Today, it's back to this plane, the one where I'm only a disgruntled, misplaced alien writing her seventh novel. No dice rolls today, just my fingers at the keyboard. Just Emmie and her stepmother at the American Museum of Natural History and Central Park. I smell honeysuckle through the open window of my office. That's been the biggest difference about this office over all those I have had before, beginning way back in 1993 when I first said, "This is the room where I write, and it won't be used for anything else." I've always covered the windows with thick black cloth, mostly to shut out distraction. But I find that I'm needing the sun more these days, so I allow it in, in small doses, and I open the window and let in smells. Like honeysuckle.
This is going to be a busy week. And I have to deal with all the writing stuff that isn't directly related to Daughter of Hounds without losing momentum with the novel. The novel proceeds at all costs. The novel is pimping me. I will have no other stories-of-my-doing before me. Something like that.
There's a lull in the eBay auctions at the moment, but more books will be up later this afternoon. For example, we'll be putting up another copy of the "Alabaster" chapette. Also, a "clerical error" allowed five copies of Silk to stray beyond the cut-off hour on the Amazing $5 Silk sale. Three have subsequently sold, but two still remain. So, you have another shot — two, actually — at a ridiculously cheap copy of Silk. We'll also be getting up copies of The Five of Cups, From Weird and Distant Shores, etc. I'm colouring the last ten monster doodles tonight, and they'll go in the mail tomorrow (with their accompanying books).
And I guess that's it for today. I mean, unless you were thinking about Birthday -1 and happened to be looking for this...