But not exactly alive either.
It's been a busy week.
Finished my newest Black Wing revisions sometime after midnight last night. As of this morning my agent has forbidden me to do anymore work on it. It's cold out. I haven't been sleeping too much lately. I dream of dead authors, most recently Ira Levin, running with him across Broadway in heavy traffic while I tell him that Stephen King once described him as "Mr. Mainstream." Levin laughs. Peculiarities in barometric pressure have given everything the slightest air of the unreal. Outside, I thought I saw the neighbor's house starting to melt and sag, just a little, around the edges.
I think I'm getting sick.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
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