Yesterday was spent putting together the manuscript (ms.) for Cambrian Tales. It's going to come to about 30k words, when all is said and done, with material spanning about eleven years, from 1979 to 1991. We're looking for a cover artist. This will be a small hardback, like The Dry Salvages and In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers. It's a strange, disquieting affair, looking at these bits and pieces of other lives, or other iterations of me. Spooky spent months transcribing this stuff from typescripts, some of which are decaying. The original manuscripts go back to Brown University soon. They will safe there.
Yesterday was the sort of day when multiple relatively minor sources of discomfort coalesce to make me utterly miserable. Perhaps today will be better.
That's all I have for today. See you tomorrow.