I've been getting a fair bit of time to think about things of late, sat with my head thrown back, turning various wodges of toilet paper bright-scarlet with my nose. Which only leaves one hand free to type: hence the title. Things like my ITW nomination -- best first novel.
What do I do? Do I shout about it from the rafters in a frenzy of, "LOOK AT ME! I'VE BEEN SHORTLISTED!", or do I maintain a dignified silence, safe in the knowledge I don't stand a chance in hell of actually winning? It's the ITW's first year, so that means I get to be in the inaugural bunch of nominees -- which is very cool, but it also means that there's no history to it. Not like an Edgar, or a Gumshoe, or some sort of Dagger. So the associated buzz seems to have been much, much smaller. Which is a shame, because I think in the years to come winning an ITW Thriller is going to be a very big deal indeed. Hell, I'm even considering going out to Thrillerfest to do my, 'I'm glad someone else won, because I don't really want to have to dust something like that every day and polish it and show it off to everyone within a three mile radius... *sigh*' smile. And it's in Arizona on the cusp of June / July, so you know it'll be like eating a gala dinner inside the oven it was cooked in. So -- big it up, or play it cool, big it up, or play it cool...?
Other cud upon which to chew is the future of me as a write-ist. HarperCollins have hinted, obliquely, and without wanting to, you know, catch cooties, that they might like another three books. Preferably Logan ones. Can I do another three Logan books? I like him as a character, but NDC is proving to be so multilayered that there aren't going to be many crimes left for me to do without some hairy-arsed anorak going, but you did this one before! Maybe two Logie's and a standalone? But then a standalone breaks the momentum of a series. So, ponder, ponder, ponder...
Then there's the Writer For Hire gig I was approached about (along with another couple of writers - I'm not that super special) from a very reputable publisher with an intriguingly vague subject that I'm not allowed to talk about. Just have to say that the timescales were WAY too aggressive for me at the moment -- what with the looming deadline and all -- so I had to turn it down. Turning down money, Stuart? Are you MAD?????!?!?!??!?!?
And lastly, there's the decision to have this stupid nasal surgery. It's now day five and I'm leaking haemoglobin like a leaky thing. Were this a WWII movie, I'd be telling people to go on without me, I'll only slow them down. And they'd do it too, bastards. Abandoning me... It's weird just how quickly bizarre things can become commonplace. This morning I was making the cat's breakfast, trying to arrange things so I dripped blood in the sink, instead of down my front, or into her bowl. Even now I'm typing this with my right hand, because the left's being used to stem the crimson tide. And it doesn't look like stopping anytime soon.
This afternoon's going to be a sodding disaster, I can feels it in me water!