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Hello from out here on the Thames Delta, where I am very slowly recovering from a flu/chest infection gone bad that took me out for nearly two weeks.  Which is why I didn't write to you last week. I've had bad doses of the flu before, but nothing like this.  There were emergency antibiotics and some really interesting neurological effects. And my throat sealed over. And the bug got under my skin and into my legs. All good fun. Today is the last day of eating a gram and a half of broad-spectrum antibiotics at a time, and hopefully the thing inside me is dead and gone.  There were a fascinating few days where I could actually feel the infection fighting to live inside me. I could lay there, close my eyes and find it, track its retreats and regroups.

I've also been hallucinating a fair bit, so, you know, take all that with a pinch of salt.  I was completely nuts for a couple of days and had nobody to talk to about it but a couple of very skeptical cats.

 
 

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I watched the Paris nightmare unfold on my phone while bedridden. Had to place a couple of messages to friends whom I knew may be in the general area -- all safe. I was switching between BBC News and the Guardian app and Twitter.  Twitter was useless. For the first time in my experience, Twitter was full of nonsense, screaming and crazy people. So many people were tweeting about #PorteOuverte that the hashtag was rendered useless. Weird, blatantly invented "information" rattling around. Because I was on my phone, I didn't have easy access to my lists, so I was stuck in the main timeline.  Never seen it that bad before.

Going off Twitter is probably close to professional suicide for me, and I won't be absolutist about it, but I feel like I'm done. I'm just using it read-only in lists and as a messaging app in DMs now.

I also just discovered that I was virally gifted some new Tumblr messaging system. Vaguely horrified by being infected with messaging.

I technically can't travel right now -- by which I mean I have people yelling "you can't go to Berlin just because you saw that it's going to snow there next weekend, you're on antibiotics for The Black Death" - but I would really like to be in Paris soon. France is a magnificent country, a keystone of civilisation and a seat of essential culture, and its people have never shown me anything but kindness. 

Random factoid I just learned: when he lived in a cottage outside Paris, Samuel Beckett used to drive Andre The Giant to school every morning.

 
 

++ Catherynne M Valente

I think the first book of Cat's I read was PALIMPSEST, and I immediately hated her. Her prose is just astonishing to me: each line shining and resonant as a ringing bowl.  I just started her new one, RADIANCE, and she makes me want to chop my own hands off. I asked her to answer three questions about writing so that I might steal her powers.

How many drafts of a piece do you do, on average? Your prose has such a polished quality, and I don't know if you sculpt sentences over drafts, or just have a low daily word count because you work the sentences slowly in a single draft, or whether I should have you killed because you're a genius.

This is a complicated question for me! I write from first word to last word, moving through the book as a reader would. I can’t jump around and write different parts and come back, my brain just doesn’t work that way. If I skipped over a scene to write a different one I would never go back and write the one I didn’t want to work on enough that I skipped over it in the first place. But I also can’t really go on to the next bit if the previous chapters and paragraphs and sentences don’t feel good to me. So I’m constantly editing as I go along. I’ll also read chapters out loud to my partner to get a feel for their rhythm and emotional effect.

All this means that by the time I get to the last sentence, it’s something like a net third draft. I’ll put it aside for a few days to clear my head and have a little distance, then go back through it for clarity and tightening. Once my editor gets back to me, I’ll do any major surgery needed (usually this has to do with plot, which is much harder for me than language. I get very few line edits, but I have to really ride myself hard to keep my plots in check and everything I want to be clear to the reader clear) and that will almost always be the final edit. I’ll simplify some sentence structure or syntax in the copyedit sometimes, if I let my grammar get away from me.

But I also have a relatively high daily word count. This is mostly because my brain functions much better writing day on/day off or day on/two days off than every day. So I’ll write anywhere between 2000-4000 words on an average work day, ramping up to 4000-7000 if I’m under a tight deadline. If I’m at the end of the book, I’m usually flying, and there’s usually at least one 10,000 word day. But since my excitement carpal tunnel awhile back, I try to keep the big number days to a minimum. The thing is, the way my writing comes out is pretty natural to me. It’s not necessarily how I talk, but it’s how I think. Writing in a pared down Hemingway-esque style is much harder and slower for me than writing the way I do. While coming up with names and concepts and details and certain kinds of wordplay takes plenty of thought and planning, on a word to word and sentence to sentence level, once I’ve got the “voice” of the book, it mostly comes out that way.

I've met two kinds of writer, broadly -- the ones who do a deep outline and build from that, and the ones who strike out with a scene or image and just follow the book wherever it wants to go.  Which are you, and why?

I used to be a no-outline, fly by the seat of my heart, dive in and blow things up and let the denouement fall where it may kind of girl. I never outlined anything—it felt like, if I did, all the excitement of making the book would sort of drain out the bottom of the outline. I’d know how it ended, so my brain would just wander off. So I wrote, cribbing Murakami, by my headlights, knowing just enough to navigate the local area where I was working.

But then I started writing children’s books. And kids don’t have a lot of patience for a story that unfolds organically, takes awhile to get where it’s going, and stops to smell the diners along the way. They want to get right into the action and stay there, and then go to some more action and more surprises, and then end with excitement, a big action scene, and a couple of shocking twists. At least for me, that requires an outline, so that everything is turning as tightly as it can, and I don’t wander off to sit in a field and think about witches for awhile. And once I started doing that with the kids’ books, I started doing it with the adult ones, too. So nowadays, I will write without an outline for about 3-5 chapters, then sit down and outline the rest. But it’s a loose outline. Chapter titles and act breaks and notes towards the end, without a prescription for the end. I still like to make room to surprise myself, though. No spoilers, even for me. 

I have this theory that a lot of writers have a bucket list of genres or styles they want to try at some point. Can you name one, or do you think differently?  I tried this question on Robin Sloan, but the premise kind of didn't work on him, so I'm testing it again on you.

I TOTALLY have a bucket list! Until Radiance, I would have said science fiction. I definitely want to write more SF, and different sorts. SF is such a huge blanket. I’d love to write a graphic novel, that’s a big one. And I’d like to try a murder mystery, maybe not even a speculative one (though, really, who am I kidding, I’d find a way to get some kind of tentacle in there). I’ve also been contemplating a straight-up horror novel. Almost all of my books have dark (sometimes very dark) elements to them, but I don’t classify any of them as primarily horror. And what the hell? I totally want to write a musical.

Cat's new book is RADIANCE (UK) (US).  You can find her at @catvalente and http://www.catherynnemvalente.com/.

Are you liking this interview section?  Let me know.  And tell your friends.

 
 
 

SPEKTRMODULE 46: The Fog And The Sails

34 minutes of new sleepy music. (link

2500 people passed out to the last one.

 

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That's the cover to INJECTION 8 by Dec and Jordie up there.  INJECTION VOL 1 was a top 10 graphic novel in the month of its release, which was nice.

Jason Howard and I are working on TREES 14, the last episode of Vol 2 - for newcomers, this was the issue most seriously delayed by my hospital shenanigans.  He and I are taking a break after Vol 2 to regroup. Vol 3 is going to be a really difficult thing, so we need a breather.

The most real work I've done in the last few days is write blurbs. I've written something for Benjamin Percy's forthcoming (excellent) book on writing and storytelling, and Geoff Manaugh's incredibly brilliant BURGLAR'S GUIDE TO THE CITY -- it was almost exactly two years ago that he and I spoke together at Studio-X in NYC about robbery and murder. I have a new Paul Jenkins book to look at tonight, and Amber Case just sent me something I've really been looking forward to - her forthcoming book on calm technology.

Huh. Two years ago. The first snow of the season hit while I was standing on the corner of Mercer and Prince. I remember seeing Melissa Gira Grant at Studio-X, whom I hadn't seen since my Bay Area days - 2004, maybe? A night at an ex-Nigerian Embassy out by the Presidio, watching the US Presidential Election. I was staying with friends, and my abiding memory of the day after was watching the tiniest and angriest little domme in the world pad through the house in pink pyjamas hissing "thank god I have a man to torture today."

That 2004 visit was the one time I ever *did* Halloween in the US.  Started at the big parade in the Castro - which was a sight to see, if you're ever out there at that time of year - ended up at the DNA Lounge watching jwz (worked on the early web, cashed out and bought a nightclub) lurch around in a spacesuit and seeing my friend Josie Nutter perform as part of Spectacular Spectacular onstage.

Jesus, this is turning into a bad Proust pastiche. OH THE MEMORIES AS I COUGH SPUTUM UPON THE FROZEN GROUND OF THE NOW

 
 

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And I'm done.  Because I'm exhausted, which is the weird aftermath of the infection and the drugs. I swear I need someone to just sit here and hypnotise me in order to rein in my brain and make me do things. So, if you'll forgive me, I'm going to bail out here, get some work done, and marshall my energies for a full return to service next week.  Your notes are always appreciated, as is your tolerance.  See you next Sunday for a full edition, and, in the meantime, hold your loved ones close and hold your hated ones underwater.

-- W