I’m lying awake with a nasty case of bunker brain. Sleep eludes and weird thoughts intrude. I’m trying to combat them by
- a) planning some fun ways to promote How To Ditch Your Fairy—so far the winning plan is to glue copies of the book to the backs of toilet doors—and,
b) trying to figure out how to describe the smell of flying foxes without using the words “musk” or “feral”.
Also I’m wishing I could draw.
How about you?
It’s five a.m., and I should be asleep, but my brain is teeming with ideas for books and websites and what I would say to teenaged self if I had a time machine, and also I accidentally took a long nap this afternoon.
Would not mind a Benadryl right now — doctor-approved and non-addictive sleep aid. Alas, I have none, and I have yet to discover the magical 24-hour pharmacy in Brooklyn. It must exist, of course. But where?
The pungent ‘fersk’ of the flying foxes scented the air.
I’ve wished you could draw for a long time, too.
Sweet-sour shittiness.
Ugh, flying foxes. The most wretchedly pungent animal on earth.
How about “earthy mix of cinnamon and asafoetida”?
if wishes were horses, we’d be stepping in a lot of turds.
a) give away free copies to all the homeless people you see, on the condition that they sit somewhere obvious and read the book holding it up so people can see what they’re reading.
send a strippergram to all the key publicizers and critics you can think of and have the stripper pull the book out of her thong.
find a passage, or even just a sentence, that sounds suggestive, tape a hottie (one male and one female) reading it and put it up on youtube.
guerilla marketing: take a key phrase or concept from the book and have your fans spray paint it on sidewalks. make sure somebody puts up a wikipedia page explaining it.
b) flying foxes smell like the unwashed hair of a thousand thousand SF cons … in the jungle.
Hey! Everyone watch it. I like the smell of flying foxes. Is lovely smell!
Justine, I was wondering what you would do in a situation like this:
“As some of you may have heard, my partial draft of Midnight Sun was illegally posted on the Internet and has since been virally distributed without my knowledge or permission or the knowledge or permission of my publisher.” -Stephenie Meyer
Since I don’t really write or anything I don’t know what I would do. Would it bum you out to where you couldn’t write it anymore or would you just ignore it and keep going? And why do you know what flying foxes smell like?
I wish I could draw. I see all kinds of awesome stuff in my head, but my hands won’t cooperate when I try to translate it into drawings, or even doodles. That’s why I like writing. I still can’t always get it down on paper exactly, but I can get way closer.
And I’m interested to hear your thoughts on Ally’s question. I was wondering about that, too.
~Mary
It is 1:30am here, and I am watching Jaws on TV (with commercials, no less) because I’m feeling stir-crazy and uninspired to write…I’m in this weird place of just having finished my first novel(I’ve never actually finished one before), and it’s out with some trusted readers, and I am anxiously awaiting their critiques…so, I feel unable to start anything new and the waiting is so very difficult.
And I’ve been house-bound sick for three days and now, feeling just that much better that I’m antsy I can’t really concentrate or do anything…
So, Jaws it is…
Emily
aah, the elusive drawing talent escapes all of us. I was up till 1am last week trying to finish a self-portrait for an assignment.
Fraid I don’t know what flying foxes smell like, can’t help you there.
But as for drawing, no reason why you can’t learn. Try Lee Hammond’s books, or others. I learned to draw from books because I drew nasty scribbles and wanted to improve, and I did. Now I am happy with the way I draw. I feel it is a worthwhile investment of time, and the price of the book.