I'd forgotten that I have to go to Birmingham this week for a doctor's appointment, until Spooky reminded me last night (or was it this morning?). Ugh. Of course, it's my fault for not getting off my ass and finding a new doctor (that I can stand) in Atlanta. So, on Thursday, a day will be lost driving into the Great Western Wilderness and back again. I suppose I could get some reading done on the trip. But ugh, I say.
Spooky's taking her morning constitutional, with a detour to have the corrected galleys of "Mercury" photocopied so they can be returned to Subterranean Press today. And I have to call my editor at Penguin, just as soon as I'm done with this entry, to tell him that I decided there was no way I could arbitrarily choose which commas get fixed and which don't. I have just about decided not to include Adrian Woods (the dratted production editor responsible for this mess) in the acknowledgements, but only because I fear petty retaliations. This poor book. [pause: the phone rang and it was my editor, even as I was typing this paragraph, and now he's trying to find the cheapest way to get the ms. back to NYC fast, because production is demanding they have it back tomorrow...shoot me now) I hope there is a special level of the Bad Place reserved for those who cannot be bothered to do their best, because they're lazy or stubborn or it's "not in the budget." Hell, this whole book wasn't in my budget, but I wrote it. Anyway, moving on, because that's all I can do, there are other things to be done this day. I need to start making notes (in the new notebook) for Daughter of Hounds [insert here: another call from my editor], and then there's whatever else needs doing. I was reminded last night that I'd promised Bill Schafer a weird sf story for his new zine, Subterranean, and I'll have to write that in August, since July already has a story to be written, and June is utterly shot.
I love being a writer. I swear, I wouldn't trade this frelling job for all the tea in China. Or, since that's probably no longer politically correct to say, all the tea in China, how about, I wouldn't trade this job for a hundred million bucks, a weekend in Greece with Angelina Jolie, a trip to Antarctica, a brand new grey-blue PT Cruiser, one of everything in the Apple store, and a house on the Cape?
Last night, we watched If I Should Fall From Grace: The Shane McGowan Story (thanks to
Oh, and we ate barbeque yesterday, after reading "Mercury."
I should go be useful. If I can remember how one does that...
The third Murder of Angels ARC (and possibly the last I shall sell) auction has begun. Also, I have copies of Low Red Moon and In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers up right now.