I was invited by Sian Griffiths (whose Eyre-esque Western-ific novel Borrowed Horses is blessedly coming soon!) to participate in this blogosphere party. Here goes: What is your working title of your book (or story)?
My second novel does not have a working title. Correction: all of its working titles suck. It is either–The Trouble with Mattering, The Rate at Which She Travels Backwards, I Neg–You Neg–We Neg: the Conjugation
Where did the idea come from for the book?
The idea was for a world so saturated with media that white space cost, and cost dearly. Artists become the purveyors of absence–whores of nothing.
What genre does your book fall under?
Hell if I know. Sci-fi, spec-fic, psycho-opera.
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Nothing is what you thought it was, also — it’s all covered over in layers of white gesso.
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
I love my agent. I would marry her if I were in the third grade and someone dared me to.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
It’s not ripe yet.
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Labyrinth (Pan’s), Labyrinth (Bowie’s), Labyrinthes (Borges’)
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
I was inspired to write this book after looking at the art of Agnes Martin and listening to my radio on static– wondering if all art truly provides is an interruption in the texture of what surrounds– I went on to wonder what would happen if everything that surrounded was false, a reprint… is an interruption in a series of falsehoods a kind of truth? Oh, and also there’s a secret society in it plotting the takeover as the world-as-it-is-known and there’s sex and almost-sex and maybe-kind-of-sex-but-not-really.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Maybe the sex parts? That it opens with a really aesthetic death? That Philadelphia is a character in the book? Or, wait, maybe people do not like Philadelphia…