"Youth lies broken upon the wheel of the machine."
Here in sunny Providence, it's 43˚F, but the sun has it feeling like 52˚F. Just don't step into a shadow.
Today, I have to see my shrink. She listens to me, and she gives me pills.
Yesterday I wrote 1,343 words on the fourth chapter of Cherry Bomb. Then I began a new piece for Sirenia Digest, "Words Written Backwards," and wrote another 1,081 words. When I went to bed at 1:30 a.m., I proofread "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics," a story I wrote in December 2009 for a Robert Silverberg tribute collection - The Book of Silverberg - coming in 2014 from Subterranean Press. I'd not read the story since it was written, four years ago. But it was in very good shape, and I only marked a few comma problems. I exchanged email yesterday with Bob Eggleton regarding The Dinosaurs of Mars, and with Daniel Chabon, my Dark Horse editor, regarding Alabaster.
I'm pretty sure that I cannot resist titling the new mini-series Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird. You have Greg Ruth and Matt Spencer to blame.
Oh, and speaking of Dancy, a previously unpublished Dancy short story, "Bus Fare," will be appearing in the very next issue of Subterranean Magazine (online). "Bus Fare" is the story I wrote for Dark Horse that they asked me to adapt as a graphic novel. It became the first issue of Alabaster: Wolves, but the original prose version has never been published and is not included in the new edition of the collection.
This morning there was a long dream that's nothing now but a few scraps of memory. However, at one point I was at the American Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia in the 1880s, and I was trying to persuade Edward Drinker Cope that maybe he should try a little harder to get along with Othniel Charles Marsh. Fuck if I know why. Marsh was an ass.
Last night, dinner from the Hudson Street Deli, then Guild Wars 2, then a couple of episodes of the final season of Dexter, then the aforementioned proofreading, which kept me awake until about 2:30. I slept eight hours. That's two good nights in a row. The stars must be right.
Astrology is Hogwash,
Aunt Beast
Today, I have to see my shrink. She listens to me, and she gives me pills.
Yesterday I wrote 1,343 words on the fourth chapter of Cherry Bomb. Then I began a new piece for Sirenia Digest, "Words Written Backwards," and wrote another 1,081 words. When I went to bed at 1:30 a.m., I proofread "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics," a story I wrote in December 2009 for a Robert Silverberg tribute collection - The Book of Silverberg - coming in 2014 from Subterranean Press. I'd not read the story since it was written, four years ago. But it was in very good shape, and I only marked a few comma problems. I exchanged email yesterday with Bob Eggleton regarding The Dinosaurs of Mars, and with Daniel Chabon, my Dark Horse editor, regarding Alabaster.
I'm pretty sure that I cannot resist titling the new mini-series Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird. You have Greg Ruth and Matt Spencer to blame.
Oh, and speaking of Dancy, a previously unpublished Dancy short story, "Bus Fare," will be appearing in the very next issue of Subterranean Magazine (online). "Bus Fare" is the story I wrote for Dark Horse that they asked me to adapt as a graphic novel. It became the first issue of Alabaster: Wolves, but the original prose version has never been published and is not included in the new edition of the collection.
This morning there was a long dream that's nothing now but a few scraps of memory. However, at one point I was at the American Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia in the 1880s, and I was trying to persuade Edward Drinker Cope that maybe he should try a little harder to get along with Othniel Charles Marsh. Fuck if I know why. Marsh was an ass.
Last night, dinner from the Hudson Street Deli, then Guild Wars 2, then a couple of episodes of the final season of Dexter, then the aforementioned proofreading, which kept me awake until about 2:30. I slept eight hours. That's two good nights in a row. The stars must be right.
Astrology is Hogwash,
Aunt Beast