September 14th, 2003

bear by san

If I were a good ebear

I would answer some of this email. Like this one from my dad. Is it 11:00 already?

Editorial chores completed for the morning. Ah, the joy that is issue balancing. We have too many short stories, can you credit it? Need me a nice midlength SF piece for November, yes I do. *roots through slush*

Meanwhile, many many stories of my own are languishing--languishing I say!--out there in editor land.

I did a line edit of the end of Act III and printed out my outline notes and the one scene I have written for Act IV of The Stratford Man. Sixteen pages total. Good thing I'm using the backs of earlier printouts. We kill a lot of trees here, dude. In any case, I need to buy black ink cartridges.

And Act IV needs a plot arc. Which could take a few days of poking and prodding to come up with, so I shall be not overfretful that I don't exactly know what it is yet, because I do know a bunch of stuff that happens. And we're back in London, which means I have the external guideposts of history to worry about. And I can do some crits for some people, maybe. That would be good. And read this here book, and this here other book. And watch the rest of In Search of Shakespeare.

And give my hands a break, because they hurt again.

Wish Amazon UK would ship my bloody copy of In Search of Christopher Marlowe.

Problem with historical novels: Characters sometimes die off before you're ready for it, and you rarely get the chance for a big "Will, can't-you-just-kill-them-all-off-and-come-to-bed" style bloodbath extravaganza ending.

I found another slavering Marlowe fiend on livejournal--or, more precisely, sie found me. rosamund, for the rest of the Marlowe and/or Shakespeare and/or Jonson fiends hanging around.

Now there's an idea. Conjunctional slash. and/or, but/when, if/then....

*g* Okay. In this mood, I must go crit or something. It's too weird to waste.
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