throw another bear in the canoe

Chocolate muffins. A thinly disguised ploy to get mom to let you eat cupcakes for breakfast. And whaddaya know? Bill Cosby was right. Chocolate cake is a breakfast food.

The fall of empire may suck, but the decadence beforehand has something to recommend it.

Progress notes for 13 September 2005:

Carnival

New Words: 4,770
Total Words: 97,674 / 115,500
Pages: 462

115,500 / 110,000 (105.0%) I wrote 20 pages this morning. Which has something to do with the fact that the cat woke me up at 3:30 am

Reason for stopping: The draft is done.
Mammalian Assistance:  Dog farts
Stimulants: orange spice tea
Exercise: none
Mail: nomail
Today's words Word don't know: n/a
Words I'm surprised Word do know: n/a
Tyop du jour: broekn
Darling du jour: none
Books in progress, but not at all quickly: Richard Overy, Russia's War: A History of the Soviet War Effort, 1941-1945;  Ladislas Farago, The Game of the Foxes; Leigh Richards, Califia's Daughters;
Mean things: heartbreak and loss and true love destroyed. All in a day's work.
Other writing-related work: tomorrow, I start revising Whiskey & Water.
Interesting tidbits: There's not enough beer in the world, Spleen.

Arlen Spector is taking Roberts to task regarding Roe v. Wade?

When did the timestream fork? We don't get fog here in Las Vegas....

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My Campbell Award actually arrived today.

And man, UPS completely trashed the mailer.

The award itself, however, arrived intact.

I put it on a shelf. It's marbelized. It's very pretty.

One of the surest signs that I'm getting near the end of a book is that the next book starts pushing and shoving to get out of my head, usually with a few short stories for company.

Anyway, the next book looks to be an SF novel tentatively titled Undertow, whose protagonists include a conjure man, a deaf and dumb boy, a grifter junkie girl, and a man who kills for a living.

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I'm going to be writing a George Alec Effinger book.

I so didn't need this.

Well, at least it has a swamp.

I'm a more than usually aural person. No musical talent to speak of myself, but I have a pretty good ear, and both of my parents are musicians--stwish, in fact, is a pretty damned fine banjo player. (if you can't handle the words "damned fine banjo player" in a sentence, you might as well walk away now).

Anyway, one thing I've noticed is that every book has a song.

I've written fourteen complete novels so far. As of today, conveniently.

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or two.

You know, I have damned weird taste in music.