It's In Cold Sweat redux. It's Bass Player all over again. How do I deal with a 90 percent lack of response to my queries? What's the secret to forging ahead when I seem to attract only con artists, big talkers, lunatics, and sneering sophisticates who can't even be bothered to tell me to fuck off? How do I cope when my fate is in the hands of people who're absolutely incapable of understanding what I'm trying to convey?

It happened in 2002, when In Cold Sweat was ignored and Chasing the Last Whale never even made it off the launching pad. I went out of my mind with rage.

In the case of Ghosts, three Web designers have now screwed me; two publicity campaigns have collapsed like statues made of pudding; and I'm once again caught between fanged predators on one side and my utterly indifferent "support network" on the other.

And the lies! I'd really, really love to get into the countless lies and broken promises. You simply wouldn't believe them. You'd say, "Come on! You're making that up!"

I most certainly am not. We live in a Golden Age of dishonesty. As bad as it was in 2002, it's much worse now. You know why? Because everyone else is doing it. That's all. People are slaves to the Zeitgeist. If there's no shame in lying anymore, why not lie like everybody else? T'cha!

So why am I not even perturbed by this?

Because I'm not my work. I finally became the person I always wanted to be, and that's all that matters. Writing is just a hobby now. I'd love it if I could sell shitloads of books, but I doubt it'll ever happen. So what? I'm going to have fun trying. And the handful of you who've told me that my work moves you? I'll keep writing for you. I promise.

Yesterday I got a message from a guy I admire. I'd sent him a copy of Ghosts, and he e-mailed me with a brief, unprompted admission that made his success in his chosen field all the sweeter for me. He has lots of enemies dedicated to tearing him down because they hate his ideas and his looks. Not only will they never accomplish their goal of destroying him, I now know that he's utterly impervious to their efforts. They can't even smudge his armor.

Good.

For.

Him.

I hope he continues to rake in the dough, get more influential, and infuriate his detractors.

So do your worst, world. The more nonplussed you are at what I produce, the more inclined I am to write without any boundaries whatsoever. You think "The Fate Block" is scary and weird? Wait'll you read Edifications.

You ain't seen nothing yet.