Reading

Having a bit of lunch at the moment -- well, lunch-dessert, anyway: some mini semi-sweet morsels in one hand, and some pretzel sticks in the other. Sort of like the Rum and Coke one might have with one bottle in each hand, taking alternate pulls of the beverages.

Chocolate chips.
Pretzel sticks.
Chocolate chips.
Pretzel sticks.

I'm currently reading American Fantastic Tales: 1940 to Now, edited by Peter Straub. So far, so good. Starting from the beginning (what a great place to start!) I read John Collier's "Evening Primrose," which was an interesting enough story, good concept, compellingly written, if not exceptional. While the actual writing of Fritz Leiber's "Smoke Ghost" was a bit lacking for me, I found it a singularly creepy story, ripe with menace and possibilities and images that will stay with me forever (I'll certainly never take the El again without thinking of that story). I tried to work my way through Tenneessee Williams's "The Mysteries of the Joy Rio" but punted that -- something about the writing of Tennessee Williams makes him a hard read for me. I liked Jane Rice's, "The Refugee," which spun itself out nicely enough, with a juicy little twist to it.

This batch of stories all fell in the wartime period (so far, around 1940-43), and the hulking shadow of World War II hangs over them all. I'll keep posting as I go through it.

Overcast

I was very productive over the weekend, although not productive at all yesterday. Blah. My day off. Why not? It's not like I wasn't doing anything; I was busy taking care of my kids.

Today I'm at work, and somebody brought in some Dunkin Donut holes. I loathe Dunkin Donuts. I want to take one of the powdered ones and launch it at one of walls. But with people walking about, that might kill them -- those Dunkin greaseballs are likely deadly projectiles.

I have six days to get the second chunk of revision done. It should take me two days, if I do it right.