A couple weeks ago, I was interviewed on the radio, and the interviewer had really done his homework on me. He had all these printouts from my blog, and he started quoting from them.I was, like, You're not supposed to read my fucking blog.
He laughed.
Me: I don't write it, anyway. Some really self-destructive, cynical asshole named Drew does.
He said, Oh, the artwork on it is really nice.
Me: Drew does that, too.
Place is so important in the stuff I write (I know, you're going, like, what the fuck is he jumping from a radio interview to a discussion about SETTING for?). Of course, in Ghost Medicine, the location of Three Points was almost an omnipresent character in itself, ambiguous and emotional. My September 2009 offspring, in the path of falling objects, is almost a painting in homage to my attraction to the Southwest, particularly the Indian lands of New Mexico and Arizona.
I only mention this because I've been reliving many earlier memories in writing The Marbury Lens, most of which is set in some of my favorite places (where I've spent massive amounts of time): London, the West Coast of England, and North Yorkshire. Something about England that really contributes to a brooding, mysterious, and scary story.
Oh well... back to work.
It is, after all, Labor Day (at least in just about every part of the world except the States).
