Especially the "without haste" part. My last short story, "The Mercy Gate," was published in the March 1998 issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction. After six years, you'd be forgiven for thinking it really was my last publication and not the most recent. When I came to Paris, in October 2002, I figured it would be a good opportunity to hunker down. This was the city of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and all that crew, after all. I'd shake off the dust, clear away the cobwebs, pick up some new material and maybe some fresh perspectives. And, despite it being Paris, there'd be few distractions. I didn't know anyone. I didn't speak the language (and still don't speak it very well). Most of the television was broadcast in French, oddly enough, and CNN and the BBC compromised most of the English-language programming. What was there to do but write?
But, you know, when you're having trouble writing, there's always something to do besides writing, even if it's just sitting around, staring at the walls, and thinking about why you're not writing. I did a bit of that. Also, watched CNN and the BBC for hours on end. Read a lot of books and bought a bunch more I haven't gotten around to yet. Did some traveling. Had a volcanic, inspiring and distracting love affair. Negotiated the French bureaucracy on various matters, such as the all-import visa and titre de sejour, which is a part-time job in itself. Oh, and worked full-time at the International Herald Tribune.
But I've been writing lately. No reason for it, just as there was no reason, really, not to do it. I'm not going to write about the stories, just as I don't talk about them, because if you talk it out you don't have to write it out. But they're there, reeling out word by word, and now so is this.
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