"I left my heart in the Cambrian. And the Carboniferous."
My heart gets around.
Cooler today and cloudy. Our high was only 74˚F, with the heat index at 75˚F. But no rain, at least.
I was up at 6:30 a.m., after about four hours sleep. I wrote 1,059 words on a new short story I am calling "Strandling," which is being written for an Ellen Datlow anthology. It's been almost three years since I have tried to write a piece of fiction for anyone but myself. I am my ideal audience. I have trouble with most everyone else. Anyway, then, after coffee, I spent an hour dusting about an eighth of this dusty office, this space that is presently serving double duty as prep lab and writer's office.
I learned from Jun Ebersole it will be July before I can return to McWane, and that was kind of a bummer. But he's bringing me more Pleistocene cave matrix, and there's Winifred, and the Secret Project. There is another paleontological matter I am anxious to work on, and I am currently waiting on an important email to tell me if I have the green light on that.
There was email today with Jun (as I said), and with Vince Locke (illustrations for Vile Affections), and with Paula Guran (a very late "Year's Best" contract I signed in March, but had not yet mailed), and...the other matter that is making me anxious, it got an email, too.
That was pretty much today. I had a ham and turkey sandwich for dinner. Cornflakes for breakfast. Not much else to eat today.
And yes, this is my 57th wretched birthday month, fifty-seven trips around the sun, and yes, you may have a link to my Amazon wish list. Gifts are distractions, and distractions keep me functional.
Later Kittens,
Aunt Beast
4:36 p.m.
Cooler today and cloudy. Our high was only 74˚F, with the heat index at 75˚F. But no rain, at least.
I was up at 6:30 a.m., after about four hours sleep. I wrote 1,059 words on a new short story I am calling "Strandling," which is being written for an Ellen Datlow anthology. It's been almost three years since I have tried to write a piece of fiction for anyone but myself. I am my ideal audience. I have trouble with most everyone else. Anyway, then, after coffee, I spent an hour dusting about an eighth of this dusty office, this space that is presently serving double duty as prep lab and writer's office.
I learned from Jun Ebersole it will be July before I can return to McWane, and that was kind of a bummer. But he's bringing me more Pleistocene cave matrix, and there's Winifred, and the Secret Project. There is another paleontological matter I am anxious to work on, and I am currently waiting on an important email to tell me if I have the green light on that.
There was email today with Jun (as I said), and with Vince Locke (illustrations for Vile Affections), and with Paula Guran (a very late "Year's Best" contract I signed in March, but had not yet mailed), and...the other matter that is making me anxious, it got an email, too.
That was pretty much today. I had a ham and turkey sandwich for dinner. Cornflakes for breakfast. Not much else to eat today.
And yes, this is my 57th wretched birthday month, fifty-seven trips around the sun, and yes, you may have a link to my Amazon wish list. Gifts are distractions, and distractions keep me functional.
Later Kittens,
Aunt Beast
4:36 p.m.