Thursday, January 03, 2002 (11:46 p.m.)
A semi-remarkable 1,200 words or so today on Chapter One, which means I'm probably two-thirds of the way through it. And this despite snowy weather and my office so cold my feet were freezing all day.
Then much of the evening was spent proofreading the galleys for In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers.
If anyone reading this bumps into Dame Darcy, who is currently on safari somewhere in the wilds of Manhattan, please tell her to call me. If she doesn't have the number, she should call Leslie Sternberg, who does. It's important.
Volumes have been written on how badly the South deals with even a half-inch of snow, which is good, because that means I don't have to go on about it here tonight. Instead, I'm going to go do something fun, like play Tomb Raider or read a Dr. Seuss book. I absolutely adore Dr. Seuss, especially the Lovecrafiness of McElligot's Pool and On Beyond Zebra. The Gentleman from Providence gave us non-Euclidean geometry, but Dr. Seuss gave us non-Darwinian biology. One of my all time favorite readings was at a goth club, where I was scheduled to read between The Crüxshadows and Bella Morte. Well, the sound system in the place sucked ass, and the sound guys sucked something worse. Things were so bad that Bella Morte were finally forced to end their set halfway through. So instead of reading whatever story I'd brought, I complained loudly and at length about the shitty sound and then read Dr. Seuss' "What Was I Scared Of?" The bands (and most everyone else present) were delighted. Dr. Seuss rules.
I think my cat has given me a hairball. I really do.
Then much of the evening was spent proofreading the galleys for In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers.
If anyone reading this bumps into Dame Darcy, who is currently on safari somewhere in the wilds of Manhattan, please tell her to call me. If she doesn't have the number, she should call Leslie Sternberg, who does. It's important.
Volumes have been written on how badly the South deals with even a half-inch of snow, which is good, because that means I don't have to go on about it here tonight. Instead, I'm going to go do something fun, like play Tomb Raider or read a Dr. Seuss book. I absolutely adore Dr. Seuss, especially the Lovecrafiness of McElligot's Pool and On Beyond Zebra. The Gentleman from Providence gave us non-Euclidean geometry, but Dr. Seuss gave us non-Darwinian biology. One of my all time favorite readings was at a goth club, where I was scheduled to read between The Crüxshadows and Bella Morte. Well, the sound system in the place sucked ass, and the sound guys sucked something worse. Things were so bad that Bella Morte were finally forced to end their set halfway through. So instead of reading whatever story I'd brought, I complained loudly and at length about the shitty sound and then read Dr. Seuss' "What Was I Scared Of?" The bands (and most everyone else present) were delighted. Dr. Seuss rules.
I think my cat has given me a hairball. I really do.