Well, I just finished a rough draft of the final scene in my collaboration with Derek James, "The Shadow Wolf." I feel really good about the story as a whole. It's actually about 8,500 words, so it's really a novelette. Cool. Once we get done with the second draft, I can see it being even longer.

And now, before I even had time to look around, January is OVER. I thought I'd do a quick update on my Goals for 2003.

I'm doing so-so on the first one, getting in shape, though this past week of coffee-guzzling and snacking-while-revising, writing-instead-of-exercising hasn't helped much.

I'm doing much better with my writing goals -- I completed the first draft of my Wannoshay novel, and revised the crap out of it. I also revised the heck out of four stories -- "Redemption, Drawing Near," "Remainders," "The Dissolutionist," and "Skin and Blood." I completed a short horror story, "My People's Bugs," and wrote half of two collabs, one with Tim and one with Derek. I also read a bunch of short stories. Not a bad month.

Next month will be different, as I'll be working full-time, but I think I'll remain productive; I'll be back to getting up at 5 a.m. again. Ouch.

In preparation for a busier work schedule, I had to unsubscribe to a lot of people's journals -- I was spending a good hour every morning, just reading journals! So no offense, folks, if I'm no longer a subscriber -- if you're on my Links page, I'm checking your journal once a day or so. Just trying to ease off the web-surfing.

And speaking of that, I need to log off and rest my eyeballs. Have a good one! Later.

Now Playing:
"Best of 1990-2000", U2

Now Reading:
From a Buick 8, Stephen King

Stories out to Publishers:
20

Today's Words:
1,700

Words for '03:
23,000

Today's Quote:
But don’t push me, Charlie added silently. Far off in the distance, barely audible, was the sound of a helicopter.

“This is everyone’s war now, American,” the man above him wheezed. “This is--” he began but was overcome by a fit of coughing.

Charlie took advantage of the man’s distraction to move to the other side of the rock, stepping over Martens’ unconscious body, trying to keep the terrorist from drawing a bead on him.

The man above him whispered one word in his native language. Charlie could guess the translation -- the man had heard the chopper now as well.