Yesterday was a monument to frustration. The word that springs to mind is "thwart." Yesterday, I was thwarted, and I was thwarted at every turn. I started out trying to add a bit to The Dry Salvages, regarding the Montelius' use of a constrained black hole to generate artifecal (you know, that's such a funny typo, it stays) gravity, so I was up to my nipples in all this dren about black holes and warped spacetime and gravimetric fields, when Jennifer called from work. She was on her lunch break and proofreading The Dry Salvages, and on page 100 of the ARC she caught a glaring frell-up: "'When you came home, it had been more than thirty years since you left, ' she said, 'and yet you'd aged less than twelve months.'" No, not months. Years. And twelve wasn't right, either, and so Spooky and I started checking dates and ages and things pertaining to relativity. Within half an hour, I was entirely confused and feared the story had even greater errors. So I wrote to brokensymmetry (known to we Nebari as Llar'en, and to mere hoomans as Larne Pekowsky, brilliant, aspiring physicist), because he was of enormous assistance when I was writing the story, and asked him to check all of the numbers for me again. Which he did, and today I can set everything straight. It wasn't off so much as I feared, which made me feel a little less like a dumbass.
The thing is, it is rocket science.
So, today I need to deal with the minor time discrepencies, and get back to the matter of gravity (which was inspired by comments from oneirophrenia (the hooman known as Derek cf. Pegritz, caretaker to H. P. Lovecraft's brain, and one of the minds behind Nyarlathotep: The Crawling Chaos), and there's a matter of evolving linguistics, and then this book should be ready to go to press. Thanks to everyone who received an ARC and has offered thoughts and criticism. It was an interesting and, I think, successful experiment that will likely be repeated in the future. Now, I just hope the sf critics don't tear the story to shreds.
I think that Ramsey Campbell will be doing an afterword for To Charles Fort, With Love, which is just extremely cool.
Also, I got word yesterday that the contracts for Daughter of Hounds are on their way to me from NYC. Which is another reminder that I have to get serious about the next novel.
Oh, and I sent in my ballot for the Society of Vertebrate Paleontology officers election, and renewed my subscription to Wired, and made cornbread, but no one cares about that stuff.
Spooky and I were up until almost three thirty with Kya: Dark Legacy. I am absolutely overwhelmed at the moment by the games that are now out that I want to play and the games that will soon be out that I want to play. We caught X-Play night before last, for the first time in weeks, and it was an all trailer episode. There was some amazing stuff, such as Conker: Live and Reloaded, and some absolute ass, such as the laughable Vampire: The Masquerade — Bloodlines. Yeah, okay, so it uses the Half-Life 2 engine; it still looks like total dren. And I have yet to finish Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. I need more me's!
I'm loving the sound from the new headphones, but I discovered yesterday that they don't play well with my stupid glasses. So I'm currently writing without my glasses. Which isn't nearly as fun as working without a net.