So tonight I teach a course I’ve never taught before at a school I’ve never been to before, to students I’ve never met, who think they’re going to be taught by someone else. Cool.
A story to send to PS, tweaking it now. A short coming out on Thursday at Opium Magazine. The wonderful Seb Doubinksy prepping the December Zap which will include at least one piece by moi, probably Blue Moves. Another article to write for The Nervous Breakdown, plus wonderful stuff from friends to read, read, read.
I spent the first half hour in the candle-lit dark thinking, I’m going to have to go home and write about this, but then the Top Ten Classics and the steam and the rubbing and the creaminess took over and then I was just a piece of meat. But now I’m loving Brentley Frazer’s “Swimming…
Hell! It’s March and this website is still half-assed. Knee-deep in TA-ing…. Film and Writing at a local university, not so local, maybe. 1 1/2 hour commute. Still finding time to goof off, though. This week I’ve returned to an oldie but a goldie from Joe R Lansdale: The Long Dead Day. “We did have…
I’ve been busy with things. The teaching, and I have stuff to read for other people. Writing for the Nervous Breakdown and for Clarion. I have a birthday coming up which fills me with both anticipation and dread. I haven’t been writing all that hard, have let the narrative threads for the novel unravel. Am becoming aware of what I have taken on again.
There are good days and not so good days. Nights of little sleep. Dreams, like the one last night, of a great tidal wave in the distance, in the future, and its devastation—flotsam and broken toys and scraps and terror already in the past, lapping at my feet.
Today I will weave a dream. A digital bridge to take me from here to there. Murky sludge of the true-facts world far below.