Steve Erickson is one of my favorite authors, and he's one of those people whose opinions matter to me. We just got a blurb in from him. It's as beautifully written as anything by Steve... (Read Days Between Stations. Read Tours of the Black Clock. Read Arc d'X. Read the one about the 1996 election, the title of which I've forgotten.) [American Nomad, I think.] He says...
Oh yeah, I know this place: the four-in-the-morning Hollywood where you wake in the dark from a dream of paradise, with the sinking feeling you've been had. Piercingly observed, jaggedly poetic, ruthlessly cutting a path through graveyards of dead stars and dead money and dead feelings, this novel is the map back to dawn.
Which thrilled me, more than I can easily say.
The Death movie script has been handed in. Lots more movie stuff to do this month, before the Writers Strike starts. (Next stop, Ramayana treatment. Then The Confessions of William Henry Ireland treatment.)