So funny thing. The Hugo nominations for best novel? Yeah, take a look:
A Dance With Dragons by George RR Martin
Embassytown by China Mieville
Among Others by Jo Walton
Deadline by Mira Grant
Leviathan Wakes by James S A Corey
So yeah. This is where I normally say something sort of glib and understated, but even though I’ve known about this for a while, the truth is, I’m still a little gobsmacked. I’m pleased and humbled to be nominated, and being on a list with these folks is more than I had imagined or hoped for. So. Yeah. That.
For the folks who nominated Leviathan Wakes, thank you all so much, and Ty and I are really glad you liked the book. For those of you who haven’t read the book and are going to Worldcon this year, we will be working with your friends and mine at Orbit to get the book in the packet. I hope y’all get a chance to read all the nominees — they’re damn good books, all of ‘em — and vote your conscience.
I’m going to go gibber quietly in a corner for a while.
Every age had left its mark here, every generation growing on the ruins of the old until the earth below the dark-cobbled streets was not soil, but the wreckage of what had come before. It was a city of black and gold, of wealth and desperate poverty. Its walls rose around it like a boast of invulnerability, and its noble quarters displayed great mansions and towers and temples casually, as if the grandeur was trivial, normal, and mundane. Had Camnipol been a knight, he would have worn black-enameled armor and a cloak of fine-worked wool. Had it been a woman, she would have been too handsome to look away from and too intimidating to speak with. Instead, it was a city, and it was Camnipol.
Your friends and mine at Orbit have posted an excerpt from my upcoming novel The King’s Blood. Check it out, if you’re of a mind.
The whole book is due to hit shelf May 22nd, and the early reviews suggest some folks might kind of like it.
So I’ve scored a bi-monthly column with your friends and mine at Hugo-winning semiprozine Clarkesworld under the title Another Word. The first one has gone live.
I came to the same conclusion that all authors reach: the reviewers who liked me are intelligent, deep-souled bastions of wisdom, and the ones who didn’t are a bunch of weak-brained punks. Mystery solved.
But here’s the thing. Once the initial emotional rush plays out and my amygdala calms back down to its natural state, I start to think that maybe something else is going on here. That maybe I’ve misunderstood what reading is.
If you’re of a mind, take a look. And if you’d like to weigh in, please consider commenting there so my new bosses can see what folks are thinking.
Coming soon to a shelf, or possibly e-reader, near you.
Worldcon last year was, y’all may recall, in Reno. So not long after Ty turned to me and asked which of us had thought driving from Albuquerque to Reno would be a good idea, we got on to the final outline of the third book, then called Dandelion Sky, now retitled Abaddon’s Gate (not related to Warhammer 40,000, but thanks for asking). And the big question was this: is this it? Is the whole show over? It was weirdly melancholy to have Leviathan Wakes just out, Caliban’s War edited and turned in, and be looking at the end of the project.
Well, funny thing about that…
Your friends and mine at Orbit have signed on for the three more Expanse books that we’d hoped they’d take and surprised us by asking for five novellas (!!) in the same universe to go along with them. So the big arc story that we only hoped to tell when we started Leviathan Wakes is going to get told.
And a couple weeks ago, Ty came up with the last line of the last book. I can’t tell y’all how much I’m looking forward to reading this.
First drafts are supposed to suck. Seriously, it’s their job. Trying to make everything that comes out the first time perfect is the way to writer’s block, frustration, and madness (as, it turns out, is trying to get any freaking work done in the waiting room at Carmax, but that’s another story). If y’all have been following this, you’ve seen how the first draft came out. Now, we’re going to talk about the actual *important* part: planning the rewrite.
Living without a dog felt strange. It felt wrong. It felt better than living with one. Maybe later, Charlie told himself, it would get easier. But days passed and flesh knitted. The last stitches came out, and the low, grey skies of winter settled in. Thanksgiving came and went, and Christmas began its low, flat descent. He had nightmares sometimes, but less. He had moments of profound and crippling fear that came like bad weather and then moved on. His doctor put him on antidepressants, and they seemed to help some.
He didn’t hear Adam’s footsteps, only his sigh. Charlie looked up. Adam was in the doorway, a handful of pale green printer paper in his hand, a grim expression on his face. Charlie tried to smile. Tried to wave hello. His body wouldn’t comply.
“Rough day,” Adam said. It wasn’t a question.
Charlie felt a tear on his cheek. He hadn’t realized he was weeping.
“I can’t do this,” he said. His voice was weak. Adam squatted down next to him, carefully not touching.