Derek Landy's Blog, page 10
November 16, 2013
Short Story Collection
Ah, Saturday night... what would you be without a title announcement?
I should have announced this yesterday, to be honest, but I was in Swindon, in England, doing writerly things like chatting to 600 people, signing all their books, and then travelling on to the WH Smith head office and signing 500 copies of LSODM, so you'll forgive me if I was a tad... distracted.
But, without further ado, to those who have not yet heard, the title of the short story collection out next summer is...
Armageddon-Outta-Here.
Bwahahahahahahahahahaha!
I swear to god, I never thought Harper Collins would agree to this. My first instinct was to call it Tales of the Dead Men, but that wouldn't have been accurate because there'd probably only be one or two stories featuring the Dead Men — not enough to warrant a title.
Harper came back with The World of Skulduggery Pleasant, which is, let's face it, a title far too boring to exist.
I suggested Armageddon-Outta-Here as a joke, expecting everyone to dismiss it. But the more I thought about it, the more I said it in my head, the more I loved it. And suddenly I became determined to be the writer who has a book with THAT title.
Amusingly, Harper Collins agreed. And I couldn't be happier.
And if that wasn't awesome enough, we should actually have a cover reveal early next month for you to gawp at. Could I BE any nicer to you?
No. The answer is no.
I should have announced this yesterday, to be honest, but I was in Swindon, in England, doing writerly things like chatting to 600 people, signing all their books, and then travelling on to the WH Smith head office and signing 500 copies of LSODM, so you'll forgive me if I was a tad... distracted.
But, without further ado, to those who have not yet heard, the title of the short story collection out next summer is...
Armageddon-Outta-Here.
Bwahahahahahahahahahaha!
I swear to god, I never thought Harper Collins would agree to this. My first instinct was to call it Tales of the Dead Men, but that wouldn't have been accurate because there'd probably only be one or two stories featuring the Dead Men — not enough to warrant a title.
Harper came back with The World of Skulduggery Pleasant, which is, let's face it, a title far too boring to exist.
I suggested Armageddon-Outta-Here as a joke, expecting everyone to dismiss it. But the more I thought about it, the more I said it in my head, the more I loved it. And suddenly I became determined to be the writer who has a book with THAT title.
Amusingly, Harper Collins agreed. And I couldn't be happier.
And if that wasn't awesome enough, we should actually have a cover reveal early next month for you to gawp at. Could I BE any nicer to you?
No. The answer is no.
November 10, 2013
Under Pressure... Moi?
Glancing back at old Blog entries, I happened to notice that on December 23rd of 2012 I had 13,320 words of LSODM written. This was a good thing to notice. It means that, with 18,504 words of Book 9 already spewed forth onto the page/screen, I am well ahead of where I was last year — and I finished LSODM in PLENTY of time, did I not?
Well, actually, no, I didn't. It was pretty much down to the wire, as they say. I couldn't afford to make ANY mistakes with LSODM, because I had no time to do anything resembling a significant rewrite. But at least I know it can be done. At least I know I can do it. Now all I have to do is hope I DO do it.
Pressure pressure pressure... It's everywhere. I don't actually mind pressure. It's a handy tool to make you sit down and write, after all. And I have no one to blame for these onrushing deadlines but me, because I'm the one who agreed to them in the first place. I'm the one who said "Hey, let's collect all the short stories, and I'll write a few more brand new ones, and we can publish in the summer before the final book!" And what a wonderful idea that was. What a magical, wonderful idea, to schedule the writing of short stories at the same time as I've scheduled the writing of a book. How clever that was.
I had wanted to include ten new stories in the collection. I STILL want to do ten — but the fact is, I might not be able to. I may only be able to do five. I want to tell a tale of the Dead Men during the war. I want to tell the tale of Billy-Ray Sanguine and what he did when he was recovering from the sword-wound that Valkyrie inflicted on him in The Faceless Ones. I want to show you how Val met Caelan for the first time. But most of all, I want to go back to Skulduggery and Valkyrie, back before the screaming and the killing and the darkness. I want to see them having fun again, before the death and the destruction and the heartache and the loss. The collection will be out mere months before the final book, after all... I want you to enter into Book 9, fully aware of how good it used to be between them.
And then I want to shatter what remains of your souls.
Well, actually, no, I didn't. It was pretty much down to the wire, as they say. I couldn't afford to make ANY mistakes with LSODM, because I had no time to do anything resembling a significant rewrite. But at least I know it can be done. At least I know I can do it. Now all I have to do is hope I DO do it.
Pressure pressure pressure... It's everywhere. I don't actually mind pressure. It's a handy tool to make you sit down and write, after all. And I have no one to blame for these onrushing deadlines but me, because I'm the one who agreed to them in the first place. I'm the one who said "Hey, let's collect all the short stories, and I'll write a few more brand new ones, and we can publish in the summer before the final book!" And what a wonderful idea that was. What a magical, wonderful idea, to schedule the writing of short stories at the same time as I've scheduled the writing of a book. How clever that was.
I had wanted to include ten new stories in the collection. I STILL want to do ten — but the fact is, I might not be able to. I may only be able to do five. I want to tell a tale of the Dead Men during the war. I want to tell the tale of Billy-Ray Sanguine and what he did when he was recovering from the sword-wound that Valkyrie inflicted on him in The Faceless Ones. I want to show you how Val met Caelan for the first time. But most of all, I want to go back to Skulduggery and Valkyrie, back before the screaming and the killing and the darkness. I want to see them having fun again, before the death and the destruction and the heartache and the loss. The collection will be out mere months before the final book, after all... I want you to enter into Book 9, fully aware of how good it used to be between them.
And then I want to shatter what remains of your souls.
November 1, 2013
LSODM Paperback
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, straight from the pen of Mr Tom Percival, the paperback cover for Last Stand of Dead Men...
Sooo utterly cool... and wait till you see the BACK cover... Wait till you see the cover for the Maleficent Seven paperback — a thing of BEAUTY, so it is...
Oh we spoil you with artwork, we surely do...
Sooo utterly cool... and wait till you see the BACK cover... Wait till you see the cover for the Maleficent Seven paperback — a thing of BEAUTY, so it is...
Oh we spoil you with artwork, we surely do...
October 23, 2013
Nerdy Dalek
As was recently pointed out to me, "Nerdy Dalek" is an anagram of my name, so I suppose it's only fitting that my birthday should be the day my Doctor Who story comes out on ebook. The Mystery of the Haunted Cottage is a Tenth Doctor adventure and I had unimaginable fun writing it. For those of you who don't read ebooks, fret not- a physical book, containing all eleven stories by eleven writers, will be arriving late next month.
Ah yes, my birthday. I am 39 today. Some people might worry about reaching that age — just one more birthday till 40, after all. But not me. I shall live forever. And I don't mean in a metaphorical sense. I don't mean I'll live forever in the hearts and minds of my readers. I mean I will literally live forever, drawing as I do from your pain and suffering.
Your pain makes me strong.
Today is the day I knuckle down and officially start Book 9. I've been writing bits and pieces of it for the last few weeks — I've got close to 10,000 words done — but today it kicks off properly. October 23rd is, of course, the day Skulduggery died, hundreds of years ago. Once again, I think it's only fitting that I begin his final book on such a date. Poignant, even.
Sniffle.
Ah yes, my birthday. I am 39 today. Some people might worry about reaching that age — just one more birthday till 40, after all. But not me. I shall live forever. And I don't mean in a metaphorical sense. I don't mean I'll live forever in the hearts and minds of my readers. I mean I will literally live forever, drawing as I do from your pain and suffering.
Your pain makes me strong.
Today is the day I knuckle down and officially start Book 9. I've been writing bits and pieces of it for the last few weeks — I've got close to 10,000 words done — but today it kicks off properly. October 23rd is, of course, the day Skulduggery died, hundreds of years ago. Once again, I think it's only fitting that I begin his final book on such a date. Poignant, even.
Sniffle.
October 15, 2013
Heh... Nieces...
My sister just sent me this video of my niece Becca getting VERY upset because her dad keeps getting the snorting from Peppa Pig wrong...
October 9, 2013
Skul And Friends
Just saw these awesome fan-made Lego mini-movies... thought I'd share...
October 1, 2013
Mystery Project One
A few weeks ago, I outlined my writing schedule for the next year or so. Included in this outline were Mystery Project numbers two, three and four. I never mentioned Mystery Project One, because that had already been completed. Today, I am finally allowed to talk about it...
This year is the fiftieth anniversary of Doctor Who. To celebrate, Puffin Books asked eleven different authors to take a Doctor and write a story. When I was asked, I said I'd only do it if I could write for the tenth or eleventh incarnation. Puffin gave me Ten. I was a happy bunny.
It was such a joy to write this character. As you all know, I've been a fan of the show since I was a kid, and David Tennant holds joint top-spot with Matt Smith as my favourite Doctor. In my opinion, it was Tennant's era when the Doctor's love of dialogue really came out— that quick-fire patter that he does so well — and it was an absolute pleasure to channel that.
The Mystery of the Haunted Cottage will be released as an e-book on October 23rd (my birthday! Skulduggery's deathday!) and then it, along with the other stories, will be collected into a PHYSICAL book which will be out near the end of November.
There will be a video released in a week or two where I talk more about it, but in the meantime, here's a link to a snippet (which explains where the somewhat old-fashioned title comes from...)
http://www.theguardian.com/childrens-...
This year is the fiftieth anniversary of Doctor Who. To celebrate, Puffin Books asked eleven different authors to take a Doctor and write a story. When I was asked, I said I'd only do it if I could write for the tenth or eleventh incarnation. Puffin gave me Ten. I was a happy bunny.
It was such a joy to write this character. As you all know, I've been a fan of the show since I was a kid, and David Tennant holds joint top-spot with Matt Smith as my favourite Doctor. In my opinion, it was Tennant's era when the Doctor's love of dialogue really came out— that quick-fire patter that he does so well — and it was an absolute pleasure to channel that.
The Mystery of the Haunted Cottage will be released as an e-book on October 23rd (my birthday! Skulduggery's deathday!) and then it, along with the other stories, will be collected into a PHYSICAL book which will be out near the end of November.
There will be a video released in a week or two where I talk more about it, but in the meantime, here's a link to a snippet (which explains where the somewhat old-fashioned title comes from...)
http://www.theguardian.com/childrens-...
September 26, 2013
Ali
A little over half an hour ago, I buried my doggy.
Not one of the silly doggies. Mable passed away a few months ago, and Sherlock is still pottering around the kitchen. No, this was MY doggy. This was Ali, my German Shepherd, my Alsation, the best dog in the whole world, and the undisputed love of my life.
Almost fourteen years ago, we needed a dog. I was living at home and working on the farm, and it was decided that we were getting a new dog, a few years after our last one had died. My mum, being my mum, looked upon this decision as a starting point. From here, the breed would be chosen, we'd start asking around, and then, in a few months time, we'd actually get the dog.
My dad, being my dad, looked upon this decision as a go-ahead to get a dog the very next day.
And so, while my mum was at work, we drove to a house down the road who'd just had a brand new batch of puppies. It was my little sister who picked which one we'd take home — she picked the quietest out of all the yapping pups — and we took the pup home, and I was in love.
It was obvious to everyone that she was going to be mine. We kept her in a shed for the first week or two, because she was filthy and she smelled terrible. But every evening after work I was in that shed, sitting on the ground with her. I couldn't stand to hear her whine. I couldn't stand the thought of her being lonely. I convinced my parents that she should be an indoor dog, and after she'd been washed and didn't smell quite so bad, my folks gave in.
Oh, and her name? I remember this discussion VERY clearly. We were all in the living room one evening. I wanted to call her something awesomely cool. I'm pretty sure I wanted her named either Buffy or Xena. Nobody else agreed with me. But, I argued, I'm the one who's going to be looking after her and feeding her and spending the most time with her. Surely I should be the one to name her?
Apparently not. I'm pretty sure it was Audrey who suggested the name. Remember, this was fourteen years ago, and the TV show Ally McBeal was at the height of its popularity.
"Ally!" Audrey said. "Because she's an Alsation! And also Ally McBeal!"
I was outvoted, but I vowed that day that my doggy's name should forever be spelled... Ali.
(Take THAT, Ally McBeal.)
Ali became a part of the family. Granted, it was the part of the family that slept in the kitchen and to whom my older sister Nadine never REALLY warmed. Every so often she'd look at Ali lying there, and she'd soften, and go over and pet the dog and say nice things. And then the moment Ali nudged against her Nadine would freak out and the dog would wonder what the hell was going on.
But we all loved her. When she was a pup, she used to run at whoever was sitting in the armchair in the kitchen, leap up and stand on their chest/shoulder/head and look around, like she was proudly surveying her territory. A year or two passed, and it never occurred to her that maybe she was too big to keep doing that, so she kept doing it. Many a time my dad would be sitting in the armchair reading the paper, and I'd see Ali readying herself like a sprinter on the block. Suddenly she'd leap, bursting through the newspaper, and dad would cry out in alarm and there'd be a mad scramble of legs and then sudden stillness, and she stood on my father's chest, one paw in his face, looking around at her kingdom. And the only thing we'd hear from dad would be a "Bloody mutt..."
Then, of course, she got too big and too powerful even to do THAT. The amount of times she'd leap onto dad and find herself hurtling over the back of the chair...
Ali had many talents. She was a bit of an actress, appearing in my very first movie, Dead Bodies. She can be seen at the start, jumping up and down at a patio door. I was on the other side of that door, though you can't see me, leaping about like a nutter in order to get her excited. That was her first and only film role. I think she realised she had a choice to make — LA, or Ireland. She chose Ireland.
I wrote the first Skulduggery book with her in my room. Every single evening I'd sit at my computer, writing away, and I'd hear the pat pat pat of her approach, and she'd nudge the door open with her nose, walk in, jump up on my bed, and curl up and watch me. That's how we spent our evenings. She wasn't happy without me and I wasn't happy without her.
After the book got picked up, I went to New York for a week to meet with my American publishers. After a few days I started to miss Ali DREADFULLY. I called home and my mum told me that Ali was spending her nights in my room, waiting for me to come home. When I finally did come home, she got all excited and started bouncing and whirling in circles, and then we went to my room, and she got up on the bed and I leaned in, and she licked my face for fifteen minutes. It was disgusting — by the end of it, my face had a thick layer of saliva coating it — but I didn't want to move. Fifteen minutes. I counted.
I used to take her for long walks around the fields a couple of times a day. Whenever I'd get stuck writing, off we went. I'd sort out problems with the plot as I walked, and Ali would chase birds and rabbits and splash in puddles and come back to me every now and then for a cuddle, then bound off again. Those memories are some of my favourites from when I was living at home. I was happy, I had a future, my family was proud of me, and I had my dog.
In 2008 or thereabouts, I moved out. I bought a house seven minutes away, so every evening I could go back to visit the folks and walk the dog. For a long time after I moved out, Ali would wait outside my old bedroom for me to return. I hate thinking of times like those, times when she was disappointed or she missed me and I wasn't there. She got used to the new arrangement, of course. Now she started looking forward to 5:30, when I'd walk in. Around that time every single day, she'd be waiting at the kitchen door. She'd get so excited to see me, and after we'd played around and she settled down, she went back to the door to wait for my mum to come home. Her ears would perk up and I'd know she heard an engine, and I'd open the front door just as my mum got out of the car and Ali would race out, excited all over again.
About four years ago Ali got cancer. She developed a large tumour on her belly. I was distraught. She had an operation to get rid of it, but the vet told us the cancer was going to come back. He gave her two years, maybe. Two more years with my dog.
These last few years, Ali got old. She got stiff. The long walks became shorter and shorter. She couldn't handle it anymore. And suddenly there were babies in the house, wobbling about. Ali didn't know quite what to make of them. She learned pretty early on to try and stay away if she possibly could. She was great with the kids. She's never been anything other than gentle and loving and lovely.
Yesterday I took her on a short walk, just out to the shed. We reached the shed and she lay down. This wasn't normal. I went over and petted her and she seemed fine. She got up and followed me to the postbox, and lay down again. Then she followed me back inside the house, and went to her mat and lay down.
"Is everything okay?" my mum asked.
"No," I said.
She had perked up this morning, according to the text my mum sent, but by this afternoon she was lying down again. We took her to the vet. She lay in the back of my jeep and he came out, but he didn't even have to examine her to see that the cancer was back. He injected her there and then and I cried. I haven't cried like that in... I don't ever remember crying like that. I'm crying right now. I love my dog and I miss her, and the reason I'm writing this is because she deserves to be remembered.
Not one of the silly doggies. Mable passed away a few months ago, and Sherlock is still pottering around the kitchen. No, this was MY doggy. This was Ali, my German Shepherd, my Alsation, the best dog in the whole world, and the undisputed love of my life.
Almost fourteen years ago, we needed a dog. I was living at home and working on the farm, and it was decided that we were getting a new dog, a few years after our last one had died. My mum, being my mum, looked upon this decision as a starting point. From here, the breed would be chosen, we'd start asking around, and then, in a few months time, we'd actually get the dog.
My dad, being my dad, looked upon this decision as a go-ahead to get a dog the very next day.
And so, while my mum was at work, we drove to a house down the road who'd just had a brand new batch of puppies. It was my little sister who picked which one we'd take home — she picked the quietest out of all the yapping pups — and we took the pup home, and I was in love.
It was obvious to everyone that she was going to be mine. We kept her in a shed for the first week or two, because she was filthy and she smelled terrible. But every evening after work I was in that shed, sitting on the ground with her. I couldn't stand to hear her whine. I couldn't stand the thought of her being lonely. I convinced my parents that she should be an indoor dog, and after she'd been washed and didn't smell quite so bad, my folks gave in.
Oh, and her name? I remember this discussion VERY clearly. We were all in the living room one evening. I wanted to call her something awesomely cool. I'm pretty sure I wanted her named either Buffy or Xena. Nobody else agreed with me. But, I argued, I'm the one who's going to be looking after her and feeding her and spending the most time with her. Surely I should be the one to name her?
Apparently not. I'm pretty sure it was Audrey who suggested the name. Remember, this was fourteen years ago, and the TV show Ally McBeal was at the height of its popularity.
"Ally!" Audrey said. "Because she's an Alsation! And also Ally McBeal!"
I was outvoted, but I vowed that day that my doggy's name should forever be spelled... Ali.
(Take THAT, Ally McBeal.)
Ali became a part of the family. Granted, it was the part of the family that slept in the kitchen and to whom my older sister Nadine never REALLY warmed. Every so often she'd look at Ali lying there, and she'd soften, and go over and pet the dog and say nice things. And then the moment Ali nudged against her Nadine would freak out and the dog would wonder what the hell was going on.
But we all loved her. When she was a pup, she used to run at whoever was sitting in the armchair in the kitchen, leap up and stand on their chest/shoulder/head and look around, like she was proudly surveying her territory. A year or two passed, and it never occurred to her that maybe she was too big to keep doing that, so she kept doing it. Many a time my dad would be sitting in the armchair reading the paper, and I'd see Ali readying herself like a sprinter on the block. Suddenly she'd leap, bursting through the newspaper, and dad would cry out in alarm and there'd be a mad scramble of legs and then sudden stillness, and she stood on my father's chest, one paw in his face, looking around at her kingdom. And the only thing we'd hear from dad would be a "Bloody mutt..."
Then, of course, she got too big and too powerful even to do THAT. The amount of times she'd leap onto dad and find herself hurtling over the back of the chair...
Ali had many talents. She was a bit of an actress, appearing in my very first movie, Dead Bodies. She can be seen at the start, jumping up and down at a patio door. I was on the other side of that door, though you can't see me, leaping about like a nutter in order to get her excited. That was her first and only film role. I think she realised she had a choice to make — LA, or Ireland. She chose Ireland.
I wrote the first Skulduggery book with her in my room. Every single evening I'd sit at my computer, writing away, and I'd hear the pat pat pat of her approach, and she'd nudge the door open with her nose, walk in, jump up on my bed, and curl up and watch me. That's how we spent our evenings. She wasn't happy without me and I wasn't happy without her.
After the book got picked up, I went to New York for a week to meet with my American publishers. After a few days I started to miss Ali DREADFULLY. I called home and my mum told me that Ali was spending her nights in my room, waiting for me to come home. When I finally did come home, she got all excited and started bouncing and whirling in circles, and then we went to my room, and she got up on the bed and I leaned in, and she licked my face for fifteen minutes. It was disgusting — by the end of it, my face had a thick layer of saliva coating it — but I didn't want to move. Fifteen minutes. I counted.
I used to take her for long walks around the fields a couple of times a day. Whenever I'd get stuck writing, off we went. I'd sort out problems with the plot as I walked, and Ali would chase birds and rabbits and splash in puddles and come back to me every now and then for a cuddle, then bound off again. Those memories are some of my favourites from when I was living at home. I was happy, I had a future, my family was proud of me, and I had my dog.
In 2008 or thereabouts, I moved out. I bought a house seven minutes away, so every evening I could go back to visit the folks and walk the dog. For a long time after I moved out, Ali would wait outside my old bedroom for me to return. I hate thinking of times like those, times when she was disappointed or she missed me and I wasn't there. She got used to the new arrangement, of course. Now she started looking forward to 5:30, when I'd walk in. Around that time every single day, she'd be waiting at the kitchen door. She'd get so excited to see me, and after we'd played around and she settled down, she went back to the door to wait for my mum to come home. Her ears would perk up and I'd know she heard an engine, and I'd open the front door just as my mum got out of the car and Ali would race out, excited all over again.
About four years ago Ali got cancer. She developed a large tumour on her belly. I was distraught. She had an operation to get rid of it, but the vet told us the cancer was going to come back. He gave her two years, maybe. Two more years with my dog.
These last few years, Ali got old. She got stiff. The long walks became shorter and shorter. She couldn't handle it anymore. And suddenly there were babies in the house, wobbling about. Ali didn't know quite what to make of them. She learned pretty early on to try and stay away if she possibly could. She was great with the kids. She's never been anything other than gentle and loving and lovely.
Yesterday I took her on a short walk, just out to the shed. We reached the shed and she lay down. This wasn't normal. I went over and petted her and she seemed fine. She got up and followed me to the postbox, and lay down again. Then she followed me back inside the house, and went to her mat and lay down.
"Is everything okay?" my mum asked.
"No," I said.
She had perked up this morning, according to the text my mum sent, but by this afternoon she was lying down again. We took her to the vet. She lay in the back of my jeep and he came out, but he didn't even have to examine her to see that the cancer was back. He injected her there and then and I cried. I haven't cried like that in... I don't ever remember crying like that. I'm crying right now. I love my dog and I miss her, and the reason I'm writing this is because she deserves to be remembered.
September 22, 2013
My House. My Museum.
It's Sunday evening, I'm about to go watch Dexter, and I thought it'd be a nice way to spend a blog post by showing you a few pics of the glorious junk I have in my house.
First of all, this is a cat (Pooper) who has just discovered that the small sitting room has been housing a rather large snake for the past few weeks, while Laura and her sister try to figure out what to do with it. Pooper, as you can see, is quite wary.
It was at this point that I started taking random shots of the room, and a thought occurred to me: "Aha!" this thought said. "I have your new blog post!"
I'll give a proper guided tour of my house at some later stage — probably once my extension is built — but for the moment, here is what greets you when you walk through my front door....
Naturally I have the posters for the movies I've written on prominent display...
... and of course I have what EVERYONE has in their halls: a severed foot in a glass case.
Now then, to the office!
I'm not going to show you the ACTUAL office (the ACTUAL office is really very messy at this moment in time) so I'm going to show you some of the things I have on the shelves. Such as these gentlemen...
Plus a little Evil Dead...
... and some Marvel folk hanging around...
And let us not ignore Star Wars...
... or zombies...
And here, tucked away on their own little shelf, Skulduggery and Vampirella. Just chillin'.
(That Skulduggery is a pretty rare promotional item my German publishers had made... It's not for sale anywhere except MAYBE eBay.)
And now, to the main living room. I'm not gonna show you everything, but this is the room I had designed and rebuilt as a live-in museum. The extension, if I ever get around the designing it, will be built specifically to house this stuff. Because it makes me happy.
And here it is, the suit I love to talk about... as worn by Christopher Reeve.
I do NOT dress up in this. I swear I don't.
Although if someone wanted to photoshop my head onto this mannequin, I would not object.
First of all, this is a cat (Pooper) who has just discovered that the small sitting room has been housing a rather large snake for the past few weeks, while Laura and her sister try to figure out what to do with it. Pooper, as you can see, is quite wary.
It was at this point that I started taking random shots of the room, and a thought occurred to me: "Aha!" this thought said. "I have your new blog post!"
I'll give a proper guided tour of my house at some later stage — probably once my extension is built — but for the moment, here is what greets you when you walk through my front door....
Naturally I have the posters for the movies I've written on prominent display...
... and of course I have what EVERYONE has in their halls: a severed foot in a glass case.
Now then, to the office!
I'm not going to show you the ACTUAL office (the ACTUAL office is really very messy at this moment in time) so I'm going to show you some of the things I have on the shelves. Such as these gentlemen...
Plus a little Evil Dead...
... and some Marvel folk hanging around...
And let us not ignore Star Wars...
... or zombies...
And here, tucked away on their own little shelf, Skulduggery and Vampirella. Just chillin'.
(That Skulduggery is a pretty rare promotional item my German publishers had made... It's not for sale anywhere except MAYBE eBay.)
And now, to the main living room. I'm not gonna show you everything, but this is the room I had designed and rebuilt as a live-in museum. The extension, if I ever get around the designing it, will be built specifically to house this stuff. Because it makes me happy.
And here it is, the suit I love to talk about... as worn by Christopher Reeve.
I do NOT dress up in this. I swear I don't.
Although if someone wanted to photoshop my head onto this mannequin, I would not object.
September 16, 2013
Happy Christmas (Tour is Over)
I thought the title of this entry was smart and funny, effectively conveying the relief at another tour being over and done with in a winning and whimsical manner. But how many of you are going to miss the John Lennon reference and just puzzle at the "Happy Christmas| part? Ah well. Too late now to go changing it.
So, another tour bites the dust. This was a fun one, lots of people turning up, lots of glares and scowls and cakes and pictures and fist-bumps and many, many moody looks into camera... All in a day's work, really. Thanks to everyone who came along — it was tiring but I had a blast.
And now I'm home, and it's time to get organised.
There's going to be some cool news coming your way over the next few weeks and months. Some of it will make you go "Cool!" and some of it will make you grin. Some of it, of course, will make you weep, as it's coming up to that time when I'll have to start plotting out Book Nine. Most of you will still be reeling from the events of LSODM, so you'll know not to trust me. For some reason, the tagline from the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre is floating through my head...
"Who will survive, and what will be left of them?"
The good news is, now that the pressure of editing and touring is off, I'll be able to get back to my regular (ahem) blogging and Twitter routine, so I should be chatting to you guys a little more often than I have been. Hopefully.
The fact is, I'm going to be incredibly busy for the next year. Want a brief rundown on what I have ahead of me?
1) Plot, write and finish Book Nine by March.
2) Work on Mystery Project 2.
3) Write 10 brand new short stories for the Skulduggery Collection out next Summer.
4) Work on Mystery Project 3.
5) Devise, plan and start writing New Book Series by September 2014.
6) Work on Mystery Project 4.
All that, and blog and tweet and play with my nieces. Oh, and my nephew.
Nephew, you say? But Golden God, you don't HAVE a nephew. I do now, gentle Minion. Born this afternoon, weighing in at over 9 pounds, Baby Skulduggery is now part of my Baby Army of Terror, and he is to be feared.
(Okay fine, my sister hasn't OFFICIALLY named him Baby Skulduggery, but come on... How could she NOT?)
So, another tour bites the dust. This was a fun one, lots of people turning up, lots of glares and scowls and cakes and pictures and fist-bumps and many, many moody looks into camera... All in a day's work, really. Thanks to everyone who came along — it was tiring but I had a blast.
And now I'm home, and it's time to get organised.
There's going to be some cool news coming your way over the next few weeks and months. Some of it will make you go "Cool!" and some of it will make you grin. Some of it, of course, will make you weep, as it's coming up to that time when I'll have to start plotting out Book Nine. Most of you will still be reeling from the events of LSODM, so you'll know not to trust me. For some reason, the tagline from the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre is floating through my head...
"Who will survive, and what will be left of them?"
The good news is, now that the pressure of editing and touring is off, I'll be able to get back to my regular (ahem) blogging and Twitter routine, so I should be chatting to you guys a little more often than I have been. Hopefully.
The fact is, I'm going to be incredibly busy for the next year. Want a brief rundown on what I have ahead of me?
1) Plot, write and finish Book Nine by March.
2) Work on Mystery Project 2.
3) Write 10 brand new short stories for the Skulduggery Collection out next Summer.
4) Work on Mystery Project 3.
5) Devise, plan and start writing New Book Series by September 2014.
6) Work on Mystery Project 4.
All that, and blog and tweet and play with my nieces. Oh, and my nephew.
Nephew, you say? But Golden God, you don't HAVE a nephew. I do now, gentle Minion. Born this afternoon, weighing in at over 9 pounds, Baby Skulduggery is now part of my Baby Army of Terror, and he is to be feared.
(Okay fine, my sister hasn't OFFICIALLY named him Baby Skulduggery, but come on... How could she NOT?)
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