Things George R. R. Martin Is Doing Instead Of Finishing The "Game Of Thrones" Books

Welcome to Things George R. R. Martin Is Doing Instead Of Finishing The "Game Of Thrones" Books, a feature in which I spotlight all the many, many, many ways that author George R.R.R.R. Martin is wasting precious time gadding about in public instead of bellying up to the typewriter and finishing his goddamned novels.

So what's George doing to waste time this week? Why, he wrote a book! Ordinarily that would be cause for much rejoicing in the world of fantasy literature. Unfortunately the book he wrote is not the one fans were expecting. Instead of finally completing The Winds Of Winter (Book Six of his seven book series), he wrote The World Of Ice & Fire, a goddamned history of Westeros.*

According to the press release, the book is "a comprehensive history of the Seven Kingdoms, providing vividly constructed accounts of the epic battles, bitter rivalries, and daring rebellions that lead to the events of A Song of Ice and Fire and HBO’s Game of Thrones."

Are you freaking kidding me? He took the time to write a fake history of his fake world? He knows damn good and well that everyone and their dog is anxiously awaiting the next book, and he wastes his time writing a goddamned prequel? Is he trying to make his fans have a collective stroke?

On the other hand, a history of Westeros might be pretty cool. Just not now, while we're in the home stretch of the series. Maybe wait until the final book is published before concentrating on prequels, histories and supplemental materials, m'kay?

As for when The Winds Of Winter might possibly ever be finished, the outlook's not so good. There's no firm release date in sight, and Martin himself recently said he's making "negative progress on the book." Negative progress? What the flip does that mean? What the hell's he doing, erasing pages he's already written? Jesus Christ!

Martin commented on the situation, saying, "I have days where I make lots of progress. I have days when I make next to no progress, I have days where I think I'm going backwards because I don't like what I wrote yesterday. I have days in which I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the floor. Some days I dress up my cats and have them act out scenes from previous books. One day I ate a whole jar of chocolate frosting and woke up in my backyard, clad only in my underwear and holding a cardboard sword. Some days I try to write, but I start watching the block of Perfect Stranger reruns that's on every afternoon and before I know it, it's time for bed. Occasionally I'll fill my swimming pool with hundred dollar bills afforded to me by my legions of loyal fans and try to swim around in it like Scrooge McDuck. Some days I realize there's something important I'm supposed to be doing, but I can't remember what. And some days I just say "Screw all y'all, I already know how the damned story ends" and I sit and read the newspaper in my robe and Greek fisherman's hat all day.

* Yes, I see that he didn't write the book all by himself. But his name is twelve times as big as the other two authors on the cover, so he had to have put some effort into its creation. Effort that took him away from the main series.