A lot of people wonder what I'm doing in times like these, after I've just released a book and I'm in the process of starting another.
If you're one of those people, I thought you might enjoy me walking you through an average day in my life.
I set my alarm for a random time in the middle of the night, often roughly around three o'clock. As soon as it goes off, I sit up abruptly and yell "AHA!" to startle anyone who might be watching me sleep.
I haven't caught anyone yet, but one day it will pay off. One day.
This is about when I wake up. I'd like to sleep in longer, but by this point the owls are all pecking on the windows to be let in.
I don't have a shower, but my house is below sea level, so I just sort of open a hatch in my bathroom ceiling and let ocean water gush in.
After that, I normally have the traditional Floridian breakfast: fried gator tail and an entire orange, skin on.
Now I stack a bunch of empty boxes on a portable plastic table from Wal-Mart, carefully balance my laptop on top, and get to writing.
I start the writing day full of energy, optimism, and ideas.
Realize the book is terrible. Every word is worse than the one before.
Remember that I only have two days left before some self-imposed deadline. Roll a leftover orange from breakfast across the keyboard until the letters randomly form words.
The orange has spelled out "LOOK BEHIND YOU," so I spin just in time to catch the machete descending on my head.
It's the salty mariner who tethers his house-boat next to my home. He has once again decided to test my reflexes to ensure they are sharp enough to survive what he calls "The Coming Flesh-Storm."
Lunch! I check the traps.
If I've caught a shark, then shark meat's on the menu. If it's a mermaid, then I get a wish, so I wish for veal ravioli. If the traps are empty, I usually go to Chick-fil-A.
Except on Sunday. If the traps are empty on Sundays, then I have to settle for grilled seagull.
I've been in a trance for two hours, and I snap back to discover that another page has been added to my book manuscript. Nega-Will must have taken over my body again.
He likes to slip in excerpts from the Necronomicon to get people to accidentally summon eldritch demons.
I remove any references to Al'meg'nidyyn and all incomprehensible symbols, then I read the rest of what he wrote.
It's pretty good. His Dross lines are great.
At this point, I like to take a break and exercise.
I wrestle for a while with the manticore staying in my spare room. She takes it easy on me and usually doesn't inject me with much venom.
This is about when I wrap up writing for the day. I print out all the new pages and slip them into the Creativity Incubator, which will take the nonsense I wrote and magically make it good.
For dinner, I either heat up some leftovers or strike one of the Gnashing Fruit from the Seven-Headed Tree with my javelin. Either way, I relax afterwards in my full-immersion VR tank that I bought on clearance from Area 51.
While I wait in the decontamination chamber to get into my sleeping chamber, I hypnotize myself to encourage drowsiness.
When that doesn't work, I have to give up on the decontamination process and get my mariner neighbor to hit me on the back of the head with an oar. That usually does the trick, and I get to collapse face-first in my bed already asleep.
So anyway, that's pretty much what I do all day.
Of the Cradle series
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