Yesterday was consumed by minutiae, bits of this and that which needed doing, e-mails, the signature sheets. By the time all the minutiae was done, the day was mostly over and I was no longer in the mood for writing. So, no progress yesterday. Today shall be different. But I also need to get a biography done for Fiddler's Green. Here's a fact not widely known: You know those biographies of authors that you see in books and convention programmes and other such places? Usually, they're written by the author. I've long since become accumstomed of writing about myself in third person, and that can't be healthy.
Spooky brought home a copy of the new Entertainment Weekly yesterday, the one with the review of Murder of Angels. It's entirely surreal, finding my name, my book, inside EW. I'm very happy with this, and my editor and lit agent are both very pleased.
It's raining, and there's thunder. I'd rather spend the day in a bar somewhere.
I feel very out of sorts this morning, and feeling out of sorts always makes me feel inarticulate. A night crammed with bright, bright dreams, Benadryl all day yesterday, and so forth. I seem, somehow, to be thinking several seconds behind the place where I'm actually located on this worldline. I don't know how to stop and catch up with myself.
I did find time for two short stories yesterday, "Dragonhead" by Nick DiChario and "Night of Time" by Robert Reed. "Dragonhead" was extraordinarily short, and I've never much cared for extraordinarily short stories. There's no time to gather momentum, or if momentum is gathered, there's no time for it to carry the reader anywhere before the conclusion. The Robert Reed story, however, was very good, and it was a nice note on which to go to sleep. It contains one of the most superb descriptions of the multiverse I've ever found in a work of fiction. I quote:
"This concept of each electron existing in countless realities, swimming through an endless sea of potential, with every possible outcome achieved to what resembles an infinite number of outcomes—"