I in the midst of sprawl this evening. My backpack has exploded on the futon next to my desk, mixing odd bits of electronic gear in with the laundry that has so far refused to find its own way home. The ironing board is still here and is slowly inching its way towards the middle of the room. There are fewer stacks of books and CDs scattered on the floor but that’s only because I’ve been concentrating on moving them around the last few days in a game of musical chairs, picking off the stragglers and shipping them off to better homes.
And, the writing. The writing suffers the same fate. I’ve very behind on two interviews for Igloo; a half dozen reviews are scattered on my desktop in various states of composition (if I leave them long enough, do they start the “de-” process?). There are two stories–no, wait, only one–that need a stiff line editing and a kick out the door.
And why is it that it seems like every small press publication that has been bulking up on street cred this last year is open RIGHT FUCKING NOW and only for the next four weeks? I’ve got one story that is worthy of sending out. Y’all can’t read and reject it in time for me play the field, can you?
Anyway, work on INSTRUMENT is proceeding carefully. I’m re-reading the “other” book that we’ve got in the hopper so that the lads and I can talk about making a pass through it in time to mail it at the beginning of the year, and I’m suddenly obsessed with research for the pirate book. Clearly, I need another hand. Two, even.
I’ve seen the layout for the first installment of the Harry Potemkin serial at Farrago’s Wainscot, and I’m about halfway through writing the second part (and trying very hard not to crawl back and edit the life out of part one). The shape is starting to emerge and I’m getting excited/overwhelmed by the fun/work that is going to be had in this. This will be a very interesting experiment. Very interesting. Not surprisingly, the list of things to do for it is getting long and longer.