Hello, munchkins. Back…

Hello, munchkins. Back from visiting Kevin again, and I'll be home all this week (he'll be gone for the greater part of it to a wedding). So the journal should be slightly less erratic, and I'll hopefully get some more work done (although to be honest, I got a fair bit of work done sitting in cafes with him).

Plan for today -- make money! More specifically, finish "The Fall" (latest novella for Puritan, about 3K to go); do RealDoll interview, and finish Penthouse story if I can. Work through some more FrameMaker stuff. Maybe write a story for an anthology or two (there seem to be lots of them calling for submissions right now). Ambitious plans, so I'd best get off to them (I already spent some time this morning updating a booklist and adding some information on first contracts), so I'll just leave you with this joke:


A writer dies and due to a bureaucratic snafu in the afterworld, he is allowed to choose his own fate: heaven or hell for all eternity. Being a very shrewd dead person, he asks St. Peter for a tour of both. The first stop is hell where he sees rows and rows of writers sitting chained to desks in a room as hot as a thousand suns. Fire licks the writers' fingers as they try to work, demons whip their backs with chains. Your general hell scene.

"Wow, this sucks" quoth the writer, "let's see some heaven."

In a moment, they were whisked to heaven and the writer saw rows and rows of writers chained to desks in a room as hot as a thousand suns. Fire licks the writers' fingers as they try to work, demons whip their backs with chains. It looks and smells even worse than hell.

"What gives, Pete?" the writer asked, "this is worse than hell!"

"Yes," St. Peter replied, "but here your work gets published."

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