In Which Our Heroine Sets a Deadline, Sort Of

17 November 2004

Well, so. It was a pretty good day yesterday. My hair still smells like gingerbread, which is generally a good sign for a day, I think. I sent the remainder of the loaf of gingerbread back to the dorm with Molly (Hannah's no-longer-nameless sister), and if it's still there by the time Hannah leaves, I'll be gravely disappointed with the quality of college kids they're getting up there at Mac.

Mark is still snozzly. I don't understand this. I've instructed him clearly and firmly, on multiple occasions, to get better. And yet he does not do it. I do not understand this.

The world is filled with things I don't understand, I suppose. But many of them are more pleasant than Mark's continued snozzles.

It's a library day here, probably a two-library day. The contract work that looked so far away a few weeks ago is still pretty far away (six weeks!), but those are going to be six pretty full weeks, and I'm not going to want to take a full-stop break from any of my fiction work to concentrate solely on these articles, so I'd better handle some of it now.

I think I'm going to try to get the revised draft of Thermionic Night out to readers before Christmas. That way those who have time off or like to read manuscripts while they travel (I do) will have it, and those who are busy-busy-busy can just stick it in a drawer, metaphorically or physically, until things settle. It seems like an idea. Whether it's a good idea or a workable idea remains to be seen -- there's a lot to be done to it, and I'm having a hard time not working on short stories while I do it, and I'm not sure I shouldn't work on short stories while I do it -- but at least it's something to shoot for. Or, eventually, maybe at.

I have never detonated a manuscript before, but this may be due to lack of opportunities.

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