Sign on the dotted line

The one highlight from an otherwise atrocious week was getting the contract for my story "Lifeblood," which is going to be published this November in Blood Sacraments. And that seems about as good a reason as any to crack open the bottle of champagne I’m now drinking. Another good reason would be the book I’m now reading: an advance copy of Missouri, which is coming out in May from Arsenal Pulp Press. It’s a slim volume at only 133 pages, and I’m already 50 pages in. It’s galloping along like a runaway horse, this odd little novel: a gay love story set in the nineteenth century American Midwest, written by a (straight) German woman, and now translated into English for the first time. I have a feeling it will be over long before I want it to be.

 I forgot one other thing to be glad of this week: I saw an orthopedic specialist today, who cleared me to (gradually) get back into running again. Thank heavens for that, because apart from these things, this week has been driving me batshit crazy.

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