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The best thing about the Lomo camera, in my opinion, is not the glorious semi-accidental pictures it takes. It's the way I mislay the rolls of film and then find them months later with no idea what's on them, and get them developed, and wind up looking at forgotten slices of the past. The first photos were all taken about a year ago, when it was as snowy here in the Midwest as it now.
This is from the Summer, I think. A double or triple exposure of the kind I love (made in the camera, no photoshop). Dogs.
And a small self-portrait from September, backstage at a New York fashion house...
Right now I'm at home in the Midwest, spending quality time with my daughters and my dogs.
Cabal's back legs are getting wobblier and wobblier, which is harder on my heart than it is on him. Lola's trying to figure out how I can figure out where she is all the time when she runs off and hides, a white dog against the snow in the moonlight, and I have not explained the significance to her of the glowing red collar flashing about her neck.
I'm also learning all the lyrics to the Fireball XL5 theme song, which I am going to be singing very nervously in New York at Amanda's New Years Eve Party, as a thank you to the late Gerry Anderson, a man who had a lot to do with the shape of my childhood. (For the record: My favourites were Thunderbird 4 and Gordon Tracy, Captain Black, Melody Angel, Joe 90 when he had an enemy agent downloaded into his head, and the ladies on the moon in purple wigs.)
Talking about purple: Amanda is going to be doing a more or less normal New Year's Eve gig, followed by a complete cover of Prince's Purple Rain. I am hoping that if this is a success that next year she may decide to do The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.
It's been a bugger of a week: I left my Macbook Air on a plane on Sunday night, and have spent most of the rest of the week doing things like being on the phone to the backup service, learning that the tracking software I'd thought was on there was on there, but hadn't been activated, buying a new computer, etc. I didn't get the thing I was meant to be writing written. I was grumpy.
But, I spent the wasted week getting healthy and in shape and juicing things. And I now have an iPad, with which I am starting to fall in love. (Weirdly, I much prefer my Nexus Android to the iPhone. But never liked the Xoom, and still don't - I have one, but mostly use it as an Audible player, and attempts to use it to write on, with a bluetooth keyboard, early this week were just painful. But I started falling for Amanda's iPad in Edinburgh in August, bought one for myself on impulse, and started writing on it, and discovering that writing on it was easy and pleasant.)
And this morning I got an email telling me that the thing that I would have been working on all week, that I'd already lost 15 pages of...
...was now going to change so radically I would have wasted a week's work if I'd been working on it. So I am happy.
And the thing I've been holding fire on for a week just sorted itself out, too. So I got a week off I would never have had in real life, even if it was a grumpy one, and all has worked out for the best.
My friend Dr Dan just wandered by with a CD. "I see all these photos of you," he said, "that do not look like you at all. Here's a photo I took of you this summer that I like. It looks like you."
I liked it too, partly because you can actually see some of the grey on the side. There's stuff about getting older that I don't like - mostly having to do with eyesight - but I'm enjoying most of it. I like feeling that I have a face that looks like something; when I was young I was convinced I didn't look like anything, and wore dark glasses and big leather jackets so people would have something to remember. But these days I have a face that feels like mine, even if, sometimes, I catch myself in the mirror looking disconcertingly like my father.
It's been really wintry here, but today it warmed up to not-actually-evil, and I was able to pull out my phone and, more importantly, take off my gloves to take shots of the dogs. Who are too often invisible against the snow.
Cabal.
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It's not the walking the dogs I mind. I like walking the dogs.
What I mind, when the temperature is, as it is now, a hair below 0F (minus 18 C) is what I have to do in order to walk the dogs. The long underwear and the two sweaters I'm wearing anyway. The gloves and the ski suit and the big green clompy boots. The facemask and the big warm Uigur hat... I look like an incompetent Jewish Ninja.
Even working, down in my gazebo, when the temperature drops like this, with all the heaters on, I'll still be wearing a battered down jacket and a huge Doctor Who style scarf...
When I moved out to this part of the world, about 18 years ago, I noticed an odd phenomenon. Friends who were from here, who loved it, who were part of the life and scene and soul of Minneapolis would just announce, out of nowhere, that they were leaving, and they were done now. And they'd sell up and Go South. They'd always Go South.
That's odd, I thought. They're so happy here.
It seemed a bit sinister.
Today, walking the dogs, I sort of got it. Suddenly the oncoming cold, the idea that every time I would need to walk the dogs for the next three, perhaps the next five months, during the daylight...
or at night...
...that I'm going to have to suit up like a spaceman on a planet inimical to human life. Every single time. And I'm going to get to the point where I look forward to the temperature getting up to 0F, because you can breathe without it hurting, and you don't have to put on crazy protection to go outside, and the dogs still enjoy it outside at this temperature.
I thought, I bet the Caribbean's really nice this time of year.
And I shivered, under the snow-suit, that had nothing to do with the cold, and I thought, I bet that's what they all thought. The people who Went South.
I do not believe that I am joining them. Not yet. But I definitely understood them.
...
The FAQ line is backed up. I've got several hundred questions marked. Let us try and get a few answered:
My wif
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I went to LA to spend Thanksgiving with Amanda's family, but before Thanksgiving Amanda and I were guests on Kevin Smith's inaugural "Starf*cking" interview, at his Smodcastle, a fifty-seat theatre in Hollywood, in front of a live audience. It was a three hour show, or longer - Kevin interviewed me and Amanda, then Amanda played, then I read "Being An Experiment...", after which I inveigled Kevin and Amanda into helping me do a scene from AMERICAN GODS as a three-hander.
And once that was done I felt like I was off-duty and stopped taking photographs, so the adventures that followed are pretty much unrecorded, photographically. I saw lots of friends, travelled by train (Christopher Salmon's film of The Price got its kickstarter funding as I was having breakfast on the train from Los Angeles to Santa Fe. 2001 of us funded it. You are all awesome), played the melodica with Amanda's three-year old nephew Ronan, rewrote a film script, and copy-edited the American Gods Tenth Anniversary edition.
A few years ago, the BBC World Service did an adaptation of my novel Anansi Boys. I’m a big fan of radio drama, and a huge admirer of the director who did it, but things went a bit wrong. The biggest thing that went wrong went wrong right at the beginning, when the World Service, coping as best they could with budget cutbacks and less broadcasting time for drama, decided it would have to be an hour-long adaptation.And bad things happen when novels get cut down to an hour. So despite a really terrific cast and production and as solid a script as could be in the circumstances, I was not happy. It felt like one of those Readers' Digest condensed books.
I decided to do Anansi Boys as a TV series, and to the script myself. And no sooner had I decided to do that, when I got a call from a Hollywood Producer.
“I was on tour with [a star who shall be anonymous for now],” he said. “And I bought the paperback of Anansi Boys in an airport to read on the plane. We started reading bits of it to each other for the rest of the tour. Can we make this into a movie? Will you write the script?”
I normally say no to adapting my own stuff into film. But I wanted an Anansi Boys adaptation I could be proud of, and the radio adaption had left me wanting to go "No, this is what I meant". So I said yes.
And I set time aside to work on it. I was going to start in late March 2009.
At the beginning of March 2009, my always-healthy father died unexpectedly, of a heart attack, during a business meeting.
Oddly enough, Anansi Boys begins with Fat Charlie Nancy’s father dying of an unexpected heart attack, which sets the events of the story into motion, although his heart attack is embarrassing and funny. My dad's wasn't really either.
And for about a year, I’d open Final Draft (my scriptwriting program). I’d open the Anansi Boys script. I’d look at the three or four pages that I'd done for a bit. Write a sentence, or delete one. Then I’d close Final Draft and do something else. Write a short story. Work on a book. Blog. Anything, really. I just didn't write the Anansi Boys screenplay.
Which carried on until March this year. I went out to LA for the Oscars, as CORALINE had been nominated for Best Animated Picture. I’d even written an interview with her, animated by Travis Knight, that was shown during the Oscar ceremonies, which is, I'm pretty sure, so far the single thing I’ve written that has been seen by the most people. The Oscar ceremonies fell on the anniversary of my dad’s death. It was a very strange, sad day – made peculiarly worse because I knew I should have been enjoying it, and I wasn't.
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It's like owning two dogs. There's this one who poses nobly for photographs whenever he gets to the top of a hill or looks out over a river. And then there's this mad goofball. Normally the mad goofball doesn't show up in photographs.
We just went for a walk in the snow. I took my camera. And the goofball came out...
At the top you see his "Oh boy? We're really going for a walk? This isn't you just taking me out to pee? WOW!" face. At the bottom you get his "Hai! I can has BIG stick!" dance. (It was immediately followed by him dropping the big stick and pretending he meant to do that.)
This is the weather the dog likes: crisp, cold, weather that puts him in mind of wolfish ancestors hunting on the steppes.
Me, I put on long underwear and dozens of layers over that, and top it off with the sheepskin Uigur hat I haggled for in Xinjiang, and trudge in the snow behind him. It's frozen on top, so you crunch and rock and hunt for ruts that already exist. While Cabal is happy in a world filled with sharp smells and frozen rivers.
***
Many years ago I discovered (via the Fabulist) Jason Webley. I posted this a link to this song, Eleven Saints, a song Jason Webley wrote and performed with Jay Thompson...
Jason was pleased, and wrote to me to say thanks, and then, a couple of years ago, introduced me in email to his friend Amanda Palmer, with whom he was working on a project, as they worked to bring the music of two conjoined twin sisters they had discovered on the internet to the world. There were two songs out on the internet by the mysterious pair for a long time, but a new song, " A Campaign of Shock and Awe", crept out today: http://www.myspace.com/evelynevelyn. Highly recommended, and not just because of the, y'know, family connections.
...
Right. I do not want to be disturbed tonight. Maddy and I will be beginning our New Year's catch-up by watching the first part of Doctor Who 'The End of Time'.
I'm madly trying to finish things before I head out to China for a few weeks, to wrap up the research on my Journey to the West project (this trip was meant to have happened in Feb/March, but the one-two good-bad punch of winning the Newbery Medal and my father dying threw the whole planned shape of the year out of whack, and it's not back yet).
I finished a short story called "The Thing About Cassandra" and the editors accepted it (hurrah, especially because they were most gracious earlier this year when a story I was writing for them crumbled into dust and ash in my hands before it was done). I'm trying to finish a short story about a cave on the Misty Isle before I leave, and I'll be recording my stuff for my NPR Morning Edition piece. Sxip Shirey is working on the music for my short film soundtrack and every day he sends me bits of music and I play them, and send back a yes, or a no, or a why don't we try this?
We harvested the honey on Thursday, and Cat Mihos chronicled it all on her blog (http://kittysneverwear.blogspot.com/2009/10/bees-glorious-bees-title-suggested-by.html) including film footage of me shaking bees off a frame, so I refer you there for photos and an account of our day's Beeing. Strangely my favourite moment was when the bees from the Green hive got upset, and suddenly I found myself crouching by the hive in the middle of a storm of very angry bees... and found myself feeling very peaceful and placid, and didn't move and I let them stop being grumpy, and all was good. (Except for Hans and the Birdchick both being stung on their ankles and through their bee suits).
Both were fun, and started giving me ideas for how to do the CBLDF Reading Tour next year.
Hi Neil,
I know Banned Book Week is over, but since you discussed it on your journal, I hope you won't mind one more question about it.
When is it OK to challenge a book? Should a book be challenged at all if it seems inappropriately placed? For example, I read a lot of young adult, and I found myself reading a book that was distasteful to me, as an adult. (I thought the language and sexual incidents were gratuitous to the story, and beyond what I would want a teenager reading.) I pointed this out to the children's librarian, and she said it would be reviewed. Afterward, I panicked a bit. Had I done something wrong, I wondered. Had I just banned a book?
In your opinion, is there ever a time to challenge a book's placement? For the record, I still don't believe in outright banning a book from a public library, but now I'm not sure how I feel about challenges to young adult sections.
Sincerely,
Amanda R., Louisville, KY
I'm not a librarian or part of the ALA, so you're getting one author's opinion here.
I don't think drawing a librarian's attention to a book, or even suggestion that it's been mis-classified is in any way wrong, or an attempt to ban books. My collection M IS FOR MAGIC exists mostly because I'd noticed some middle schools had begun to buy Smoke and Mirrors and really wasn't comfortable with that book, which contains some stories that really were just intended for adults, being in middle school libraries. (I don't have a problem with it being in High School libraries.)
I think librarians make judgment calls all the time, judgment calls based on community standards, on what they believe about books, and about those books that exist in the grey areas between Children's Books and YA, between YA and Adult Fiction. (Occasionally, as when I hear about The Graveyard Book being kept under the counter, or away from kids under 14, I find it irritating. But, as I say, I also think that librarians are allowed to make judgment calls.)
Are some libraries shelving Gaiman’s book in the YA section because of its disturbing opening scene? If so, then that “clearly smacks of self-censorship,” says Pat Scales, president of the Association of Library Services to Children. Scales, who says that although determining what materials belong in the children and young adult section is oftentimes difficult, “Anytime you keep something from its intended audience or make it difficult for them to find, that’s self-censorship.” And that’s against professional ethics.Scales’s advice is to buy one copy for the children’s section and another for the YAs. “Kids have loved ghost stories from the beginning of time,” she says. “What are you going to do? You can’t keep all ghost stories out of the children’s room.”
but truthfully, I wouldn't blame any librarian who decided they wanted The Graveyard Book kept in YA. I would get grumpy if confronted with librarians who had decided not to get The Graveyard Book for their libraries, despite the Newbery Medal, because they thought kids should be protected from it.
Dear Neil,
I’m sure you get loads of nice mail from lots of people around the world. How much nasty mail do you get, though, and does it make you feel bad? If it does, how do you deal with that? I’m a beginning author and I just got my first piece of nasty mail, wherein the writer said she had an absolute “hate crush” on me. I consoled myself with cake and wine but the effects were predictably fleeting.
Thanks, C.B.
There are mean and crazy people out there, and the relative anonymity of the Internet means that there are always those who will glory in their ability to do the online equivalent of pushing a dead rat through your mail box and running away. You just have to pay attention and you rapidly notice,
a) they're a bit mad.
b) they are very few in number and
c) it's only the internet.
I get well over ten thousand FAQ messages in on this site every year. Most of them don't get posted, because most of them are people saying, in various ways, thank you. Out of that ten thousand there will be a handful, no more than a dozen or so, of weird, poisonous, creepy or crazy ones that come in (from a distinctly smaller number of people than there are email addresses). Most of those get filtered before they reach me. And the ones that make it through normally leave me with a strange, joyous feeling that I must be doing something right if those people don't like me. I'm fascinated by how much more upset they get whenever I get a big award or something good happens.
(On Twitter, I learned very rapidly that any people who posted something nasty, to whom I gave a second chance, would then post something REALLY nasty. So I learned to block first offenders without any troubling of my conscience.)
My advice to you would be to do with creepy emails what Kingsley Amis used to say he did with bad reviews: he let them spoil his breakfast, but didn't let them spoil his lunch. Let the effects of the creepy people be fleeting too. And keep writing, and keep doing well, because it really seems to irritate them.
Which reminds me, The Graveyard Book was made a Boston Globe-Horn Book Honours book, this year, and you can see video footage of the awards ceremony at http://www.hbook.com/bghb/video09.asp, including my editor Elise Howard reading the actual speech I wrote, and the video I recorded for them just as I went down with the hell-flu of last week.
Was fascinated by this New Scientist article -- I've been interested in this ever since I read Ann Hubble talking about the experiment breeding Arctic Foxes for tameness, which, in a couple of decades, produced an animal profoundly doglike. (And the footage of the tame vs aggressive rats is a little chilling...)
...
I just noticed that to celebrate our Year On The Bestseller Lists, over at http://www.mousecircus.com/videotour.aspx, where you can still watch me read ALL of The Graveyard Book for free, new Q&A videos have started appearing.
(It looks like they've been going up for the last 5 weeks. I should have mentioned them here, sorry.)
If you head off to http://www.mousecircus.com/videotour.aspx?VideoID=16 you will see lots of me answering questions. It's surprising to me how tired I look in them -- I'd forgotten just how gruelling the schedule was, and now all I remember is how immensely enjoyable it was to read stories to and answer questions from so many people across the USA.
Bet you thought I was dead. Well, unless you were looking at the Twitter feed down the side of the blog, and even then I might have been Dead but Still Twittering. It could happen and probably does.
But I am not dead. I am not even sick. I am home, got home yesterday afternoon, six weeks of mad peregrinations are over, and, because I was asleep by nine last night, I am wide awake at six am, so I grabbed my computer, and am now blogging in bed in the dark.
(Cabal the Dog was very pleased to see me. He's 90% better after his operation -- he still has about ten days until he's allowed to go up and down stairs [so I am still sleeping on makeshift downstairs bed] but he is allowed to run, and he has -- for the first time ever -- an appetite, like a normal dog, and has thus put on several pounds. He looks more like a white German Shepherd Dog and less like a big white greyhound.
And I was pleased to see him. Here is a smily picture of us saying hello...
So when last heard of, I was blogging in a little hotel in the Highlands&Islands, off on a mysterious errand. (The best bit was throwing chips to the seagulls in a little Scottish harbour.)
Then I drove to Inverness and I flew from there to London, where I saw Holly, sat in the hotel library and wrote, saw friends, had some meetings about films and TV and books, ate more fish and chips, drank tea, and finally, given the choice between seeing Dave McKean for the first time since Hallowe'en and going to the UK Watchmen premiere, I had a lovely dinner with Dave, and caught up with friends who'd been to the premiere afterwards. Their feedback left me a bit more interested in seeing it, though.
(Also, my friend Duncan Jones showed me his upcoming film Moon, and I will blog about it soon. It is a solid science fiction film like they don't make any more.)
Let's see. The Newbery Award for The Graveyard Book continues to do good things. Bookshops are getting their copies with the gold medal on the cover, it's selling like (I'd say hot cakes, but I've honestly never seen people going "are these cakes hot? Then I will buy all of them!" in real life) and it's being reviewed in places that hadn't reviewed it before it was an award-winner:
Gaiman's ghost story is not just about the thrills and chills, although there are plenty. The book is in fact literary and layered. Gaiman gives reassurance that even sinister circumstance cannot squelch our human capacity to grow and change for the better. So as in all worthy coming-of-age stories, the ending turns out to be a new beginning.
...combines realistic dialogue and fantasy possibilities to tell a story that's not about sensationalized violence but about life's potential for happiness. Take time for this one, as it's quite remarkable; many adult readers, no children attached, have found it quite a compelling read.
The New York Times made it an Editor's Choice, but not The Boston Globe, in the first example of Thumper's "if you can't say something nice about someone don't say anything" motto book-reviewing I can remember. The entire review is:
I found the book ghastly, literally and metaphorically, and since Gaiman is a writer whose inventive genius I respect, I'll pass on without further comment.
...which just left me wondering how something can be metaphorically ghastly. ("It was ghastly -- and I mean that metaphorically!") and concluding that Liz Rosenberg is probably trying to use metaphorically as the opposite of literally, whereas what she actually meant was that it was ghastly in several senses of the word (ie. filled with dead things and ghosts and she didn't like it one little bit). Ah well. I hope she likes the next thing, whatever that is.
Which reminds me, the Who Killed Amanda Palmer book is, I am told, being printed and should be on its way into the world soon. (Preorder info here.)
Here's a short story from it. The stories are all short and all very different, and an Amanda dies in all of them. This one was a fairy-tale. It starts at about 2:19.
(You can see the photo Amanda is holding up here. And if you want to know what the event looked like from the front, photos, and more photos. Also, a review of her Sugar Club gig. I am tousle-haired. Who knew?)
...
Right. Now on to CORALINE...
It was predicted that it would be the #3 film this weekend. But by the end of the weekend, we were actually #2. Champagne would have been drunk if we weren't losing most of our 3D screens to the Jonas Bros on Friday.
Irene Gallo has started collecting links to Coraline design and animation work on her blog (http://igallo.blogspot.com/). And Chris Turnham's design work at http://christurnham.blogspot.com/ is wonderful. Stef Choi just put some art up at http://stefchoi.blogspot.com/(Again, I'd love to see an ART OF CORALINE book. Steve Jones was limited in his Coraline Film Companion to the art and information that Laika would give him. Now that no-one's actually in the mad final stages of making a film, it would be marvellous to gather together the entire concept art process.)
Will Eisner Week is intended as an ongoing celebration that will promote graphic novel literacy, free speech awareness, and the legacy of Eisner himself to a broad audience. This first annual celebration is themed "The Spirit of A Legend," examining Will Eisner's seminal Spirit comic, as well as the spirit inherent in his work that has inspired generations of comic readers and artists. This theme will be explored at events in Minneapolis at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, in Savannah at the Savannah College of Art and Design, and in New York City. In addition to events, a variety of academic papers and group activity assignments are available on WillEisnerWeek.com.
And last of all...
On Saturday March 7th, at Books of Wonder in Manhattan, Charles Vess and I are doing a signing. The event starts at 1:00pm. I'll read Blueberry Girl (it isn't very long. Maybe I'll read it twice, or verrrry sloooowly) and Charles will have art on display and prints for sale, and we'll do a Blueberry Girl Q&A, and it should be fun. I was worried that there wouldn't be enough space, but Peter at Books of Wonder reassured me that they've moved into a new shop since last I was there, and hosted J.K. Rowling, so they will have no problem coping with numbers of people who will turn up. So, hurrah, turn up. They'll be donating a percentage of the profits to RAINN, because I originally wrote Blueberry Girl for Tori and her as-yet-unborn-daughter, and that seemed like the right thing to do.
(Worth mentioning that Please note that you are welcome to bring one book from home to be signed for each book you purchase on the day of the event is a mistake. It may be true for Charles, but it's not true for me. Current plans are that I'll sign three things per person, and if the numbers of people get too big, that may have to go down.)
And this has been a long enough blog that I shall stop here and resume later.
This is what the Carrying a Convalescent Dog Up and Down Stairs Workout Plan looks like. Truth to tell, we're both really tired of it. He knocked over an impregnable barrier at the bottom of the stairs and shot back up on his own, rather than let me carry him back up, and while I've been using my knees to lift, my back is Not Happy About It All. Next time I succeed in finding a shop selling a dog sling, or I borrow a bungalow.
He (and my car, and someone not me to drive it) leave for home tomorrow, while I head off on in different direction for two weeks of Coraline promotional stuff. This is not a good thing, as all the things I was writing have come alive on me, all at once, and all I want to do is keep my head down and write them.
Watched the Doctor Who Christmas Special with the kids on Boxing Day. I liked it, but kept expecting it to turn a corner and for me to love it, which it, and I, never did. Possibly because the clanky high tech Cybermen have no hold on my heart in the way the silent bacofoil ones did and do, and possibly because of spoilery reasons having to do with never really buying the David Morrisey plot to begin with. Loved the moments of David Tennant-as-companion though, and that Miss Hartigan can come to my funeral in a red dress any time she wishes.
The sun is out. The sky is blue. It's still a couple of degrees below freezing. Bugger. Let's see. A couple of Christmas Day photos -- here's one of me and my small but significant daughter collection. Yes, I have Christmas morning bed-hair, and yes, I am wearing my Christmas Sweater with the black Christmas trees on it.
I've left the hunting-season collar on Cabal because sometimes he vanishes in the snow, and a flash of orange is useful.
For those of you who worry about the blog getting Coraline-the-movied-out, there's only thirty-six days to go until the film comes out in the US. Then there will probably be a week or two where I blog about how it's doing, and then it will recede into the background, as is the way of all things.
In the meantime, expect updates -- mostly because I'm really enjoying what henry and his team are doing to promote the film: http://www.youtube.com/coralinethemovie is the YouTube channel for all the Coraline mini-films released so far, where you can watch how things are made, built and knitted. (I was half-amused and half-appalled to see people on the imdb Coraline chat forum and on the Aint it cool talkback thingummy confidently explaining, as if they knew what they were talking about, that this was actually cunningly disguised to look like stop motion CGI, or that Henry Selick had used computers to do the inbetweening, or something, while occasionally people who had actually worked on Coraline would go "No, it was all done by hand," and were mostly ignored in the squalling democracy of the internet. What's nice about the little films is that you can see how it's done; and it's done by people making things and moving them, a little bit at a time.)
More stuff keeps showing up at http://www.coraline.com/ -- it occasionally doesn't load for me, or gets stuck, but refreshing it seems to take care of that.
I loved the posters available for download in the living room. This is one of them. Click on it to see it full size.
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