Friday, November 01, 2002
I should be at World Fantasy right now. I considered, briefly, driving up for Saturday and Sunday, but, on the one hand, it's a 17 hr. drive and, on the other, it's very cold up there. And if I had three hands, I'd add that, on the other, I'd have to endure the interminable drive across Indiana, which almost did me in back in March. So, here I stay. My next convention will be SpookyCon in San Francisco in January (where it will be cold and wet).
Of course, if I did have three hands, I could quit writing, join a sideshow, and never have to do another convention ever again.
Yesterday, I finished editing Chapter Three of The Five of Cups. Today I'll do Chapter Four.
Also yesterday, the contracts for Low Red Moon and the unwritten Murder of Angels reached my agent and will reach me on Monday.
Jennifer ran across an entry in someone's blogger, or livejournal or somesuch thing, wherein they were pondering if I were as "crotchedy" in real life as I make myself out to be in this journal. Crotchedy? Do I really make myself out to be crotchedy? Maybe perpetually flummoxed at the unsightly state of the world at large, and my part in it, but crotchedy? I don't think so.
I'm considering going to Atlanta tonight.
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