I slept later than intended, and so I'm running behind. I should be finishing this entry right about now, not beginning it. I'm sleeping much too much, which is a new problem for me.
I will quote this next bit from yesterday's entry, as I'm far too groggy to manage all the HTML and such:
I've decided to extend the offer of a FREE signed copy of the trade paperback of Silk to new Sirenia Digest subscribers. The offer is now good until midnight on January 31st, as it seems to be attracting new subscribers, and new subscribers are always welcome. Also, new subscribers need to e-mail Spooky (crk_books(at) yahoo(dot) com) their snail mail addresses. Otherwise, we cannot send the FREE book. [END OF QUOTE]
Look for the new issue of Sirenia Digest tomorrow. It'll go to Gordon this evening to be PDFed, then Spooky will get it out ASAP.
What else about yesterday? I didn't leave the house. Spooky made fettuccine alfredo for dinner, with broiled asparagus and a wonderful roasted red pepper and provolone pork sausage on the side. Thank goodness for Whole Foods. Last night, we watched Frank Capra's Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), because both Frank Capra and Gary Cooper are comforts to me. I tried to start reading Oliver Morton's Mapping Mars (Picador USA, 2002), but got too sleepy, so Spooky read me two by Virginia Lee Burton (another comfort) — The Little House (1942) and Katy and the Big Snow (1943). I can think of nothing else of the day or night worth mentioning here.
Daughter of Hounds has been out, officially, for 26 days, almost a whole month. I've hardly even paused to appreciate the accomplishment. There has been no celebration, no signings, no readings, no book tour. It's just out there in the world. It seems wrong that I have been so busy with the writing that must be done every day to appreciate the fruits of that very long and difficult labour. It's a weird, weird life, this writing gig.