So...let's see. On Friday, I wrote 1,170 words on "Salammbô Redux," in which a cardboard box of old keepsakes was revealed to unappreciative eyes (reminding me a little of a similar scene in Daughter of Hounds, though it's intended to mirror Jimmy DeSade sitting alone in the theatre with Salmagundi's old tin box in "...Between the Gargoyle Trees"). Also, the mail finally brought me a copy (just one so far) of the Beowulf novelization. It's a handsome little paperback, though I haven't really had time to sit down and go through it yet. Neil is extremely generous in his introduction. When I opened the envelope from my editor at HarperCollins and held the actual book in my hands, the first thing that popped into my head was one of Boromir's lines from Peter Jackson's adaptation of The Fellowship of the Rings: "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing...such a little thing." Oh, and I dealt with a minor mountain (?foothill) of email on Friday.
Friday night, we had Byron for Doctor Who, and later, while Spooky worked on her Ogdred Weary House for New Babbage, he and I watched Pulp Fiction for the bazillionth time. Another great ep of Doctor Who by the way. I'm afraid I'm falling for the Master the way I so often fall for "villians."
Yesterday, well I've already said it was hectic. But I did get to read through Sonya Taaffe's (
See. You didn't really miss anything.
Today, I'll be getting Sirenia Digest #22 out the door...or whatever. Hopefully, subscribers will have it well before midnight tonight (EDT). And if you are not a subscriber, that's an easy thing to remedy. Just click here. Oh, and before I forget, the Threshold auction is still in progress. Tomorrow, I'll be finishing up "Salammbô Redux," most likely, which will mean that the manuscript for the 3rd edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder will just about be ready to turn in to Subterranean Press.