"Bridge of Dreams" review...

...and one that I like, because it talks about the words. I like words. Tho' you'd never guess it, to watch me at the moment, spending my days hacking them out of my typescript.

Anybody want some spare words? Used once, slightly soiled...

...and talking of reviews...

There's a very good review of "DisLocations", the anthology from NewCon Press, in which I have a story, from Nick Gevers in the new edition of Locus. The full review is worth seeking out, if you have access to the magazine; the money shot from my own point of view is this:

"Terminal" by Chaz Brenchley is a striking portrait of immortal travellers between the worlds falling in love on a planet of surpassing strangeness, only for one to be revealed as an impostor of a sort, and the idyll to drain away.

I like that.

It's 104 miles to Chicago...

...or, more specifically, I have 97 pages to go to the end of this revision of this novel.

It's midday, and I have a dinner date at 7.30pm.

Can I do this, all of this, before that...?

Hold my hat. I'm going in.

Update

It's 2.30pm, and I have 76 pages to go. In four hours, give or take.

I can do this. 'Course I can.

See Chaz work.

Ah, bugger it...

I have the strength of mind, the willpower, all the firm resistance of a Zabriskan fontema. Behold, you can pick me up and turn me round, face me in another direction altogether and away I go...

In other words, a phonecall has hailed me to the pub: and did I spurn it, am I staying here 'til this book is done?

Am I buggery. I'm going off to get drunk. Before having dinner with other soberer friends. The word 'whoops' is occurring to me, in advance...