The “I’m not even bothering to be comprehensive” list of links
Uh, hi. I’m sorry, do I have some sort of “blog” or thereabouts? I think I’ve rather forgotten what with this whole moving to another country business. Never mind unpacking an obscene amount of books, made more so by how many I had to leave behind. It’s enough to make a girl crazy except for the whole “life is good” mood that seems to have taken over my brain.
Just in time for BEA (otherwise known as GalleyWorld) which starts tomorrow and promises to take over many lives — mine included — for the entire duration. But more on that in the next post. Onward:
The LA Times has an incredibly long feature about Harley Jane Kozak and her long and winding book tour, using her experiences to comment on the feasibility of tours in general.
Even though the town’s name causes me to have that damned No Doubt song in my head, I still do have a weird hankering to be at the Hay-on-Wye festival this week. But since I can’t, the kind folks at the Guardian are blogging all about it.
And speaking of writers festivals, Ireland has one of its own this week too, over in Listowel. On the crime fic side, Lawrence Block and Ken Bruen will be in conversation, which should certainly entertain the festival-goers.
It looks like after 10 years, the Orange Prize is a resounding success, at least if you believe the people talking to the Independent about it.
Kyra Davis, of SEX, MURDER AND A DOUBLE LATTE FAME, talks to the Santa Cruz Sentinel about how desperation and divorce made her write — and of course, now she’s having the last laugh.
Why did Ilona van Mil choose to set her first crime novel in Canada when she hasn’t lived there in 30 years? The answer can be found in this interview with the Canadian Press.
Another dose of the World’s Worst Interview? Why not? Check out what Harry Hunsicker has to say in the latest edition. Meanwhile, Paul Guyot attempts to horn in on this whole thar interview thing as he Q&As Ridley Pearson.
And finally, OK, I know this is big news and all, but there’s a part of me that’s disappointed I found out in my own lifetime. Does that make any sense?