"You'll lose everything, by the end..."
I'm going to put my fucking life up for sale on Craigslist. Not that I've ever even looked at Craigslist, but I figure they might not stop me from selling my life, so long as I offer it cheap.
I don't think I should even try to play catch up. The past three days are a blur of proofreading and editing. And stuff. New Year's Day through today. Proofreading for what? The Ape's Wife and Other Stories and Black Helicopters, both. The latter, actually, is a hardback "chapbook" novella that will be offered free with the limited edition of the collection. I wasn't sure whether or not I'd yet announced The Ape's Wife and Other Stories and if Bill Schafer was okay with my doing so. But last night I saw that Locus has listed it as a July 2013 release, so there you go. Nope, I have no idea when preorders will begin. Soon, I would think. I delivered the final ms. to subpress last night, though I won't be delivering the final text of Black Helicopters until later today. But, yeah. Four days of intensive fucking editing. Or four fucking intensive days of editing. Though no actual fucking was involved. More's the pity.
The snow we got on the 29th of December is still out there.
I had some hope, until today, that this year might be getting off to a better start than the disastrous 2012.
As soon as I have the time to export/import the whole of this LJ to Dreamwidth (again) I'll be moving. Could be as soon as the middle of this week. It will continue to be mirrored here, though I'll only answer comments there. I hate to do this, but the primary object of the journal has always been promotional and I'm hoping there will be more readers at Dreamwidth. I'm actually a bit lost, as regards the web. It has been, in large part, responsible for the meager success I've had as an author. First, going back to 1995, through my website, then several incarnations of a long-extinct online forum/chatroom, then Blogger, which led to LiveJournal. All of these have worked for me. Now, though, the age of the website and the age of the blog both seem to be - for the most part - over and done. And neither Facebook nor Twitter have proven very helpful. Though I do get a lot more feedback via Facebook these days than LJ. But it all moves too fast, these new "social media" services, and cater to such a goddamn short-attention-span mindset, that I fear they are of almost zero utility in the promotion of books. So I'll continue with a blog and hope things are better at Dreamwidth. This, by the way, will likely not be my existing Dreamwidth account, but a new one.
If you have not, please order a copy of the hardback Alabaster: Wolves collection. A lot is riding on the success of the book. I've seen a copy, and it looks grand. Greg Ruth's covers are fucking brilliant.
There's a lot more I'd say, about the past few days, but I have a very long interview to get through, after the last bit of editing on Black Helicopters. So, I'd best boogy. I have added a series of of photographs to my New Year's Day entry, all of which were taken on the last day of 2012, The Year The World Did Not End. Though, it may been another fifteen or twenty minutes before they're up.
Tired of Breathing,
Aunt Beast
I don't think I should even try to play catch up. The past three days are a blur of proofreading and editing. And stuff. New Year's Day through today. Proofreading for what? The Ape's Wife and Other Stories and Black Helicopters, both. The latter, actually, is a hardback "chapbook" novella that will be offered free with the limited edition of the collection. I wasn't sure whether or not I'd yet announced The Ape's Wife and Other Stories and if Bill Schafer was okay with my doing so. But last night I saw that Locus has listed it as a July 2013 release, so there you go. Nope, I have no idea when preorders will begin. Soon, I would think. I delivered the final ms. to subpress last night, though I won't be delivering the final text of Black Helicopters until later today. But, yeah. Four days of intensive fucking editing. Or four fucking intensive days of editing. Though no actual fucking was involved. More's the pity.
The snow we got on the 29th of December is still out there.
I had some hope, until today, that this year might be getting off to a better start than the disastrous 2012.
As soon as I have the time to export/import the whole of this LJ to Dreamwidth (again) I'll be moving. Could be as soon as the middle of this week. It will continue to be mirrored here, though I'll only answer comments there. I hate to do this, but the primary object of the journal has always been promotional and I'm hoping there will be more readers at Dreamwidth. I'm actually a bit lost, as regards the web. It has been, in large part, responsible for the meager success I've had as an author. First, going back to 1995, through my website, then several incarnations of a long-extinct online forum/chatroom, then Blogger, which led to LiveJournal. All of these have worked for me. Now, though, the age of the website and the age of the blog both seem to be - for the most part - over and done. And neither Facebook nor Twitter have proven very helpful. Though I do get a lot more feedback via Facebook these days than LJ. But it all moves too fast, these new "social media" services, and cater to such a goddamn short-attention-span mindset, that I fear they are of almost zero utility in the promotion of books. So I'll continue with a blog and hope things are better at Dreamwidth. This, by the way, will likely not be my existing Dreamwidth account, but a new one.
If you have not, please order a copy of the hardback Alabaster: Wolves collection. A lot is riding on the success of the book. I've seen a copy, and it looks grand. Greg Ruth's covers are fucking brilliant.
There's a lot more I'd say, about the past few days, but I have a very long interview to get through, after the last bit of editing on Black Helicopters. So, I'd best boogy. I have added a series of of photographs to my New Year's Day entry, all of which were taken on the last day of 2012, The Year The World Did Not End. Though, it may been another fifteen or twenty minutes before they're up.
Tired of Breathing,
Aunt Beast