Great day! I sold The Impossible Footprint
to Cirsova. Every sale I have made in the past few years has been gratifying, but this one is acutely so. I really like this story and I really wanted it to appear in Cirsova. And as you know, I was worried that its length might be disqualifying. So I am also acutely relieved!
And by the way, my short Dead Neighbor
is coming out in Cirsova's Fall 2021 issue in a couple of weeks.
As I mentioned earlier
, I recently diverted a couple of days to writing a Pugnacious Footefake story. My main project, however, has been the resumption of my novel The Remnant
I started The Remnant
sometime in late 2015. Within a year I had made some meaty progresss, mostly because (and I'm not kidding) my real job had degenerated so much, leaving me with so little to do, that I could spend hours at work writing a book. When I retired from being a wage slave in late 2016, The Remnant
had reached ~29K words. But I had already stalled in the writing.
In early 2017 I inserted a chapter. Then I pivoted to joining the Pulp Revolution and getting myself published. Since then I have been writing stories for StoryHack and Cirsova.
After finishing The Unshrouded Stars
I floundered, starting this, resuming that, uncertain about my next immediate goal. And then, perhaps due to my uncertainty about short fiction, I was inspired to pick up The Remnant
again. Before Pugnacious diverted me, I inserted an important scene in chapter 2. I was then going to pick up where I had left off and start in on chapter 10.
But now I notice it's September — early autumn! — and I had planned to resume my collaborative work with Misha Burnett. Hmm. Well... It's still mostly summer, really. And he's otherwise occupied himself. I can still give a couple of weeks to The Remnant
Don't want to waste the semi-momentum!
There's a couple of walnut trees around my house. I think
they're walnut. I'm not a pomologist. Anyhow, every third year or so they produce a ridiculous number of walnuts. I had a feeling that this year would be bad.
Sure enough, so far this summer I have had five branches snap and fall from the trees, after especially gusty rainstorms. I'm assuming that the nuts were weighing things down. Tons of nuts fell, too. It's possible the trees are sick, but they are separated and the branches seemed healthy inside. But what do I know?
Anyway, here's one of the branches. This one bounced off my roof. You can see walnuts scattered on the patio.
I've been fortunate in that there's been no damage to anything but the trees. One very
large branch, maybe 12 feet long, landed right across my little yard, just missing the house. I had to take a saw to that one to remove it.
For decades I've been sad that I don't like to read much anymore. Which is an odd thing for an author to admit. Sure, I erratically read my fiction mags, but I can't seem to get involved
with a book or a writer. Every book peters out.
Then something — likely a blog post from somewhere — reminded me of Jack Schaefer, the man who wrote Shane
. I read Shane
aeons ago and liked it, but I never pursued Schaefer. Now I reckoned I could try some of his short stories.
So I picked up The Kean Land
— and I really enjoyed it. Then I picked up The Big Range
, another collection — and I really enjoyed it. I was getting involved! Now I've started The Pioneers
. If things hold up, I may try the novels such as Monte Walsh
, which was apparently Schaefer's personal favorite.
I was never a bibliophile or voracious. Not really. I was a bit uptight about my library and likely read more than the average Joe. Still, my rolling indifference to reading has seemed a degradation of my life.
I've supposed, time and again, that I've just become fussier. That's probably the truth. It just takes more time now to find something that doesn't bore me.
Schaefer should keep me happy for a while at least.
I've been back on Twitter for four days and already I've naughtily made tweets that have nothing to do with writing or art. At least they also had nothing to do with politics as such! Sheesh...