The bad news is, when Christopher Marlowe was my age, he had been dead for three years. The good news is, when Shakespeare was my age, he was just hitting his stride. *g*
And with that thought to burgeon me, a seven-day "Didn't Work" from JJA.
I'm having a things-that-fuck-with-my-Zen sort of day. Like well meaning emails from friends agitating for news about the novels I have out in submission or at contests. I appreciate the love, guys, but the fact of the matter is that I have no control over what happens with those books, there probably won't be any news for two or three years in any case, the chances are slim that any of them will sell (or win) anyway--and thinking about it does nothing but stress me out when I need to be working on this book.
If there's any news, you'll know. If you don't know, there isn't any news. And very well may not be until 2010. And since I have no control over what happens at this point, asking me about it every couple of weeks will only serve to stress me out.
Also, organizational and management and catherding phneh with A&A is making me nuts.
And Kit is still standing at the bottom of the stairs. But it's snowing now, so I suppose that's progress. And god, I am in a bitchy mood all of a sudden. Sorry about that.