I miss Vancouver.
I miss Vancouver Island too, come to think of it. Okay, I do not miss living on a Gulf Island, dependent on ferries. But part of the reason I decided to put my Canadian series in BC was so that I could justify traveling west even more than before.
I don’t really miss the place we used to live in in New Westminster. If you’ve read Fucked Again, that would be Twitch’s apartment. We really did have a lot of crazy people around, and walk a block to the Sev and find out they’ve been robbed and are just cleaning up.
But great inspiration for writing.
I think I might go back in the fall. Exactly when to squeeze it in is the trick, what with BoucherCon, my final book edits due, the special double issue of the Fall Spinetingler, the Cozy Noir contest, a handful of interviews and profiles I’m still working on for the Winter Issue…
In fact, I’m not sure when evilkev and I will manage holidays, which is just depressing. We should go to Banff at the very least and just lock ourselves away with books and chocolate and a fireplace and Jacuzzi. That would be wonderful.
Or we could go to LA and hang out with Stephen Blackmoore who has to be one of the coolest bloggers who isn’t going to BoucherCon.
I think he’s just not motivated enough.
It’s 6:30 in the morning and Kevin is sitting in my Muskoka chair in my office, reading Black and Blue. Which is interesting, because I actually know one of the reporters from Glasgow who was actively involved in the Bible John case, and he lives in BC now.
I’d love to sit down and interview him about that experience.
Maybe I should do that.
He did tell me Black and Blue was a damn good book, so I guess it holds up to scrutiny.
See, it really is 6:30 and I’m not thinking about much in particular, except this:
When the pale moon hides and the wild wind wails
And over the treetops a nighthawk sails
The grey wolf sits on the world’s dark rim
And howls and it seems to comfort him
The wolf is a lonely soul you see
No beast in the wood, nor bird in the tree
But shuns his path in the lonely gloom
They give him plenty and plenty of room
So he sits with his long, lean face to the sky
Watching the ragged clouds go by
There in the night, alone, apart
Singing the song of his lone, wild heart
Far away on the world’s dark rim
He howls and it seems to comfort him
Now, that might be off a word or 20, but I memorized that in Grade 2.
And I can’t, for the life of me, remember who wrote it. Anyone know?
Why is it I can remember this poem, the page in the reader I memorized it from, the feel of the book in my fingers, and not the name of the writer?
Seems kind of sad.
Kevin’s been sitting here, pulling books off shelves, giving critiques of the first page. Now, he’s finally shut up. What a blessing. I hate people talking to me when I’m writing.
Oh, he turned another page. Well, that’s good. Except I’m not sure I can trust him to return my books. Should I consider maintaining my no-lend policy?
We aren’t sure if we should allow Kevin to do reviews. He read a book while I was away - not one of mine, one he went out and bought without consulting me – and summed it up like this:
It compelled me. It compelled me to see my lunch again, followed by it made me want to cry because I spent my money on it.
Somehow, I’m sensing an unhappy author moment if we printed something like that.
Should we care?
Thing is, he won’t write them down anyway. Which means so far, I’m safe from dealing with hate mail for evilkev on top of everything else.
By the way, I’ve been trying to persuade evilkev to do a ‘life with Sandra’ blog post here. As much as his take on life with me is biased and annoying at times, I think you’d all find it hysterical.
If you’d like to see that, leave a comment. The more, the better the chances he’ll cave to pressure, because he’s one of those people who has to feel wanted. You know, make people beg for you.
But some people think that Kevin doesn’t have much say about anything in this house, and I think if Kevin did a post or two, there would be an increased sympathy for me.
Ooooohhhh, Kevin’s back to talking about that bad book, and the lack of action in a paragraph and he’s called it horrible. Now he’s comparing the author to Rankin, and absolutely pulverizing the poor writer.
I need headphones. I can’t type with him nattering in my ear.
Don’t forget about the contest – check out yesterday’s post. And I do hope by Monday I’ll be back to normal.
Or at least, normal for me. Which, as we all know, isn’t exactly the standard dictionary definition.
Oh, and thanks for the jokes, guys. I’ll be putting some of them up next week. To soften my incredibly negative review I’ll be posting…