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...but this is going to have to do, right now:
Though my insides are still in an uproar (a disgusting, disgusting uproar), today brought confirmation on two pieces of great good news. "When I'm Armoring My Belly" has, indeed, officially been tapped for an anthology of Future of Vampirism-type stories called Evolve--whoo hoo!--and Shroud magazine wants "The Underneath", probably for issue #8. This last is particularly happy-making, since one of the things I'd originally been planning to do today was query them about whether or not they'd ever actually gotten the story, in first place.
So: I sent an updated bio to the former, and the slightly tweaked version of "Underneath" to the latter. Now all I have to do is figure out where I sent that last bunch of poems (if anywhere) and re-query the agent lady about LILIM, and I think that's me caught up on most of my "business" correspondence.
Annoyingly, however, I'm still light-headed, snuffly and venting black awfulness, which is making it difficult to consolidate my thoughts re Book of Tongues. As ever, I know what I need to do, but stringing the words together is like cobbling with cheese: Inappropriate, clumsy, vaguely icky. You sure wouldn't want to wear the result.
Though my insides are still in an uproar (a disgusting, disgusting uproar), today brought confirmation on two pieces of great good news. "When I'm Armoring My Belly" has, indeed, officially been tapped for an anthology of Future of Vampirism-type stories called Evolve--whoo hoo!--and Shroud magazine wants "The Underneath", probably for issue #8. This last is particularly happy-making, since one of the things I'd originally been planning to do today was query them about whether or not they'd ever actually gotten the story, in first place.
So: I sent an updated bio to the former, and the slightly tweaked version of "Underneath" to the latter. Now all I have to do is figure out where I sent that last bunch of poems (if anywhere) and re-query the agent lady about LILIM, and I think that's me caught up on most of my "business" correspondence.
Annoyingly, however, I'm still light-headed, snuffly and venting black awfulness, which is making it difficult to consolidate my thoughts re Book of Tongues. As ever, I know what I need to do, but stringing the words together is like cobbling with cheese: Inappropriate, clumsy, vaguely icky. You sure wouldn't want to wear the result.
