I managed to get through the line edits on "Untitled 46" today. Tomorrow I hope to get an issue of Sirenia Digest out to subscribers. There's suddenly so much work, I can't go falling behind.
Today, sorta halfheartedly straightening the living room, I discovered at really attractive book – two copies actually – called Lovecraft Mythos: New and Classic Collection (Flame Tree Publishing, 2020; UK). And between pp. 172 and 182 my story "Black Ships Seen South of Heaven" in reprinted in the book. And I sorta, vaguely remember this sale. My guess is these contributor's copies came in the autumn and winter, when we were deep in lockdown and we were putting all our mail in quarantine for a week or so, and they were simply forgotten.
I find myself not much in the mood for blogging. Mostly, I'm tired and it's late, and well, it wasn't really a day to write home about. Sure, I've had worst Sundays.
Re-watching The X-Files and The Big Bang Theory continues. Last night, the former was "Ghost in the Machine" (S1:E7), a more than a little silly thing about a killer AI. Basically, thirty years later, AI's way fucking scarier than Chris Carter dared imagine. If only our nightmares could be allayed by a diskette with a hastily written virus. And with TBBT we're into Season 6. Again. But Berni is the cutest Smurfette ever there was.
I leave you with chicken nuggets stamped into the shape of...dinosaurs. Oh, the irony.