I did not do any work on the novel last night. Instead, I revisited "Y.V. 7650.1," a short story that's had a long and difficult evolution, finishing up a much-needed edit I'd been putting off for months. Then I sent it on its merry way to Jetse over at Interzone. It's as unpleasant a piece as I've ever done, with more graphic violence and sex than anything other story I've written. I actually got the idea for it way back in college, when it would've made a pretty dramatic statement, not to mention an original one. But the intervening years have quietly stolen some of its thunder. It's taken me close to 15 years and no fewer than four very different takes on the material to even come close to readability, because my writing skills were woefully overmatched by this one. And even now I'm not convinced it works on any level. But hey, that's what the editors are there for, right?

Well, that's enough of an interlude. Tonight, it's back to Wetsilver.

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