads and studded with mansions diminished by distance until they look unreal and toylike.
Unfortunately the deck doesn’t belong to me, otherwise I’d do all my reflecting there, or maybe just stare and sip wine — or coffee, depending — and strike attractive thinker-type poses. The other night I had dinner with two friends in the courtyard patio of a charming little restaurant, and afterwards we visited The Deck. We talked about everything and nothing as billows of fog drifted round us, stealing the view, folding us into a private ghost world. Hours ticked by. They were slow and intimate and cool, those hours. They were part of that nugget in the fruitcake, and once again I find myself grateful.
* No, I have no idea how you got there. I choose not to trouble myself with such detail.