Because the night…
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.
Welcome back. I’ve had a bit of a crunch going on these last months with various projects. Many short stories out there, Blue Moves being shopped around. I’ve had some help from some amazing and unexpected sources who know who they are. Working on the new project now, a science-fiction sex fest about three mysterious…
I just read Richard Thomas’s review of Ethel Rohan’s Cut Through the Bone, on TNB. What a talented and inspirational author. I read some of her stuff on Dogzplot last year and determined to read more. Visiting her blog is like a swift kick up the pants.
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…
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.
I have a piece out in Le Zaparogue #9, an excerpt from Blue Moves. Very proud to be in such good company and utterly thrilled to have a collection coming out soon with this classy imprint.
Because even after half a bottle of Bollinger, I wasn’t nearly drunk enough, and now, typing this, I am not at all hungover, nor filled with that warm and generous feeling of having been with friends and eaten too much pizza and told too many lies although I did. Because where I really wanted to be was here. I have work to do.
No products in the cart.