19 December 2001

So. The presents are packed. The clothes are packed. The itinerary is packed. The dried fruit and crackers are packed. Print-outs of a few stories-in-progress -- packed. Aunt Doris' Santa Claus has been sent to her in Arizona via UPS. We're leaving around nine, so I woke up for the first time at three. Typical. There are all kinds of little tasks that Timprov informed me, laughing a little, that he could do. Taking the newspapers to the recycling. Returning the library books in the next week and a half. Etc. So I'm going to let him. (I know, delegating is not usually my strong suit.)

Today I will spend two and a half hours in the Dallas airport, if we are lucky. Significantly less than that means a flight delay out of SFO (we had four or five hours of flight delay out of SFO last Christmas); significantly more means either a big flight delay out of Dallas or an even bigger delay out of SFO. Mark said, "We could see whatsername!" ? "[Friend]'s ex-girlfriend." "We don't like her," I reminded him. "That's okay," he said. "She doesn't live there any more." ? "It's much better to see people you don't like when they're not going to be there."

I suppose this is wise.

I hope that most of these two weeks I'll be gone will be spent on the Not The Moose Book. Hmm. Let me rephrase that: of the writing time I spend, I hope that most of it is on the NTMB. But if I get around to finishing "Loki's Fishnets," "The Three Grannies," "The Butler's Black Arts," or "Make Me a Match," don't be surprised. Oh, heck, go ahead and be surprised if you want to. Some people like surprises, and it would be mean of me to deprive you here.

I'll have e-mail contact, but not enough time to write really lengthy epistles. So I'll get back to you as soon as I can if it's short and wait until after I return if it's long. But I will be reading stuff, so don't hesitate to write if you think of it or have time to answer an old e-mail. I'll be checking my WIHA account at least a couple of times, but I probably won't be accepting or rejecting any stories. Of course, I don't think a two-week wait is at all unreasonable. But speaking of which....

So with everything I had to do to get ready to go, what did I do yesterday afternoon? I wrote a song for some special people at a special magazine. Because I'm that kind of person. So, here you go. Enjoy.

"Losing Your Submission" (with apologies to REM*)

The pile is bigger
It's bigger than me,
And I am frightened.
The heights that it will get to,
The distance from a break.
Oh no, I've read too much.
I piled them up.

That's me in the office
That's me in the mail. Room.
Losing your submission.
Trying to keep them straight--
And I don't know if I can do it.
Oh no, I've read too much.
I haven't read enough.
I thought that I read this last week.
I thought that I mailed it then.
I think I thought I saw the end.

Every moment
Of every working hour, I'm
Choosing your rejections--
A blue or gold form slip,
With a random throw of dice, dice.
Oh no I've read too much.
I piled them up.

Consider this
The book of the century
Is not the sole
And only one to read--
What if all these fantasies
Had int'resting plots--
Now I've read too much.
I thought that I read this last week.
I thought that I mailed it then.
I think I thought I saw the end.

But that was just a dream.
That was just a dream.

Have a good Christmas and stuff.

(* Not you, Robert. The band REM.)