Opener of the Way

January 12

10:45 a.m.

So the day of work begins. First item of business is finishing up the next issue of Star*Line, because I can do that even with eyes full of sleepy and no coffee in my body yet -- I've already decided what's going into the issue, I just have to put the file together, type the poems I received via snail-mail, format the small-press reviews properly, and write an editorial. Pretty fun, actually.

11:50

Whoo! Barely an hour (and three cups of coffee) later, and it's done. Look at me go. I even answered some queries, too.

The next order of business is... well... to chill and read a bit, probably, and then I have three stories to read and critique. Look at me go. I am a coffee-fueled tornado of productiveness.

2:00 p.m.

So I read three stories (about 18,000 words total), and scribbled crits, and e-mailed my comments. I know some freakin' good writers. I also ate a slice of leftover pizza, talked to Heather for a bit, took a shower, and wandered aimlessly around the house blowing my nose and complaining about my headache and taking ibuprofen.

Congrats to John Sullivan for his recent sale to The Book of Final Flesh! And, heh, my sympathies to all my editor friends, who will doubtless soon be seeing a slew of zombie stories rejected by that anthology...

Dunno what I'm doing now. Heather's probably going out this afternoon, so I might drag my weary bones around the neighborhood, get a little exercise, while she's gone. Or go up to Berkeley and walk up to Telegraph. I'm not sure. Reading and writing will probably figure into my activities at some point, though.

11:23 p.m.

Mmm. Nice day. I BARTed up to Berkeley, walked to Telegraph, bought a couple of cds (beautysleep by Tanya Donelly, finally, and Hello Lisa by Lisa Loeb) at Rasputin, ambled back down to Shattuck. Felt my mental wheels spinning strangely, looking for purchase, lots of ideas swirling in my head but never quite meshing. Elements include many-worlds theory, the loa, food left lying on sidewalks and sewer grates, and underground-exploration. Perhaps a story, perhaps several stories, perhaps no stories at all. I'm not working on any fiction right now, and I want to be. I plan a story-fest in February, and then I think I'll start another novel. But I need something of my own to work on now. The obvious thing to do is to finish the collab I'm working on with Mike Jasper, but I looked at it today, and I simply don't know what happens next. Perhaps my wells are refilling.

I checked the mail, and got lots of Star*Line stuff, also payment from The Modern Art Cave. Nice; more money for Heather's teeth and grad school applications. That's where all the extra cash is going lately, and so far we aren't feeling much of a pinch. General frugality plus writing-income seems to be taking the edge off. Though that'll change if she needs another root canal, which is a very distinct possibility... but anyway, optimism, rah rah rah.

Went to Au Coquelet, read some of Dale Bailey's The Fallen, a decent Southern horror novel that I'll likely review. Came home and dawdled for a while, then Heather got home and made pasta primavera for dinner. We watched more Buffy, and then took down the Christmas decorations (appropriately enough we did most of that during "Amends", a Buffy Xmas episode). Now I'm writing this. And la and la and la.

***

I'm also reading Chabon's Summerland, just for fun, and it's marvelous. I read many reviews of it, and frankly as I'm not a baseball fan I expected it to fall flat for me, but it doesn't. I also heard it was overlong, and at times contrived. I'm not far enough in to evaluate those criticisms, but I can say that no review I read gave him props for the sheer cool-shit imaginativeness of this book. It's got an airship, and a werefox, and a talent-scout for heroes, and a kid who thinks he's an android, and Yggdrasil as a quantum-indeterminacy tree! This is amazing stuff!

***

Heather wanted me to tell everyone that she's terribly sorry she hasn't updated her journal in so long, and she feels awful, and she plans to update this week. I'll mention it here when she does, of course.

***

Things I keep neglecting to mention that have been mentioned all over by now: William Gibson has a blog! It's good, too. And Diane Patterson of Nobody Knows Anything fame is once more journalling! More happy reads. Must update my links page. As always.

***

Today I wore my new Legba t-shirt. When I got off the train in Berkeley and went up the big escalator (which I still love riding -- the kid in me is endlessly amused by escalators), I noticed an attractive goth couple ahead of me look back and smile at my shirt. I went one way, they went another, I went about my various business in Berkeley. Hours later, when I left Au Coquelet, heading back to the BART station, I saw them coming toward me from the other direction. The guy said "There he is." So, as I was being spoken of, I said "Hi." They said "Hi," and we sort of paused for a moment. Then I continued on -- I was feeling a bit crappy, I have a cold, and I wanted to get home. The guy said "It's the Legba thing." And I said "Yeah. Papa Legba. Opener of the way." And walked on. I looked back a moment later, and they were looking back at me, too. But we all kept going.

Legba is the god of the crossroads, the god of hingepoints, choices, chances, moments stolen and moments lost. Maybe if I'd stopped, and talked to them... who knows. Maybe a new way would have opened, or a side-road, or a branching, or a digression. Or maybe nothing, except for a brief conversation, and me missing my train.

But I think about these things.

Words written since February 1, 2002: 204,600

Words written since last entry:
Nope. Star*Line stuff.

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