Things to do in 2006 & the first part of 2007:
Revise The Stratford Man and The Journeyman Devil if it proves necessary to do so
Page proofs for Whiskey & Water
CEM for Undertow
Page proofs for Undertow
Rewrite the rest of All the Windwracked Stars (This, being the equivalent of writing a Whole New Book from an outline, will wait for a while, thank you, and possibly until the proposal sells.)*
Revise The Sea thy Mistress, including adding plot thread ripped from By the Mountain Bound*
*sell this series.
Things I need to write:
An untitled novella scheduled for Galactic Empires, 2008, Gardner Dozois, ed.
(no first line yet, or even title)
A novella and a novelette I owe to Bill Schafer, "Chatoyant" and "Lumière"
"Chatoyant, said of a mineral's luster: 'containing numerous threadlike inclusions, aligned to produce catseye figures with reflected light.'"
On a fine May morning in 1903, Abigail Irene Garrett boarded an airship bound from New Amsterdam to Paris, via Koln.
It was an act of naked treason.
"1796," dammit, no, Jay, I still haven't forgotten.
Mrs. John Adams looked to her sewing.
Things I want to write:
"Orm the Beautiful"
Orm the Beautiful would never die. But neither would he live much longer.
No first line yet.
"Dark on Wednesdays"
The Tower of Babylon rose through the veil of transplanted jungle foliage and piped-in orchid scent to scrape a desert sky burned almost colorless by the Nevada sun. Visible the entire length of the Las Vegas Strip, it collapsed in fire and fury six times daily, six days a week, wind conditions permitting.
For a premium, you could ride it down.
"The Death of Terrestrial Radio"
The first word was meant to be spoken quietly, if it should ever be spoken at all.
* "King Pole, Gallows Pole, Bottle Tree"
The ghosts of the dam always come in the summer.
* "On Safari in R'lyeh and Carcosa with Gun and Camera"
"We wouldn't be having this problem if you'd flunked Algebra."
* "Black is the Color"
Along the north bank of the River Clyde, the oblong cobbles were glazed with sunrise light. The thump of music from a barge-turned nightclub had ended hours earlier. There was left only silence and the morning chill.
And a white stallion's hunger.
(and two bonus stories, because of course I was starting to get caught up and my brain gave me more.)
"Upon Deaf Ears"
"How would you define yourself?"
He was a better ghost than he'd been a man.
(I wonder if this goes with the fragment I've had kicking about for years about the smiling murderer?)
And that is my to-do list for a while.
Also, I should clean the apartment. And catch up on some of this reading. And the critiques. And go to the gym. And eat something today, as I forgot last night.