Ex post facto, grateful not to have attended the nightmare that was NYC ComicCon (or however it's written out) this past weekend, in that press of noise and humans and germs, I also resolved not to mention Alabaster all weekend. But now it's Monday. So. The numbers are down, and this week matters. A lot. If you haven't, please PREORDER the forthcoming hc collection of Alabaster: Wolves. We only need 2,500 copies preordered, kittens. That's all. We do that, and the publisher will smile upon me, and the future will be bright and shiny.
If you can't stand in place, you can't tell who's walking away
From who remains, who stays, who stays, who stays... ~ Death Cab For Cutie
Weekend recap: On Saturday, I wrote 1,741 words on Chapter Five of Fay Grimmer. Yesterday, I wrote another 848, and found THE END of the chapter. Which leaves me with only three to go. I have to pause to attend to an assortment of distractions related to this and other books. Also, yesterday I finished with a very rough and very tentative compilation of the ms. for the next short-story collection, due out in 2013 (details TBA soon). That was the weekend in work, pretty much. There was also an obscene amount of GW2, and there was House (up to the end of Season Five, and that was another great season finale). I read a lot. And we started Season 73 of Weeds, which may actually have found a way to make itself interesting again. And, last night, saw Sherlock's "The Reichenbach Fall,"* and FUCK that was brilliant. Both Cumberbatch and Freeman are astounding in their roles. More, please. I know I can be thick, but it actually did not occur to me until last night what a marvelous Doctor this Mr. Cumberbatch would make.
Today, Spooky has to get the taxes and the galley pages for Blood Oranges to the post office and UPS, respectively. I have to do more work on the lineup for the collection, write a fictional biography of Kathleen Tierney, attend to a lot of email, and maybe write the prolegomenon for Sirenia Digest #82. Oh, and I have a SECRET PROJECT to attend to today and tomorrow, as well! Almost forgot. Funny, that.
I plan for the digest to go out tomorrow night (!!!), and then, on Wednesday, it's back to work on Fay Grimmer. Chapter Six is titled "Save the Pixie, Save the World."
Is the irony and futility of lecturing me on forgiveness not self-evident? And I do not ever turn the other cheek, unless I am quite entirely certain it will not also be slapped.
Smelling the Wide Omnivorous Sky,
* Based on Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Final Problem."