Just a quick post to say that I've been in the dark place where it gets hard to breathe. Yes, work. There will be more Madison. What am I reading? Lives of the Artists by Calvin Tomkins. Oh, don't get me started! I made it through Hirst and Schnabel without choking anyone. Next up: Koons. Can she do it. . . survive the trifecta of overheated egos, the Everest of excess? Still sawing away at the Turtledove too. It's not bad. There's nothing offensive in it. But I forget that I'm reading it. That's a bad sign for one of us, me or Harry.
The plasma shield is still firmly in place over my inbox--no incoming rejections. I have one coming from an actual publisher, submitted on actual paper. Those rejections are worst somehow. Maybe it's the object quality.
I wish I had more to blather about today. Until I get those rejections or read a book I really like. I've almost forgotten what that feels like.