Nothing was written yesterday. It was a day spent dithering, looking for a short story for Sirenia Digest #113. The past few months have been, on the whole, profoundly unproductive. And I have to find a way to end this. My second entry yesterday makes that fairly clear. My workload for the summer:
1. The screenplay (Top Secret Project)
2. Stories or vignettes for Sirenia Digest #113, #114, and #115 (heads up; June's gonna be late)
3. Editing/proofreading Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales (Centipede Press, 2016)
4. The juvenilia volume, as yet untitled (Subterranean Press, 2016), and I hope to deliver the ms. in July
5. Line edits left to do on Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea: The Best of Caitlín R. Kiernan (Vol. 2) (Subterranean Press, November 2015)
6. 25k-word novella for Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales (Centipede Press, 2016), to be written in July, possibly a prequal to Black Helicopters
7. 10k-word short story for I Am the Abyss (Dark Regions Press, 2016)
8. Consulting on Below a Wide Carnivorous Sky, the CRK tribute anthology (Centipede Press, 2016)
9. Gathering material for the limited hardcover of The Red Tree (Centipede Press, ?2016)
10. Proposal package for Interstate Love Song (next novel)
11. An introduction for Brian Evenson's The Open Curtain
Last night, after Hannibal, we watched some godawful piece of shit directed by someone named David Gelb, The Lazarus Effect (2015). I blame Olivia Wilde. I was suffering a bout of Remy Thirteen nostalgia. Afterwards, we watched Robert Schwentke's R.I.P.D. (2013), which was, for the most part, as bad as The Lazarus Effect, except that Jeff Bridges was hilarious. Because he's Jeff Bridges. I'm thinking the pitch for R.I.P.D. was something like, "Dead Like Me meets Men in Black, and then we toss in Ghostbusters, just for shits and giggles." Someone bought it.
Yesterday, I polished my nails first time since November.
Today, I can't search. I have to find.