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The sun came back unexpectedly yesterday, and we had it for much of the afternoon. Despite the cold, I opened the office window and the storm window and let in fresh air. Spooky did the same in the bathroom. It was a relief. Today, though, it's overcast and will be until Wednesday. Currently, it's 41˚F, and the windchill is at 36˚F. Oh, and I'm still coughing.

When I did the bibliography for Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea, I calculated that, as of January 22, 2015, I'd written and sold a total off 222 short stories (including "novelletes" and novellas; I excluded The Dry Salvages and Black Helicopters, as I consider them short novels). This morning, two years later, I calculated that I've written and sold a total of 242 short stories (I'm excluding Agents of Dreamland, which is also a short novel). These 242 stories were written and sold between May 1993 and December 2016, a period of 22 years and 8 months. "Tupelo" will be my 243rd short story. I estimate, based on the needs of Sirenia Digest and a couple of other things that are in the works, that I'll reach 250 sometime this summer.

Not much work yesterday. I was ill from fasting and still distracted by the world. Today, I have to get back on track, as I have only 10 days remaining to finish "Tupelo."

I hear that the number of protesters across the nation yesterday amounted to something like 3.209 million*. If those number are off my even a million, they're still amazing. If they're correct, it was by far the greatest single day of protest in American history. There were 500,000 in Washington D.C. alone, dwarfing the anemic turnout for the Horror Clown's inauguration. I've seen Trump supporters trying to brush aside the poor inauguration turnout due to bad weather, which prompted me yesterday to observe that, "Crackers get soggy if it rains, but, you know, it's okay if a pussy gets wet."

The Horror Clown has stolen the prize. Now, let's see how long he and the Republicans can hang onto it.

This past summer I wrote an afterword for Singularity and Other Stories, a massive posthumous collection of Melanie Tem's fiction, which is being published by Centipede Press. You can now preorder.

Day before yesterday, we were at the register at the Walgreens on Atwells, and I found a St. Jude medal lying on the floor. I showed it to Spooky, and she said she thought that it belong to the old lady who'd been in front of is in line and had just left the store, that it had fallen from her pocket or purse. We caught up with her in the parking lot and returned it, and she was grateful. If I had to find a token of a saint it would be St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes.

Now, I should go. But I leave you with this different view from my office window, circa yesterday, 2:04 p.m.:



Resistance, Peace, Compassion,
Aunt Beast

* According to Wikipedia.

Comments

( 1 comment — Have your say! )
xjenavivex
Jan. 22nd, 2017 05:37 pm (UTC)

Thank you for being here. Thank you for taking the time to say hello. I think it's neat that you found it and return the lost patron saint of the lost.


Thank you for you the stories rendered. I am so grateful.

( 1 comment — Have your say! )