Dear all,
I fully recognise none of you may be around any more now that the female-identified nipples have been scourged, but should you still roam these un-nippled halls I will shamelessly update you on my novel. One stops feeling guilt at self-promotion when your book’s on the way; there comes a point where you can no longer even stop, like a shark swims. You understand that to cease is to expire.
This link is to the cover of my book. The disembodied head up there is the head of my heroine. Please click through and examine. For sticking with me on this route, I will give you special information about this novel I don’t give anyone else; if you have read my fanfiction, or my short stories, or even my fanfiction and my short stories, I want to sit down warmly next to you and tell you exactly what kind of old bullshit I’m serving up to you all over again.
GIDEON THE NINTH is the story of seventeen dolts in a space shack trying to become God’s dead best friends. Here are some of the traditional heroic tropes I went with.
* GIRL FALLS FOR SICKLY COUGAR
* BAD LITTLE LEMONGRAB BOY STEEPLES FINGERS, A LOT
* ASTEROID JUGGALOS HAVE A BONE RELIGION (That old chestnut!! - Ed.)
* TWINS BUT ONE TWIN IS A BEEFALO AND THE OTHER TWIN IS A POT OF YOPLAIT ZERO PERCENT YOGHURT
* HERO’S QUEST TO BECOME A NECROSOLDIER SPACE HUNKETTE ENDS PREMATURELY WHEN NO-TIDDY GOTH WITCH TRICKS HER INTO THE HUNGER GAMES (Biblical - Ed.)
I have also put in a Sorting Hat system, just for you! One day you could align yourself with one of my beautiful Space Houses, which consist of:
* BORE HOUSE
* MTV’S CRIBS HOUSE
* MORON HOUSE
* YOUR MOM’S HOUSE
* DORK HOUSE
* POSER HOUSE
* ANTI HOUSE
* GOTH HOUSE
Bet you wish you’d thought of those, Rowling!!
My other plot to get this novel out was to appear above your bed as a shower of oily rain and whisper it to you in a hideous susurrus, but turns out they only do that for like, Women’s Lit
The Ninth House Trilogy is getting published with Tor under their Tor-Macmillan imprint. Both halves of that sentence are, by themselves, reasons for joy and fear so commingled that I no longer understand what either emotion means; put together, they ensure that these days I simultaneously want to gnaw off my foot to a stump and continually cause parties to happen. It’s due very much to my agent and very little to me, but it’s happening.
Carl Engle-Laird – an editor so insightful, so longsuffering and so deeply in tune with what I am trying to do here that it is not to be believed – calls the novel “epic science fantasy in which queer necromantic nuns team up to defeat the trial of the Necrolord.” You can read what he said, it is all in the article, along with my face as I stare at the camera and appear to think secret thoughts about dachshunds. (COLD REALITY: I was thinking of how to impress my photographer with even more knowledge of vanilla World of Warcraft raids.) Read his words; they’re good. Here are mine.
1. I need to share these books with you.
2. They answer my question of, What if a bunch of human-equivalent oil slicks… did space necromancy at each other?
3. How can I make sword fights… more dead and more gay?
I will leave you with a quote from Jane Austen, who felt about her heroine, Elizabeth, much the same as I think about mine, Gideon:
I must confess that I think her as complete a dumpster fire as ever appeared in print
Thank you for reading me.