Okay, I'm going away until the weekend, most probably. Too many deadlines.
Also, I'm going to be doing the yearly comic book/graphic novel summation for The Year's Best Fantasy & Horror now. Charles Vess's schedule makes it impossible for him to continue with it. And since I'm doing the Bookslut comics column anyway, it makes sense. Should be a fun gig.
Oh yeah. One cool link. Another cool link.
"American Fantasy?" completed for Postscripts and accepted. Check.
Beer kegged for party Sunday. Check.
Five parts to go in spelling bee story. No check yet.
I was still searching for the missing daughter of a wealthy industrialist when the locals brought me in on another case. They’d heard I was staying at the Hilton—an American and a detective, in a place where neither passed through with any regularity. The police deputy, a weathered old man missing an eye and with a scar running down the right side of his face, made it clear it would be best if I got into his beat-up, dusty Ford Fiesta with the lonely siren on top, and venture out into the sun-beaten city to help him. It was a crap ride, through a welter of tan buildings with no hint anymore of the green that had made the place famous since antiquity. The river had become a stream. The lake that it fed into became entombed in salt. The cotton they turned to as a crop just made it all worse. Becoming modern is a bitch for some people.