Of the reading and the buying and the making of books there is no end.
I am proceeding apace with The City of Mirrors. It’s a big book. Mr. Cronin likes writing big books, and I like reading them as long as they drive toward a conclusion, somehow. I’m about twenty per cent done, but that is almost nothing on the scale of things, so I won’t say anything about it yet (except that I’m passing through a really beautifully-written section on the love affair of Dr. Tim Fanning, who became Subject Zero in the story soi’llshutupnowandwon’tsayanymorethankyouverymuch).
I have new Shakespeare books coming out of my butt thanks to yesterday’s post and an overactive credit card. I also have people asking (begging?) me to buy their books. I will, I will, folks. I promise–just as soon as I get mine written and can beg you to buy it.
My novel, by the way, is turning into three books or maybe four, which is a good thing, because it may take me that long to figure out what the devil I’m doing. I like what I’m writing at the moment, but I’m trying to tell whether the current work should be the first book or the third. When I finish it, I’ll know where it fits, but that’ll take awhile, because in the meantime, I have to work for a living.