Earlier this evening, I read the last page of a book, closed the cover and sat back, unsure of what to do next. There was plenty to get on with - emails to send, stories to edit, design and layout to finish for Vertigo, website text to sort for Nemesis Publishing - but all I wanted to do was write.
I've read two books this last week, while Mrs Q and I and the kids have been on a week's break at Center Parcs. The first was John Connolly's new one for kids - The Gates - and the second, the one I finished this evening, was Coraline, by Neil Gaiman, which has been around for several years.
Both books are superb - I'll post a review of The Gates soon on this blog - but it was Coraline which left me perched on the end of the couch, unable to do all those things that needed doing.
It's one of those books that can't help but inspire a writer to, well, write. It is simplistically brilliant, and that's not a backhanded compliment.
As someone who is working through several ideas for children's books, it is one of the most inspiring books I've read in a long time. Man, those buttons. Creepy is not the word. I really must get round to reading The Graveyard Book. It's even better, so I'm told.
In other news, the publisher of the Manx Giant biography emailed tonight to say the book should be in our hands by the end of next week, which is cool, and an email came in while I was running around, trying to protect Center Parcs from Junior Q and Baby Q, inviting me to give a talk at the Celtic Congress season of winter talks, for March. I don't know much about the Celtic Congress, but it's always nice to be asked to such events, and a chance to promote the book.
But that's one for the future. Right now I'm off to try and forget about those bloody buttons.