After making heroic efforts to finish the edits on my novel in time, I was told today that because of my publisher’s printing schedule, its release will be pushed back to February.
They’ll print me a pre-release copy of my novel in its most recent draft form but in truth, I’m disappointed to not have a commercial release ready.
At least I won’t feel half as bad about leaving the convention early to tour Berkeley. In only a week I’ll be taking my first knowing and conscious trip to a place I might have known in a past life with someone who, oddly enough, was a German soldier in WWI. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting to see the old neighborhood.
I have a video of Berkeley around the late 60s in my “watch later” list to compare notes with when I get back. Admittedly I didn’t get around to that area as much in those days (that was during the Santa Venetia years) but I expect that enough features were preserved from the 40s-50s when I lived there that I’ll recognize places I know in the video. I’ll have my camera to take photos of any details that stand out for me.
It’s still surreal that I find myself in this position, actively pursuing a writing career through small presses and niche fiction so close to where all this started. I wonder sometimes, if I’d survived that life to the present day as Phil, if I’d still be writing or if ill health or senility would have put an end to that. Then again, I really have no frame of reference for how it would have been if I’d been Phil after 1982; I just can’t imagine it. I was too far gone physically to have made it to 2015 in that body.
Philip K. Dick is dead and buried, which leaves me, in this life, just a bit lost now that life has once again cast me as a struggling writer. Maybe I’ll get my thoughts together in Berkeley, or maybe I’ll feel just as lost.