Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Already, it's the last day of April. Time compresses around me, threatening to collapse. Time, or perhaps only my aging perception of time, accelerates. The rate of acceleration is accelerating. A temporal white dwarf. The last year of my life will only last a day, if I should live so long.
Yesterday, I did 1,056 words on the story. It's listing awfully close to the 10,000 mark. I think it shall go to at least 11,000 before all is said and done. It hasn't found its title yet. I was still working at 11:30 last night.
Good heavens. I've been living in this place five months now and I still haven't hung all the frelling pictures.
While the short story is almost done, the novel, Murder of Angels, languishes. Hopefully I'll get back to it next week. I also have to pull together the last bit of material on The Five of Cups for Subterranean Press, and proofread Low Red Moon for both Roc and SubPress. I have another short story due to another anthology on June 1. At least I have no more cons or readings or signings or such until Dragon*Con at the end of the summer. It will be a summer of intense novelizing.
The highs have been running in the low '80s, but the cryosphere has been keeping my office in the '60s. Hot outside, and my feet are freezing inside. At least the air conditioner won't run up the electric bill this summer.
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