fidgety season

I've felt unbelievably cooped up the last few days. The weather's too beautiful, there's too much that needs doing, and my brain is telling me it needs a vacation (but there are no brain vacation days to be had). There's a dozen topics I want to post on, but not right now. (Feel free to throw some topics in the comments or via email; I can use yours instead.) One of the geraniums bit it and the plant food we bought made all the leaves on everything very angry (and holey), but at least all the other flowers seem to be alive. This lazy funk will go away, soon, promise.

I'm very much looking forward to some play-time next weekend in Chicago for the Nebulas, not to mention a trip to the Lush store.

Yawn.

(No, really, I just yawned. Don't you feel all real-time and like the future now?)

One thing I have to figure out is a writing schedule. The rewrite is languishing from lack of time and the new book is creaking forward slowly. The good thing is I live with a writer who is basically in need of the same thing, so maybe we can come up with something and shame the other person into sticking to it. I want a deadline by which to finish this revision and a sketch of a schedule that will get me a very fast first draft of the new one. (Then I'll figure out how to swing a research trip down to the coast in between Wiscon and Glasgow and Madison again -- assuming we actually go to all three of those, Wiscon's the only for sure for sure and World Fantasy would be the most likely to get pushed off our calendar.)

Scintillating watching someone not make decisions, isn't it?

Enough of that. Next post is hangovers.