Everything that can be out is out. I haven't heard back from anybody, but this is the sort of morning that I wake up in such a fine, fine mood that I'm not sure I'm too worried.
I think I'm abandoning the pig story for now. It isn't working for me, I don't think I'm writing in the right direction for that anthology, and three brilliant markets that I do want to write for have popped up in the last four days. I've taken it as a sign, dropped my few thousand words off into my "unfinished things that could be brilliant eventually" folder, and moved on.
Had a hilarious conversation a few days ago with John C. Hay about an idea he had, and how it really needs to be a screenplay. With a terrible, terrible sequel. Have refused outright to help him, which probably means I'll be the first one he calls if this thing ever comes up on his list. Gods help me.
Oh, and I got to meet Catherynne M. Valente. I need to blog this, but have failed utterly to plug my camera in to pull photos from the Palimpsest shindig.
Right. Off to find trousers for a bit of day job action, and then who knows what this afternoon. Geekery afoot this evening.