The Eagles (our randomly appointed team to root for) didn’t win, but it was a close game, which is more than can be said about the last several Superbowls I’ve watched.
dude_the is recuperating from all the shouting at the screen from yesterday’s game, Matthew is sleeping the early morning nigh-unto-death coma of the unabashedly nocturnal, and Hobkin is curled up under the hutch wrapped in his new blankie. I, however, am awake. I’m also sick, as in sinuses filled with phlegm, head stuffed with mucus sick. My throat feels like a small feral cat used it as a scratching post. Ouch.
Writing Stuff
C. Dennis Moore asked me to write blurbage for the back cover of his collection of vampire stories, Icons to Ashes. I’m being solicited to write blurbage! Cool.
Sent a copy of this month’s issue of Cricket with “Razi and the Sunbird” to my in-laws, and my mom-in-law liked it so much, she’s reading it to her second graders. They also contacted their local paper who are sending a press team to cover it. More coolness.
Mailed a “your terms are spiffy” letter to my Cricket editor, as well as a couple lines of requested clarification for “The Tanuki-Kettle,” and also included a line letting her know I hadn’t received my check for “Razi” yet. If the universe conforms to expected form, the check will cross paths with my letter en route.
mroctober wants an “author’s note” paragraph or so to accompany “Year of the Fox.” On today’s agenda: dwell on that. Hmm. Perhaps not the cleverest of ideas for me to attempt to me insightful and/or witty through a noggin full of mucus.
