An interview with Dave Gourdoux. I was grateful that he raised the “persona” question. It’s been something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.
An interview with Dave Gourdoux. I was grateful that he raised the “persona” question. It’s been something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.
Still getting emails and notes about World Book Night. Thanks again to all, including Hoagy the fleeting mystery cat seen here helping the human prepare books for distribution. (Usually my books make cats sleepy.) (Veeerrry sleepy.)
Pretty much gobsmacked by the dedication and heartfulness of World Book Night givers. Three more stories:
Small town fire department visit.
Forgetful (I relate) giver who did it on her own.
Thank you one and all.
Nice wrap-up of World Book Night, with photos: Al Roker, books, fire trucks…
The purpose of this post is to offer my heartfelt thanks to those of you (both givers and readers) participating in World Book Night. After the word went out and givers started signing up, I quickly realized I couldn’t manage to personally thank everyone in the manner they deserved, so I hope this post will go a little way toward doing that. Notes, photos (including the Beagle’s tattoo!), and a video after the break.
Over at the World Book Night Tumblr they’re taking book quotes and blocking them up. Here’s one from Population 485.
Sold out show in Stoughton tonight. Jeepers and thanks. Gonna tell some new stories, read some new things, but also going to spend a little time looking back. Joggling around the idea of reading the opening paragraph of Population 485, because it’s been a long time since I’ve done that.
SUMMER HERE COMES ON like a zaftig hippie chick, jazzed on chlorophyll and flinging fistfuls of butterflies to the sun. The swamps grow spongy and pungent. Standing water goes warm and soupy, clotted with frog eggs and twitching with larvae. Along the ditches, heron-legged stalks of canary grass shoot six feet high and unfurl seed plumes. In the fields, the clover pops its blooms and corn trembles for the sky.
Since the day that book came out, I’ve received a pile of letters, emails and comments about my use of the word zaftig. It seems to elicit a strong reaction. My wise and trusted editor Frank told me to cut it. I left it. For the record, the comments run roughly 4:1 in favor. Go figure.
From the “P.S.” section of Population 485 (paperback only):
I breathed in that quiet firehouse fragrance (it’s a still smell…dampened notes of rubber, diesel, and concrete, all of it cushioned by undertones of smoked canvas).