First signs of broadcast. There's feedback, there. It has a beat.
I told myself that I would spend the month or so between turning in the book and getting my revisions back from Solaris in pursuit of "Serious Activity." I have so many book ideas rolling through me that it's just silly. Obviously, I have not done this thing. Instead I have been tapping these to cast this and then passing the turn. It's not a productive activity, but I enjoy it.
I got word yesterday that the editorial crew at Solaris has pretty much gone through Heart and are generally happy. They were more upbeat than that, honestly. They have some notes, and will be bringing them to Worldcon. We're going to sit at a bar and discuss notes. Crazy!
There was part of me that was convinced that the final product wouldn't measure up to the promise of the initial offering. That's probably because nothing I write is anywhere near as good as it is in my head, and I'm pretty sure that's true for all art, but it's something I feel pretty tightly. I send these things out with no real clear idea if they're pure derivative shit or, you know, readable. It's good when the first echoes back are not tsunamis of editorial regret and contractual obligations. That cash is spent. I suppose I could tear out my garage roof and mail it to Nottingham. Dreadful postage, though.
I've reached a point at work where I just can't care. I've sat down with all the bosses and had pretty much the same conversation. This guy doesn't work. He does stuff when he feels like it, and we're all scrambling to keep that from losing us customers. And the same thing keeps happening. Nothing. Two weeks ago they came to me and said that I need to step it up and get more done, because it's clear that he can't keep up with his work, and needs my help. So there you go. He's lazy, so we need you to work harder.
And I can't just quit. The job market around here is atrocious, especially for my particular skill set. So, you know. Fuck it. I'm going to Denver and talk about my book.