I did several more hours editing on Tales of Pain and Wonder yesterday, and, finally, the manuscript is in pretty good shape. The worst of the tedium is now behind me. And I never cease to be amazed at the words MS Word's spellchecker does know how to spell when there are so many it can't. Oh, sure, it knows velcro and styrofoam, and insists that both be capitalized (a suggestion I ignore), and I'm starting to think there are corporations who pay MS to be included in the dictionary in hopes of protecting their trademarks and such. Anyway, yes, another long day of editing, but now it's mostly done.
Today is going to be a Day Off, even though I feel guilty taking a Day Off when there's so much work to be done. But I have not had one since September 9th, and I think 15 days is long enough. I'll come back tomorrow and return to "Salammbô Redux" (née "Little Conversations"), which I hope to finish by Sunday. Because September is almost gone, and I still have not started Joey LaFaye or gotten back to the "Onion" screenplay. More time, that's all I want. More conscious, alert time. I want to be good for more than six or seven hours' work a day. Twelve would be nice.
Making home movies
For the folks back home
Of all these weird creatures
Who lock up their spirits
Drill holes in themselves
And live for their secrets (Radiohead, "Subterranean Homesick Alien")
Oh, and I need to get my list done for the Horror Book of Lists, though I presently have no idea what sort of list it will be. Also, we're limping back into eBay (which has almost managed to become more trouble than it is worth) with a copy of the Threshold paperback. Comes signed, and I'll personalize it if you so desire.
Okay. Yes. Today is a Day Off. But first I have to deal with email...
Postscript (1:10 p.m.) — Yes, it's true I did not write, edit, or proofread on Saturday, but I spent it cleaning house, which a) counts as work, and b) does not count as a day off.