This morning I dreamt of the Smoky Mountains, of misty green Appalachian hollows and towering limestone cliffs. I stood on a narrow ledge, and there was an enormous mechanical conveyance of some sort rumbling by below me, winding along a narrow, muddy road. The top of the vehicle was mossy, and small trees had taken root there.
Yesterday, I wrote 851 words on something for Sirenia Digest No. 137, and I think it's going to be something very interesting, but I want to give it another day before I say just what. Oh, and I signed the contracts for the Centipede Press 20th anniversary edition of Silk, and I got some very good news from Tor.com that I do not think I am presently allowed to share.
If I had just one dollar for every minute I've spent at a keyboard since I began The Five of Cups in 1992, I wouldn't be worried about money for at least a while.
Last night, we watched all ten episodes of the first half of Season Two of The Ranch. Because we're gluttons, and I so love that show.
Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
1:25 p.m.
