Depression hitting me hard?

I said to Elina yesterday: "Doing work sucks."

I've felt this way for several days now. I don't know what started it - maybe it's the on-going rain and the goddamn pre-Christmas darkness (for the foreigners reading this: there's absolutely no snow around here and it's fucking 8 degrees Celsius all the time and it's pouring water like Noah's waiting around the corner with his fucking animal ship) -, but I do know that I want it to end. I don't feel like doing anything - well, maybe I'd like to read.

Even watching television last night - Sopranos and Six Feet Under - felt like a burden. Well, okay, I was drawn to them when they started and especially Six Feet Under, with Nate's burial, was very, very touching. I was thinking I'd post about the series saying something like "it makes us want to get hurt so that we could feel ourselves heroic under the tragic circumstances", but I don't feel like doing it.

Well, I managed to do something: I finished another draft of my crime novel The Dostoyevsky Reel and will be sending it to a small press publisher that showed interest in it, when I sent them a short synopsis. We'll see what happens. I'm also sending my other crime novel to another, newly formed small press house - you remember that one, about the right-wing private eye working in the present-day Finland?

As I mentioned in passing, I was reading Laura Lippman's The Sugar House. I finished it the day before. It was very good, but I had some trouble in the climax when the baddy turned out to be a Democrat, Jewish and homosexual at the same time. I'll maybe go reading on a sofa after I've sent the manuscript to the publisher - maybe some Robert Ferrigno. I have his first, The Horse Latitudes, on my TBR pile.

Check out the new issue of the on-line crime fiction mag, Spinetingler. There's an interview of Duane Swierczynski, amongst all.