Work yesterday consisted of sorting through one of the boxes of high school and college papers, trying to make sense of things I've not seen in thirty years or more, putting manuscript pages in their proper order (when possible), approximating dates on undated pages. We'll have to go to the storage unit early next week and retrieve more boxes. Also, I've spoken with Bill Schafer at Subterranean Press, and I'm going to be putting together a short collection – four or five stories, plus a couple or three poems – from this brittle vault of juvenilia. I plan on delivering the ms. to him in July, before we move. Details TBA.
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions.
Thursday was the one-month anniversary (if we say a month is thirty days) since we left the cabin in Woodstock. It's missed, and it seems like it's been much, much longer ago than a month since we headed back to Rhode Island.
Once again, I didn't get enough sleep. Maybe five good hours, and all that after sunrise.
And that's all for now. Nothing much of substance to say, and so...