"I think today may be the day that I start the book," I said.
"Oh. Well, that's why you've been so quiet," she replied.
"Mmmhhhmmm," I mumbled noncommittally.
I finished breakfast, sat down at the iBook, read two comments to yesterday's LJ entry, responded to those comments, took care of two important e-mails, and then the phone rang. It was Bill Schafer calling to tell me that there appears to be a review of The Dry Salvages by Gary Wolfe in the October issue of Locus. He didn't have it yet, but would let me know as soon he did. My stomach rolled. My arms felt weak, and my hands actually began to shake (I kid you not). I'm never good with the news of a review, but I've gotten significantly better lately, so this was a bit of a slipping backwards for me. I've asked Bill (and my lit agent, too, for that matter) not to do this to me. If you have the review in hand and can read it to me, then call. But please, for Heaven's sake, do not call and tell me that there's a review, especially one by a reviewer whom I respect, and then tell me I'll have to wait some undeterminable length of time to actually know what was said. I'm assuming Bill forgot that he agreed not to do this. I'm a charitable soul.
So, now my plans to begin the novel today seem far less reasonable, as I can't push my anxiety about this review to the back of my mind and get on with things.
I'm supposed to e-mail Storm Constantine and Louisa John-Krol (both very overdue). I need to do other things. I need to begin the novel. And all I can do is wonder what Gary Wolfe thought of The Dry Salvages.
Okay, well what about yesterday? The day off? Not much to say. The bar stool won out over the botanical gardens. We spent the evening watching five more episodes of Dead Like Me. There you go. Yesterday.