After The Spymaster's Lady, I ended up picking up some military sf, with a protagonist who basically kills or fucks almost everyone he comes across. You'd think the combination would result in the perfect mental environment for a grandiose space opera, but instead I found myself contemplating a fantasy short story.
I have a friend who organizes her books by gradation: Robert Sapolsky (neuroscience professor with a wacky sense of humor) next to Terry Pratchett (fantasy with a wacky sense of humor) next to Kit Johnson (lyrical fantasy) next to Tony Hoagland (poet). Somehow she makes it work. But she rarely ends up reading two adjacent books one after another. I suppose she craves variety. That must be what's up with me.
I should ask her what's on the opposite end of space opera. Except that reading time, naturally, detracts from writing time. I just need to knuckle down and force this thing out.
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