Remember I told you about Googling Brother paying a visit last weekend with his own pet plague monkey (albeit a shaved, dribbly one)? Well she has worked her infectious magic, and now every time I move my head it's like being in the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan, only without all the people getting shot and blown up. Most of my days at the moment revolve around people getting dismembered. But you know what I mean. It's like there's a drunk camera man standing between me and the world.
Walking's fun too; I've developed a distinct list to the left. And if I stand up and sit down fast, it's like downing four pints and a nip of whisky on an empty stomach. Brilliant. I don't need to go out on the batter any more, just indulge in a spot of standing up and sitting down. And there's no hangover either! Hurrah!
Of course, there is a risk that someone will see me in my dishevelled state and take advantage of me. Which is worrying. God knows Claudia Schiffer has been lurking round in the bushes at the bottom of the garden for long enough, sneaking out every now and then to steal pants off the washing line. Have to remember to keep the doors locked today.
In other news (not that the above counts as news, it's more a kind of incoherent ramble) the cover for the German Edition of DYING LIGHT is now up on amazon.de. Agent Phil pointed it out to me yesterday, which I thought was very good of him, given that he'd been out for a 'power lunch' the day before with a publisher. *ahem*
Die Stunde des Mörders
AKA: The hour of the murderer
Fingers crossed it does well for them. I know some writers are of the opinion that with translations you should take the money and run, but I just don't seem able to do that: I want it to do well. And not just in a 'if it does well, there'll be more money to spend on beardicures and black sports socks' kind of way, if it didn't do well then I'd feel like I'd let the publisher down.
But then maybe I take this all too seriously.
Labels: Dying Light, Whinge