Firstly...well, secondly...the daily reminder that, if you haven't, please PREORDER the forthcoming hc collection of Alabaster: Wolves. We only need sell 2,500 copies, kittens. The numbers are down a bit at the moment, but yesterday evening they went as high as I've seen them go (lower half of the image):
Truthfully, I ought to be going to NYComic Con this weekend. Dark Horse actually had me scheduled for a signing. But the deadlines of Fay Grimmer and three other projects, combined with a shortage on disposable income, combined with my fear that I would get sick (enormous crowds in small spaces = disease) and get even farther behind, led to my canceling my plans to attend.
Yesterday, I wrote precisely 1,600 words on Chapter Five of Fay Grimmer. Another ~20k words, I'll be finished with this beast. The worse part right now is knowing that – despite two rewrites – Chapter Two still isn't very good, and Chapter Two is the fulcrum on which the entire book rests. Chapter Two fails, the novel fails.
I also did some work on...one of the projects I cannot yet officially announce...and the galley pages for Blood Oranges. No Dostoyevsky. Yeah, I fail as a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool intellectual. I suspect it has something to do with being a forty-eight-year-old working author. With having bills to pay. With the recognition of responsibility to my "family." Regardless, I'm learning not to give a shit. Oh, and Spooky almost finished with the taxes. They're scary this year.
Comments? Again, I don't see the point of this, otherwise. maybe the time has come, finally, to forsake LJ for Dreamwidth. Which is truly fucking depressing.
And the world goes to Riyadh,