Part 1

Part 2

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I write to you with the wind blowing in my house, carrying the sounds of an early fall night (by my reckoning). The winds are cool and wet after a gentle rain. I can let the outside in, anud that goes both for my house and myself.

It’s been a tough week, coming off vacation and dealing with a day job that’s a little like having a slow form of cancer. Going from what’s probably my lowest gear to the usual unoiled grind has been tiresome. My dog Rand also has gone back to his usual routine, getting me up in the middle of the night to pee. Every night. Last week I got to enjoy seven hours or more any time I wanted, bur even seven is a long time for me, especially uninterrupted. I’ve been on a swing.

Despite this, the writing couldn’t be better. Bemann, the next book, passed 500 pages this morning. I remember when I despaired at the idea of ever getting to 400, and that wasn’t so long ago! Now the end is in real sight, not a thought but a thing, with a shape and a measurable distance. I’m not adding so much anymore, just tying all the ends together into a braid which will twist tight in the conclusion. It’s bug, it’s got twists, and it’s definitely my best writing, even if it’s nowhere near as goofy as it’s been with, say, Redheads & Bubblegum. I still love that book. I also still love Beavis & Butthead, so you see my state of existence, don’t you?

Tell you what: I sure do.

To-Date:  The Canucks and Bruins have both overcome adversity this postseason, with Vancouver triumphing in Game 7 of the first round versus my beloved Blackhawks, and Boston fighting off disaster and sending the Flyers packing in a grudge match.  Vancouver has had more rest; the Bruins seem to thrive on pressure.  Both teams are rested after a longer-than-usual breaks before the Final.

Result: Bruins in…more than 5.  There’s a very slim chance this will be one-sided, but weird things do happen in the Finals.  I think 6 is most likely, six close games.  Plus, the Cup tends to be won by overdue teams when they’re on the road.  7 is a very real scenario, but there’s no real predicting how we’d get there, given it’s these two teams.

Conn Smythe (playoff MVP): A goalie.  Thomas or Luongo, dead-heat even if they wind up on the losing side.  This is a battle of goaltenders who have sparkled this spring, period, and could easily be the brightest star in the sky, despite hailing from a runner-up galaxy.  So, one or the other, with a certainty of 90%.  There are, however, a plethora of damned excellent big-game skaters on both teams.  Most of them have been hotter than hell this postseason, and could parlay that into a dominant performance in the Finals.  Even the ones who haven’t been top-shelf (and this includes defensemen), could come up consistently huge and take the trophy.

‘kay, bye!

Time to celebrate with some cartwheels!  Happy Monday!

Nik

Today I have two tidbits of good news.  First, I passed page 200 of The Bemann Files this morning.  Second, I began work on the hardest section of work I’ve ever imagined.  It forms the middle of the book, kind of like…not a turning point for the characters, but a kind of ramp-up.  What they’re doing passes from nuisance to the territory of dangerous right here, and I can’t fuck it up, or the rest of the book won’t sound right.  So far, so good.  I’m pumped like an old Reebok shoe.  The trick is not overpumping myself, like I used to do with those shoes.

Happy Thursday!

Nik

Nik

I have an up-and-down relationship with Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series, for all sorts of reasons, but this one is a winner! It has most of the elements that got me hooked on the series in the first place: murder, vampires who don’t sparkle, gobs of horror, detective schtuff, and romance. In Skin Trade, Hamilton finds a balance while working in issues of gender and prejudice, yet the story keeps moving forward. Something is always happening, usually one right on top of the other, which leads to a braided plot that shifts between its angles all the time without letting you get lost or left behind.

My only complaint is the speed of the conclusion, which wraps up a little too quickly. If the novel was less complex and shorter, like her first Anita books, this works well, but a 5-star book got demoted to 4 because of how fast it finishes. Still, a great offering, back to as much of the basics as a series like this can get, and a lot of engrossing fun.

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Any Tim O’Brien is fun, but this is my favorite of his. It’s lit fiction, but the kind anybody can read, not just a bunch of academics with patches on their coat’s elbows who get snotty over these kinds of things.

It’s war fiction; it’s not. It realistic and fantastic. It reads like people speak in the here-and-now. If you’re one of those who needs to “get some culture,” you can do it with Tim O’Brien instead of those older, sometimes impenetrable classics. Trust me, this one belongs on those shelves, but without the antique frills and lace.

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