Not yet

I've been trying to find time for days to write about this past weekend, which had some very good parts but also some very stressful/difficult parts. Utterly exhausted right now; falling asleep at keyboard, not gonna be able to write about it right now, and way too much that I absolutely must get done in the next two days or so; may not manage an entry 'til the weekend. Which is too bad, because memory fades quickly in these parts. Sigh.

I also still have every intention of writing about pacifism and anger and terrorism and stuff, but that'll all have to continue waiting, just as it's been waiting for almost a month now for me to take the time to write about it clearly.

So this is a sort of IOU.

I will take a second to mention a bit of good news from last week: Mary Anne accepted a story of mine for her anthology. Am very pleased, though sad to see certain other authors not make it in, and concerned about finding time to do the polishing my story needs before her deadline. (Yet another thing on my to-do list for this weekend.) I'm sure there will be concerns about nepotism; understandable, but unwarranted, given that M. rejected one of my stories for last year's antho, and one and a half of them for this year's; the other editors involved in the project have a lot of say in things, so M. doesn't get to accept everything she likes. ("One and a half": one story I submitted (which was actually the same one that appeared in Clean Sheets a year ago), plus the beginning of another one that I was going to write but that M. didn't like so I bagged it.) . . . Anyway, last time Mary Anne accepted one of my stories for an anthology (Maiden Voyages), the anthology never got published; this one certainly has much better chances, but I'm attempting not to count my chickens too much just yet.

Or maybe it's just that it doesn't seem real yet.

Incoherence setting in, perhaps has long since set in. Must sleep.

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