Sunday, August 25, 2002
Yesterday morning I wrote an author's note and acknowledgements for Low Red Moon, then got ready to go to Atlanta. I burned a couple of copies of the ms. to CD for Jim, Jennifer (not Caudle, but Lee), and Byron. It's weird, remembering the days, way back in, say, 1999, when I had to make paper copies of my novels for my first readers. Now it takes seconds, costs pennies, and weighs ounces. Obviously, that can't be good. Anyway, I proofed the galleys for the "Waycross" chapbook on the way to Atlanta, a job I'd been putting off for weeks and now the long-suffering Mr. Schafer may breathe a little easier. It was a good, but very hot evening in Atlanta. 100F when we arrived and it never seemed to drop below the low nineties. Dinner at Huey's, drinks at Cafe Intermezzo, and some considerable time spent drooling at the window of a Vespa dealership. We didn't get back to Birmingham until 5 a.m. And now, I have to get off my rump and spend the day cleaning house, as my Rhode Islander arrives tomorrow, and, because I've had no time for anything but my symbiotic relationship with that novel, the apartment has become rather, well, oogy. I saw a dust bunny yesterday in excess of three feet.
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