Stale Hell is laughing at me through the window, though I have no photo for you. There's a new cold front on the way, and there's talk of the possibility of a winter storm early next week.
Yesterday, I began Chapter Six of Cherry Bomb, and I wrote 1,559 words. Every day I will write ~1,500 words on this book, and I will be done just after the end of the month. There will be no exceptions. There will be no more setting it aside. I've been carrying this stone around my neck since August, and I will now make an end to it. There were email conversations, including exchanges with my editor at Dark Horse, Michael Zulli, Peter Crowther, and Neil Clarke. I said no to two anthologies I don't have time to write for. At this point, it feels like I'm saying no to a couple of anthologies a week. There just isn't time to take on any additional writing obligations.
I washed a pair of socks.
I wasted a considerable amount of energy, and Kathryn's patience, yesterday being livid at those two sonsofbitches who plagiarized the sky, presumably because they are not bright enough to think for themselves. A kinder woman would pity them.
Self-loathing was my order of the fucking day.
We saw the last episode of Season Four of Treme. All that's left is the short fourth season. I hate to see this series end.
On Monday I'll post the "final" Table of Contents for Volume Two of the "best of" anthology, plus a surprise that I think will make quite a few of my readers happy.
Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
