Hey, kids. Been a longish time since I've posted. Which means that I've either been writing, or traveling. Or in this particular passport-stamping instance, a bit of both.
I sent an early draft of the new book to my illustrious editrix long before the recent blood moon and she had tremendously wonderful feedback, which also requires tremendously strenuous rewriting. (Think Mt. Rushmore, but adding a different face and shorting the chin of Abe Lincoln and giving George Washington braces). The new book will undoubtedly be better for it, but these things take time.
Speaking of time, I took a little time off to visit Paris. And while I hung out with authors Janet Skeslien Charles, James Grady, and the incredibly talented Aliette de Bodard (we went to Literary Boot Camp together back in 2006) I was really there for a mental palate cleansing before I dive back into my Seattle based book which has a new working title: WITH MY MEMORIES, I LIT THE FIRE.
Oddly enough that title comes from a translation of a song in the 50s by French singer Edith Piaf. And sure enough, all over Paris we're hearing this broken-hearted ballad. So in the immortal words of Buckaroo Banzai, "No matter where you go, there you are."
Okay, back to my Batman pajamas and that whole writing thing.