Yesterday – when I wasn't thumbing through the contents of ancient diskettes – well, I didn't write. But I did put together a tentative table of contents for the as-yet-untitled collection of juvenilia that Subterranean Press will be publishing. All the material to be included in that book exists only on paper, and it's going to have to be typed into MS Word. Maybe 25k words, all told. Maybe a little less. The stories and poems date from 1978 to 1987.
I'm absolutely dumbfounded at the offense over Tony Stark's "Prima Nocta" quip. For fuck's sake, people. I feel like we're headed towards a new Hays Code. Also, "cringeworthy" isn't a word. The knee jerks are busy beavers.
This is a Painday, with a capital P. They do still teach kids about capital and lowercase letters, yes?
Maybe more later.
* Actually, I'm full of shit. The poem was published in Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder, the chapbook that accompanied the 2007 edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Kathryn just told me. This whole silly "not-lost lost poem" affair aptly illustrates my current mental state. Also, I just stepped on my glasses.