Cassandra Hope Gero Brett, born 4:35pm, July 23, 2008, 8lbs 6oz, 21.5 inches, with auburn hair and gray eyes.

I’ve been trying to catch up on my comics reading lately, and while I haven’t really put too much of a dent in the huge stack of trade paperbacks on my dresser, I’ve made some progress. The stack is good anyway, as it keeps the cats from jumping atop my new dresser and scratching the wood, as they are wont to do.

So far I’ve been through the new Fables and Jack of Fables trades, the Walking Dead, Invincible, three Samurai Assassin collections, Astonishing X-Men, the first Savage Sword of Conan (what a beast of a phone book that was), and about three other Conan trades. Probably some other shit, too. Those are just the books I haven’t put away yet.

But what I really want to talk about is Vagabond by Takehiko Inoue (or Inoue Takehiko, depending on which side of the Pacific you’re on). I just read the last two collections (#’s 26 & 27) back to back, and they are fantastic.

I’m not a huge manga fan. That is, I read a fair number of manga books, but they are selected with great care, and must have two things I find frequently lacking in the flood of manga books that have overloaded the shelves of American bookstores: cohesive, compelling writing and detailed, semi-realistic art. Most manga is too disjointed and cartoonish for my taste, kind of like reading an epileptic seizure. I also demand a fair bit of action. I have no patience for comics about teenage love angst, though that covers a good 60% of manga. The young Japanese girls apparently eat that shit up.

I was first drawn to the genre, like many before me, by the amazing work of Kazuo Kioke and Goseki Kojima on Lone Wolf & Cub, which is still probably the greatest manga series ever. From there I followed writer Kazuo Koike to a number of his other works, which led me to his other partner, the amazing artist Ryoichi Ikegami, with whom he collaborated on the awesome Crying Freeman. It was while I was going through all Ikegami’s books that I came across Vagabond on the shelves and bought it on a whim.

Vagabond is a retelling of the life story of the Japanese Sword-Saint, Miyamoto Musashi, as based on the world-famous novel about Musashi’s life written by Eiji Yoshikawa. This is the same novel Hiroshi Inagaki based his acclaimed Samurai series of movies on, starring Toshiro Mifune.

But unlike the movies, Vagabond doesn’t bore the crap out of me. It details the quest of Musashi to become invincible under the sun. The series starts with his childhood, always a favorite tactic of mine, and details Musashi’s path from a rural peasant in feudal Japan to the greatest samurai in history.

Inoue’s art shifts seamlessly from beautiful watercolors to incredibly intricate pen and ink renderings. The book can read quickly, and you have to purposely slow down to take in his breathtaking landscapes and scenery. Sometimes I think he spends hours doing the delicate shading lines of a tree in the background that you barely notice because of the action of the figures in the foreground. You don’t see that level of perfection very often in American comics, and its always refreshing.

Likewise, the story can leap with alacrity from scenes of incredible violence and bloodshed to tranquil ponderings of philosophy and meditation. Thus, Inoue shows the dichotomy of the legendary Musashi, whose factual history is filled with years of nonstop killing (I think he won something like 67 duels, all of which were to the death), and the peace and thoughtfulness of Musashi’s writing and watercolor art in his treatise on swordsmanship and life, the Book of Five Rings.

There are also amazing treatments, not only of Musashi’s most famous duels, but of the lives and characters of those famous opponents, like Sasaki Kojiro, Shishido Baiken, and the Yoshioka brothers. Thus, Inoue shows unique, fully realized characters, going through their lives with success after success and bright futures, cut down in their primes by the unstoppable killing machine of Mushashi because of the unforgiving, prideful dueling that was the norm of samurai life during that period of Japan.

My only complaint about Vagabond is that sometimes it can take a loooong time between installments. There was one period of a couple of years when I thought Inoue must have died or retired with the series unfinished. Turns out he was doing some book about crapass basketball, which was apparently immensely popular.

Feh.

Yesterday I finished the Chapter From Hell.

There are some chapters that fly by, my fingers a blur as they race across the keys, still not keeping up with my mental dictation. They are crystal clear in my mind’s eye, and take about as long to write as they do to read.

Other chapters… do not. I strain and struggle just to make my piddling minimum writing quota of 1,000 words a day, and often fail at even that. I stare at the screen, willing the words to come, but nothing does, and my mind searches for an escape; checking e-mail, reading the news, playing Jawbreaker on my phone, going to the bathroom, getting a snack, anything I can find to put off the torture for a few minutes. Or an hour. Or a day.

I can’t even figure out why this is, sometimes. Action scenes almost always fall into the former, easy-to-write category, unless something horrible is happening as I temper one of my main characters, but plenty of other scenes do, too. The ones where the characters’ motivations are so clear that the scene thrums with an emotional resonance that I can almost nod my head to like a backbeat as I type.

But that emotional beat, the rhythm that makes scenes compelling and believable, is elusive at best. Sometimes characters just have to get from point A to point B, and I need to force the reasoning for it, and the emotional drivers that make it happen. Or I need to create new characters for a scene, and then find harmony in their emotional rhythms with those of my established characters.

It’s really fucking hard.

I’ve been working on chapter 15 of The Desert Spear for months. Literally. It’s a Rojer and Leesha chapter, for those of you that that means anything to, and try as I might, it was toneless.

Sometimes I just need to take a break when this happens, and come back to the chapter with fresh eyes. I tried this, taking time to write The Great Bazaar, a 14,000 word novelette to be included with the UK deluxe version of The Painted Man. I knocked that out in 2 weeks, including a a full rewrite and several rounds of minor revisions. Chapter 15 came in at less that 10,000 words, and it took me 5 times as long just to get a first draft out.

I’m proud of the result. I really am. I took a turd and somehow polished it into a bright sheen. But it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t fun, and it left me drained and grouchy every time I threw up my hands at 3am and decided I couldn’t look at it anymore.

I wanted to take a break from writing entirely afterwards. I told myself that if I just managed to finish that bitch-whore chapter before the baby came, I could take a month off from working with a clear conscience and focus on late-night feedings and staring into Cassandra’s little eyes.

But little Cassie isn’t here yet, and I know I should keep working until she is. It might be a week yet before the blessed bundle of screaming, pooping joy arrives. I need to get ahead as much as possible.

So I took care of some other business. Some website sent me a request for information so they could list me in their SF author directory. Harper Voyager Australia wanted me to submit some entries for their blog. People who have been reading advance copies of PM have been writing me, and I’ve been writing long and multiple replies, overjoyed that people seem to be digging it.

But I caught up on all that, even sending more entries to Voyager than I originally planned, so they can post them at their leisure while I am out of commission. I ran out of excuses not to work more on Desert Spear.

So I created a new chapter file, and synched it to my phone. I went through the stepsheet, familiarized myself with what needed to happen, and started writing.

I took a breather what seemed like a moment later, and looked at the clock. An hour had passed, and I had written close to 1700 words, which is about 5 pages. Just like that. Finished a scene, beginning to end.

Why can’t it always be that easy?

Why aren’t I drunk? I mean like RIGHT NOW? I should totally get drunk!

Why? Because in approximately a week, I’ll be a daddy, and then, the party’s over.

It wouldn’t be so bad, except for the fact that I came to the party so late. I was never a hard fast liver, always responsible before my time. But now, all of a sudden, I find myself closing the place, and wishing I’d had one or two binges before last call. It feels like all the stools are already up on the bar except for the one I’m sitting at, nursing my last scotch and smoke.

Starting in a week, it’s all diapers, night-feeding, Diego, and on a good day, maybe some Kung Fu Panda. Iron Man V will be available for home download before I get to see a movie I want in the theater again.

>sigh<

But whatever, you know? The good part about being a generally clean liver and a homebody is that I’m not giving up all that much. Just the freedom to DECIDE not to get drunk/stoned/on a plane to Vegas/etc. If that’s the biggest price I have to pay for a child to love who will pass on my DNA to future generations, well then it’s one I pay gladly.

But still… I should get drunk.

So I e-mailed my mom some of my book reviews the other day, and she writes back, “This is absolutely amazing! Are you sure you’re my son?”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to take that. Surely she would know the answer better than I.

I wrote back asking for clarification, and she said, “It’s just that dad and I are not very creative and I wonder where all that creativity came from. I think part of it was that you were at an in-between age for the kids in the neighborhood. Most were Johnny’s age or Kelly’s. You spent a lot of time reading comic books and playing with your toys and imagining all sorts of things. I really think that’s great for kids to have time to do that because most kids have great imaginations that just need some developing.”

Not sure, but I think this might be my mother’s nice way of saying I was a loser and had no friends.

Maybe she’s right . Imagination is like a muscle, and needs exercise. The thing is, though, I never really felt like I didn’t have people to play with. It was more that I didn’t like to play a lot of the things the kids my age wanted to play. I wanted to be reading my comics and books and playing with my toys, because it was far more interesting to me than chasing a ball around, or having some other kind of organized fun.

On the other hand, I don’t know what’s so hard for her to believe. My parents raised me to value reading and hard work, and to be open-minded and try to understand people who are different from me. I think those things are by far the most important skills required for writing.

Making up monsters is the easy part.

Okay, this time I wasn’t really stalking myself. Some other people sent me this stuff, but it’s every bit as good as whatever nonsense I could find about myself on google at 3am.

Chuck McKenzie, who wrote that stellar review on Horrorscope, e-mailed me today to let me know that Dymocks, one of the biggest book retailers in Australia, was placing a bulk-order of multiple copies of The Painted Man for all the stores in their chain. That means each store will be stocking from 10-30 copies, and they will be prominently displayed in the storefronts!!!

They also included an abbreviated version of the Horrorscope review in the Dymocks Southland in-store newsletter, Dymensions, which you can subscribe to here.

In addition to that, my agent wrote to let me know that SFREvu, a prominent online SF publication, posted a review of the book, which you can find here. My sepia ARC cover is even displayed on their home page!

Also in the news, I got the full color printed book jackets for the UK hardback in the mail yesterday, and they look awesome! My editor included the gift they are sending some buyers with the advance read copies: Temporary ward tattoos! They are really sweet, and come with description cards of the demons they protect against. I’ll try and scan all that stuff soon so that I can post it.

I’ve been meaning to get a warding circle tattoo for some time now. I have had 18 unique wards designed by Lauren Cannon, and I’m ready to have them permanently attached. They’ve become something of a signature, as they appear prominently in most of the book related projects and art.

I once promised myself I would get a tattoo for every series I wrote. I have a katana with a Heart-shaped tsuba on my right forearm to represent the Aldun Orion books, and now I need to balance it with something on my left arm for the Painted Man books. It’s time.

Anyone know a good tattoo artist in NYC/Brooklyn?

Big news from Prague, the geographical heart of Europe, capital of the Czech Republic, and a city my friend Neil tells me is filled with beauty. (He says the buildings are nice, too.)

Triton publishing has beaten the competition with their offer to purchase translation and distribution rights of the Painted Man and two sequels. This is a fantastic honor, as usually the Czechs are reluctant to purchase rights to unpublished (and therefore untested) books. I hope to do them proud.

If your Czech is a little rusty, I asked google to translate their website.

As I hinted a few days ago, I had gotten a call from my agent, saying that he head heard from his Spanish affiliate about offers to buy The Painted Man and its sequels in Spain.

This morning I am proud to announce that my work will now be translated and distributed in Spain by publisher Timun Mas! They have a strong history of working with JABberwocky clients, and I’ve heard great things about them.

I am very excited to have the book come out in Spanish, particularly as a New Yorker, where it is the second most popular language even in the delicious stew of immigrants that is my home. I am totally going to make sure to get a bunch of extra copies.

If I become a bestseller, that will make little Cassie an infanta.

Next on the list is the Czech Republic. We’re talking with them even now, and I should have something to announce soon!

Australian writer/bookseller Chuck McKenzie e-mailed me yesterday, telling me that he read an advance read copy of The Painted Man, and that he loved it. He even took the time to write it up in a stellar book review for the Australian dark fantasy blog HorrorScope. Not only that, but he said he’d be stocking copies in his store.

Chuck manages a Dymocks, which is the Aussie equivalent to a Borders. Harper Collins Australia, who have been amazing, sent him the ARC as part of their marketing campaign. The ARCs were printed in London and shipped down unda, so I figured the British had a week’s head start, but the Harper AU really shot out of the gate, at least in terms of generating feedback. So far all 7 online reviews I’ve gotten have been from Australia.

Anyway, Chuck’s letter was really gratifying, because he is in many ways the ideal critic. He lives on the opposite side of the planet, doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall, loves fantasy, and is experienced in both the creative and the professional aspects of publishing in general and the SF market in particular. The guy has no reason say he liked something he didn’t, much less go out of his way to say something nice and give a new writer with no resume a hand up on a personal level. But he did, and I really appreciate that.

Chalk up one more reason I want to go to Australia some day, even though the idea of that much time cooped up on a plane freaks me out a bit. Probably because of fricken’ LOST. I sure as hell ain’t flying Oceanic.

Ah, Google Alerts, what gems you find me! Like this one, from Graeme’s Fantasy Book Review.

Priceless.