And Neil, may the good lord love him, had an idea.
He thought it would be cute to respond to National Novel Writing Month (interesting how that was the subject of my last post, mmm?) by releasing a series...
No. A slew, a flood, a deluge of short-short fiction.
I, myself, am not prone to behavior that might produce positive results, so I backed away as soon as he presented the idea to me.
I haven't introduced you to Neil yet. From the intercontinental distance, Neil, here are the folks, thus far. Folks, Neil.
So Neil decided that it would be cute to present a series of short-short stories during NaNoMoNaBliBooGoo or whatever it is. And Neil is...
I hate to say it, but this was a terrier versus labrador situation. Terrier always wins. Neil bugged me, and bugged me, and bugged me. I said, "Oh, no no no, my sweet. No, no, no, my child."
Did I say 'terrier?'
So I broke down and said, okay. Ten stories. Flash fiction, ten stories during NaNoMaHoGaLuLieLo or whatever.
(Do I seem a little toasted? By the deadlines, I've been roasted.)
And then the son-of-a-bitch comes in and tells me he's found a publisher.
So now I have a deadline, and as is my wont, I whipped out three stories that should have proven discouraging.
I must have blown it, because December House decided to pick us up.
And all of a sudden, I was writing twenty -- no, twenty-one -- no, twenty-three stories for an anthology series featuring not only the dearly beloved Neil but also P.T. Dilloway, who bears very little responsibility for my actions.
I came into this tentatively, and now I'm fully engaged. If you read what Neil says, he makes a point of stating that this isn't throwaway material, that we're all really doing what we can.
Look, I'm a devotee of book culture. I am trying to get into the book world. I want to bring profits to the people who maintain our culture, such as it is.
But when people express a strong interest in my work, and extend themselves to support it, well.
Check it out.
Henry is coming soon.