October 4, 2013

Oh great . . .

 

Great.  Splendid.  The best.  I think I’m coming down with something.  A fever-shakes-aches-and-pains-and-staying-in-bed type of something.  MAYBE IT DOESN’T REALLY MEAN IT.  One of the few up sides of ME is that it tends to be very jealous of its control over your health and to see off mere commonplace germs.  But this is not something you can count on.  Meanwhile in my little tap-dance and smoke-and-mirrors way there are twangly stressors that don’t get mentioned much in the blog.  In the first place while it’s lovely to have a new book out, especially one you are receiving lots of lovely feedback on,* it’s also stressful.  The bottom line is that if your last book doesn’t do too brilliantly the future of the next one is in doubt.  SHADOWS seems to be doing well . . . but you can’t help worrying.  Well, I can’t help worrying.

In the second place I received another of those lightning-bolts from headquarters not long ago** and . . . um.  Well, it’s a homeopathic/alt medicine principle that sometimes you get a cold or a fever because your body is doing housecleaning and getting rid of or setting fire to stuff it doesn’t want any more.  And this particular lightning-bolt was definitely the ‘get rid of this rubbish’ variety.  So while my mind is still reeling my body may be getting on with business.

And third . . . I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you this story.  It would make such good blog material because it is bonkers to a very high degree.  But I don’t think I can.  Someone I deal with on an almost daily basis got knocked off her perch by something—I don’t even know what—and I’ve been morphed involuntarily into the Big Bad so she has someone to blame.  WHAT?  Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  There was one truly spectacular phone call but a lot of it has proceeded by text and email so I can go back and READ IT and reassure myself that I’m not the crazy one here.  Crumbs.  But I’m still suffering bunker mentality, which is a germ magnet.

So you’ll forgive me if I use responding to forum comments as a crutch again, and then I’m going to bed.  With a good book, but an undemanding good book.  Possibly one I already know the end of, so I don’t have to worry about that.

* * *

Blondviolinist

boddhi_d wrote

Never mind a sequel to Sunshine; I’m holding out for the cookbook.

That’s one of the biggest similarities between SHADOWS & SUNSHINE that I noticed… SHADOWS doesn’t have quite the emphasis on food that SUNSHINE does, but there were several dishes (starting with Maggie’s mom’s chicken, apples, & cream meal) that I very much want the recipe for!

This boggles my mind.  SUNSHINE—and Sunshine—are obsessed with food.  She’s a baker at her stepdad’s café!  And although the story went as the story went, stories are often clever this way, and this does make the whole ‘feeding’ thing with Con more resonant.  Maggie in SHADOWS is just a teenage girl who likes her food.  I admit that I took advantage of opportunities to specify—the chicken, apples and cream, the chickpea and tomato stew . . . and of course the hot chocolate—but it didn’t seem to me there was, you know, lots of food.  I may be suffering the mental and emotional effects of Post Menopausal Zero Metabolism/Possessed by Demons ME Digestion worse than I realised.

Oh, I’ve got that chicken recipe . . . somewhere.  Remind me again when there’s less going on and I’ll look for it.

Stardancer

. . . my heart got a bit wrenched just by being reminded of OUTLAWS. I would adore a sequel to that book. But I adore all of the other worlds, too, including the ones I haven’t met yet,

::Beams::

so who I am to demand one over the other? . . .  (Although I must say that knowing that any such sequel would NOT include Robin’s murder by a homicidal abbess greatly cheers me. I couldn’t believe it when my beautiful hardback, illustrated set of Robin stories as a child ended on that note.)

Howard Pyle by any chance?  I know he’s ancient but that edition’s a classic.  And it’s the one that ruined my life.  It genuinely depressed me about being a girl—I wasn’t even menstruating yet, so I was still officially a kid.  I had always clung to tomboy status, but I already knew I wasn’t going to grow up to be a boy.  It wasn’t just that she killed him, my beautiful kind generous heroic Robin, she killed him by treachery.  I couldn’t bear it.  It makes me feel a little sick even now.  A little sick and a lot angry.

Hmm.  I could always just write that part of the story.  Hmmm.

Ivonava

. . . I have trouble with the footnotes occasionally, but find they often read quite happily on their own. . . .

A lot of people read them like this.  I know because they tell me.  You read a post straight through top to bottom unless there’s a footnote at a particularly tantalizing point so you’ll flick down for that one.  Or you’re reading the footnotes and you find one whose antecedent is not obvious so you flick up.

It’s okay.  It’s only a blog.  Nobody dies.

I have a feeling that the people that demand sequels are simply a little challenged in their ability to express their delight, and know no better than to ask for more of the same. I’m sure it’s intended as a compliment.

I think in some cases that’s true.  This is another of those things I’d never quite articulated—partly because I’m not at my best when the s-word is used in my hearing—but I think you’re right, and I should try to remember it the next time it happens.  It’s a sort of alternative formula for squeeeee.

Some of these people, however, are more addicts.  These are the people who MUST HAVE MORE.  They’re ripping open the next pack of Green & Black’s before they’ve finished the first.  I’m that way about books myself.  Just not about sequels.

* * *

* And I delete unread anything that begins ‘you stupid cow’ or equivalent.  I also delete immediately if something that started well devolves into ‘you stupid cow’ territory.

** You hear about burning bushes and ladders and angels and things in the Bible^ but you rarely hear about that sensation of having had a bucket of cold water dumped over you.  Or maybe I just haven’t got to those parts yet.

^ Never sleep with a stone for a pillow, that’s my motto.  How could you NOT have weird visions if you’re trying to sleep with your head on a stone?

comments

Please join the discussion at Robin McKinley's Web Forum.