|State of Me
||[Oct. 17th, 2010|11:20 am]
|||||Kate Bush: Hello Earth||]|
I've been too too long away from here (not long enough, do I hear?). So, what's happening?
I directed my first play-reading last Wednesday. We read Sunday Morning at the Centre of the World Louis de Berniers' play for voice (heavily under the influence of Dylan Thomas) of a few inconsequential weekend hours in the life of Earlsfield. 45 parts read by eight voices and a narrator, and it was lovely. I tried to recreate the radio play experience, so the audience brought duvets and pillows and had a nice Sunday morning cuppa while the players were scattered among them and read. Might try it as a one-act --it's mercifully short, and an intellectual challenge to stage.
We're off travelling again. This Thursday I'm in That London for the Gollancz autumn bash, where I shall try not to be the drunkest person in the room. Last year's was the last time I saw Rob Holdstock. That's a dark thought. Then, week after, we're in Belgrade, courtesy of my publisher in Serbia, Goran Skrobonja. Looks like a lot of fun. Two weeks after that, Paris for a Le Fleuve des Dieux feature, then back to Nantes for Utopiales. It's a bit later this year, so there'll be no biking around the Loire, alas. Pedalling in to the Bon Laboureur hotel at Chenonceaux, after a miserable drizzly day and fixing a puncture by the side of a back road (with which the Loire is very generously provided, which makes for great near-traffic-free biking) was unforgettable --and the dinner very very good. The cheese-board looked like an art department model of Mos Eisley. Tours, Chenonceaux, Chambord (right by the chateau, I mean, right by the chateau) Blois, Chaumont, back to Tours. Buns of steel, darling! Buns of friggin' steel. Not this year, alas.
In February, in fulfillment of 50th birthday self-promise, we're going to New York. I've never been. Hence the promise. Two flights ex-Dublin (via AMS out, LHR back) for £580 seemed pretty damned reasonable. So, Collective Mind of LJ: what's indispensable in New York if you have four and a half days (and we like the quirky and quintessential and the hidden histories of cities)?
Writing-wise, I'm rattling through Planesrunner (that 'YA' book you may have heard about.) Momentarily ran into a sandbar looking for a patois for airship families, and then hit on it. Polari! Yes, this young person's book features a secret gay slanguage. I'm a huge fan of Polari. Bonaroo, and fantabulosa. I'm also putting together a new proposal that, I think, sends me off in a new direction; as I've said before, I don't want to become self-parody.
And I'm laying a wood floor in the attic. We're rearranging the furniture at McDonald Acres because slimmeroftheyea can have a music room for practising the viola da gamba. So everything is being booted up a floor.