Even though I've only read two Gaiman novels, I can sense the narrative sinew beneath his prose. He's not unlike John Shirley -- both know exactly how to scare through insinuation. Nuanced writing like that is rare. Stephen King is excellent at it, but he almost unfailingly pulls back the entire curtain by the novel's end. Why? To sell books? Surely he knows everything he writes will be a bestseller regardless of "commercial" trappings.
I charged my laptop tonight. I need to sit down and write, and I think completing a short-story or two (rather than doting over my embryonic -- and potentially abortive -- novel) is the best way of jarring me out of my rut. So it's off to Starbucks tomorrow.
I have another book signing scheduled for August (a Borders this time). It's probably far too early to worry about things like this, but as much as I like my Mars book I don't want to be typecasted as "the guy who writes about Martians." Of course, "typecasted" implies that the book will be successful enough for readers to actually give a damn about who wrote it, so maybe I'm being unhealthily presumptuous . . .
Maybe age is on my side. With some forethought, perhaps I can appear to "outgrow" speculative nonfiction. Or, like David Bowie adopting a new persona, casually cast it aside in the spirit of self-reinvention.
Enough. The book will stand or fall on its own merits.
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