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Thursday, Bright moments here and there
Of course, I now have to get cracking on the other stories in the queue, not to mention the damn novels. I wish I could channel some of that incredible creative energy I had a couple of weeks ago -- it felt like I was on some kind of Muse-induced speed. I also wish I didn't feel so damn hot all the time, and yes, I do have the air conditioner on and turned down to a comfortable level. It's just that I'll be sitting here tapping away on the keyboard, and all of a sudden I'm overwhelmed with a hot flash. I'm too young to be going through perimenopause, dammit. Aren't I? Aw, hell. . .
He's coming home, he's coming home And on the "It's about flipping time!" front, Lyndon called this morning -- he'll be in Dallas a week from Saturday. Apparently he's flying over and spending Saturday through Monday here, then flying out to California for a few days to install a new switch, then spending Wednesday through Saturday here again before heading back to Stockholm. Not the best situation, I know, but it's a hell of a lot better than not seeing him at all. And something may be looking up for him on the job horizon -- it also isn't the ideal situation, but it's work and would put him here four days out of the week, so we can't sneeze at it unless I wind up getting a fabulously remunerative job next week or we win the Lotto. Apart from that, there's not much else going on around here at the moment. The NPO hasn't called yet, I had a talk with the manager for the Small But Growing Telecoms company and got the "everything's on hold" message yet again (plus he sounded rather irritated to hear from me -- well, hey, I warned him I was polite but dogged), and the barometer keeps bungeeing up and down as weather sweeps overhead but never enough to actually rain so my sinuses feel like they're trying to secede from my head. I've also had this bizarre craving for water and beef brisket, don't ask me why. Oh, and I turn 35 in two days. Whee for me.
Well, that was a blast from the past
The really interesting thing was that my correspondent graduated in 1967, so we got to compare Dr. P's teaching methods and favorite stories over two decades. My only regret was that I couldn't ask any questions about Steve the Scrumptious, considering that StS himself would have been in military school during this period. That explains so much about him, come to think of it.
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Being
a good writer, I put "Maternal Instincts" back in the
mail today, off to Weird Tales. I also whomped up a story
tracking spreadsheet in Excel that lists where everything's been
and where it's at right now, and I'm keeping a printout in the rejection
folder for easy reference -- right now I'm closing in on five months
with submissions to Cemetery Dance and Reality's Escape,
so I'll probably be querying them sometime in August. This brings
my stats up to 3 stories written this year, 6 stories in circulation,
7 submissions and 4 rejections to date. Not bad for a jobbing writer
-- not great, mind you, but not bad either.
I
had a most intriguing email this morning from someone who had done
a web search on his high school Latin teacher and had stumbled across
one of my 
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