Yesterday, I made it through the remainder of the Mythos Tales ms. The thing is a behemoth. Today will be a matter of attending ti lose ends, and this evening I'll be sending the final ms. away to Centipede Press. This project has been in the works since early 2013, largely because I took so long to compile and edit the book. But now, almost three years later, it's finally done. Well, my part of it's done.
The last thing I tried to deal with yesterday was "Paedomorphosis," which I'd intended to be the story that opens the collection, as it's the first time I attempted, overtly, to use Lovecraftian elements in my short fiction. "Paedomorphosis" was written either in 1997 or 1998, and it first appeared in Tales of Pain and Wonder in 2000. Sadly, it's a showcase for all my most execrable literary habits at that time. I would stop just short of describing the prose as abominable, which is a shame because I rather like the story trapped inside all that jagged, clanging syntax, and it's a nice snapshot of Athens, Georgia circa 1996. I thought that perhaps I could clean the story up enough that I could bear to see it reprinted in Mythos Tales, but the hour I spent on it yesterday proved me wrong. This after the time I spent on it last summer. So, it goes to the chopping block. It really is quite reasonable to be unhappy with fiction I wrote almost twenty years ago.
"Conversation" and "narrative" have become two of the most bizarrely abused words in the English language.
Last night we watched the two-hour pilot episode of Scorsese's Vinyl. It's every bit as brilliant as you would expect. By the end, my face hurt from smiling.