Perfect timing, as yesterday I finally finished the revision of Glimmering, which will be out next spring. I went into this project with no intention whatsoever of rewriting the book — I was actually violently opposed to the idea of rewriting, for several reasons. Laziness, but mostly because I didn't want it to seem that I rewrote an eerily prescient novel in any way that would make it seem more prescient than it already was.
I wrote Glimmering between 1994/1996, and reading it for the first time since 1997, when it was published, I was struck by how badly overwritten it is — I never said anything twice if I could say it three or four times. So I decided to cut ruthlessly, mostly descriptive passages. (Believe me, there are plenty left.) A bigger concern was the novel's original ending. In 1994, my intent was to write a cautionary tale involving every single worst-case scenario I could think of. But never in a million years did I imagine that almost all of them would actually come to pass, and in such a short period of time.
I wrote Glimmering as science fiction. I reread it over the last few weeks as documentary. The experience was deeply unnerving. I felt, feel, that in good conscience I needed to offer something in the way of hope, without compromising the book's vision of the manmade disasters that have wrought havoc with a fictional world that now mirrors our real one. This involved remarkably little in the way of actual revision: the material was all there to begin with. I think that even Leonard Thrope would approve.