BLW3 & Forbidden Lore: The Talon of Horus
You may have noticed that I’m not online much right now. Not here, not there, not anywhere. This is indeed the case. If you noticed it, you’ve earned yourself a shiny new badge. You keen-eyed little fucker, you.
Mostly it’s to do with deadlines; I usually drop off the face of the Earth as a novel(la) starts its final gasping, shitting-itself run to the finish line, and that’s exactly what’s happening now. I’m almost agonisingly ready for this novel(la) to be finished, because I’ve got an entirely new way of Making Words Happen beginning with the next project. I’m optimistic that’ll help me actually get within reach of a real deadline without doing what I usually do – which is to take three times too long to write something, while lovingly composing tear-filled emails to my editor.
In unrelated news, I bring you a link, just to show I’m still alive. Here’s an interview I did with the Independent Characters for their Forbidden Lore segment, centred on The Talon of Horus. These segments are always spoilertastic, and this one’s no different. Here’s a direct link for your convenience. I start gobbing off at 1hr 35mins.
The Road to Jove is ticking away in the background, now at a stage where it requires much less work from me, since a lot of it is in David’s hands. So… good luck, dude. Y’all may remember this image and the fact I said absolutely nothing about it:
Well, soon I’ll say stuff about it. All kinds of things. Soon, soon, my pretty chickens.
Also, the Black Library Weekender III happened, and it was amazing. Specifics from these things are very hard to give, but suffice to say I had a blast.
A personal highlight was the wonderful and mighty Roxana Hire (who was in the selfie contest, don’cha know) giving us this amazing gift, for Shakes.
And lastly, as I said on Facebook and Twitter, Katie may tell you I cried at the new Star Wars trailer. This isn’t true. Yes, I involuntarily trembled when I saw the X-Wings and heard their engine noises. Yes, it was almost a joygasm and fun-spasm in the same moment. And sure, when I saw the Millennium Falcon I covered my mouth with a hand and silently shed two entirely manly tears.
But they were exquisitely manly, I promise you, in whatever context of “manly” you find most attractive in a friend, lover, or distant slow-ass novelist whose name you can’t spell without double-checking. A Viking lumberjack who eats bears? Sure, that’s me. A sensitive and poetic soul who looks hauntingly out over the oceanic horizon? Yeah, that’s me too.
The point is: I rock.
Those of you who live in that magical and possibly mythical world across the ocean will have recently celebrated either the (occasionally dry) deliciousness of poultry or… stabbing up a bunch of indigenous people. I’m not sure which, and I’m not one to judge. Suffice to say I love the idea of a holiday entirely centred on the idea of giving thanks and hanging out with your family, and I hope my dear Americanite readers gorged themselves appropriately on the flesh of flightless birds and the (occasionally dry) affection of their kindred.
Are we done here?
We’re done here.
Now go away.