Paper cuts = occupational hazard. Stupid resolution got me right between the fingers in the webbing, too. Grumpf.
Had to work on Monday on the MLK, Jr., holiday. Spent over five hours on one bill. Head spinny foomp, but overtimey goodness.
Got a (group) email from the Magic in the Mirrorstone anthology publicity folks (Mirrorstone is an imprint of Wizards of the Coast/Hasbro, hence they have publicity folks . . .ooo). They’re wanting to hold a book signing in May or April. Alas, in New York, so I can’t make it.
Actually, I was surprised to see how many writers responded who thought they’d be able to attend. I thought that the time of New York-as-writing-nexus had passed such that it wasn’t particularly important for writers to be located in New York anymore (unlike, say, actors, who really need to be in L.A. in order to get work) but I guess New York is still an undisputed hub of publishing activity. And folks still gravitate to where the moving and shaking happens.
• 15-day cordial pass with brief comments and invite to submit again from a new market, Wrong World. They’ve got an interesting point-based submission/rejection system. An attempt to quantify a qualitatively subjective process. . .
And I have yet to make my first sale of 2008. Snargleblast.
I haven’t even submitted in 2008. Or finished anything. But the novel is nearing a close. Thank God.