Headed to Charlottesville tomorrow for a radio interview with Monticello Media, who own five different area radio stations — all of which will be broadcasting my interview Sunday morning, May 15. No pressure there . . . no, not nervous at all . . .
And if you believe that one (about not being nervous), I have a nice island I would like to sell you. Payment in advance, of course. Non-refundable.
How do you give an interview and not sound like a total dork? I’m still not sure. I had Deena fire off a bunch of questions at me so I can at least have some prepared answers ahead of time, things like, What’s your book about? Who are your influences? What horror movies have you seen lately? I especially hate questions about other writers and movies because I never feel like I have the sort of comprehensive, up-to-date knowledge of the genre that I should. What do I think of the latest horror movies? Come on. You think I have the time or money to pop off to the theater with a 1 year old in my life? I’m lucky to have time to watch the garbage I’ve queued up on Netflix. (Right now, 28 Days Later is sitting on the baker’s rack. That shows you how current I’ve managed to stay with movies.) And I know that as soon as I’m asked about my favorite authors, I’ll choke and remember exactly zero names.
Blood Born is receiving some good buzz so far. People are telling me they’re reading it in two or three days flat. Hell, even Mom likes it. I’m glad. I’m particularly glad because I’ve lost all perspective on the novel. It happens after you read a thing through so many times. By the time galleys come in from the publisher, I’d rather shoot myself than read it through again, but I still have to.
Just started and finished my first creative project in two months and dropped it into the mail. This year has been hard so far: a perfect storm of the bad economy, my frigging house bleeding me to death (“Oh, the furnace dying wasn’t bad enough? How about the hot water heater, too?”), and one of my (now former) best friends pulling the Jekyll/Hyde routine by taking a huge, figurative shit all over his wife and son. I can’t stress how upsetting it’s been to watch someone willfully walk down a path of evil and selfishness, just like my own, loser father. How can anyone turn their back on their family, completely cutting them off and treating them like dirt? (Inserted venom here. Deleted. Inserted venom here. Deleted.)
So yeah, it’s been hard to concentrate in the middle of all that.
But things are looking up, as I said. The book is doing well, and I have another child on the way — one of flesh and blood, not paper and ink. That’s the kind of creative act that ultimately means more than anything.