I had a surreality attack this morning. I used to get them sometimes when I was in grad school and did most of my writing by hand during my less interesting classes. It's hard to explain what happens, but it's very much a moment of "Whoa, words are coming out of me and they make a story". There's a split second of objectivity where you aren't actually in your own life and you look at it from the outside and ask yourself, what the actual fuck?
Guys, I gotta tell you, this isn't a bad thing, but there is an awful lot of my life that falls in the "what the actual fuck" category. :D
I got a surreality attack when I got my first proof copy of Nameless
in the mail, but I think that was the last time it happened. I think it's happening with Dead Isle now because Dead Isle has taken years to come to fruition, and when I originally wrote it I was just...fucking around. Nameless
had a personal purpose, and Charitable Getting
were both written with the intent that I'd publish them already in mind, but Dead Isle was never like that. So I guess it was more "Holy crap, this thing is going to be an actual facts book."
It's going to be a large book. I'm a little scared.
Anyway, Dead Isle Chapter Seventeen
is posted. There's a bit of new stuff replacing a lot of old stuff -- this is one of the places I did the most cutting -- so we'll see how it works.
And now I'm off to die of pressure-change induced sinus pain. Come to me, Sudafed....