I just got done flipping through, for the third time today, my "editor's cut" edition of the small-press, do-it-(mostly)-yourself anthology Intracities. With everything paginated and printed out on legal-sized paper, I folded it in half and all the pages lined up and it looks damn spiffy!

Probably the coolest aspect of working on this anthology was reading and rereading the stories in the antho. Even though I've probably read each one a dozen times at least, I still get a kick out of them. They're all different enough to keep me coming back, and the range of genres and styles is awesome. All credit goes to the 14 authors. All I did was grab them before some other editor did.

So I got the final file from John T. and sent that and the cover from Frank W. off to AlphaGraphics to be printed. I'm hoping by next week I'll have the official versions of the antho in my hot little hands.

And then the editor's hat is going back on the hook for a while. I've got WAY too much writing to do between now and the end of the year. If I could do the editing without the publishing, I'd be happy. Just let me pick and make comments on the stories and rearrange them and place them in the book, and someone else can do the dirty work.

I did the hermit thing again last night, trying to bang out a new scene for the collab with Jay (see, the problem with Jay is that he not only writes fast, but he writes this compelling stuff that makes me want to write more, at the expense of my social life (such as it is)).

Seriously, I'm feeling stretched in a good way by this collab, just as I felt with my previous collabs with Tim, Greg, and Derek. And that's why I wanted to work with them. It's always good to pull yourself kicking and screaming to the next level.

Now Reading:
Stardust, Neil Gaiman

Stories out to Publishers:
16

Yesterday's Words:
1,500

Today's Words:
600

Words for '03:
116,800

Today's Quote:
A green light flashed in each set of eyes, traveling from the closest to the farthest dead. The blades were back against my thighs in an instant, but it was too late. The corpses fell in upon themselves, dropping face-first into the dust and mounds around Rego's hissing kitten. But a message had been sent: the priest-engineers' fingerprints were all over this animation of the dead. And they knew of my sky steel.