Reading matter(s)

Well, of course it does. But, oy.

For the last few days I have been reading through my novel (with my own name on it!) House of Doors, for purposes of editorial revision. Over the weekend, as you know, I proofread the Talbots' new book. Also, Bryan has just sent me his text for the next Grandville episode, in hopes of feedback. Also, I am proofreading two books for Book View Cafe.

What arrived this morning? The CEM of Rotten Row, my SF novella*.

And all of this, all of it, has to be done before I go to California in twelve days' time.

*reads*

[EtA: it is of course all lovely and sunny outside; so it's probably just as well that I have to wait in. I missed a delivery on Thursday, rescheduled it for Friday and it never came, rescheduled it again for today. How confident am I? That's right. That's right.]

[EtA 2: I knew I'd forgotten something. Student portfolios, to be collected, graded and commented upon. By next Wednesday. Collected, read, graded and commented upon.]

*Just en passant: I was going to quip about how sure I was that the proper singular form was novellum. But I looked it up. It's Italian. The proper plural, the preferred plural in my dictionary, is novelle. Yay.

...And then I find something to read

Well, actually the boys sorted this out for me. Baz was helping me with my edit, viz sitting on the manuscript in that not-entirely-transparent kind of way that solidly-built black cats are so very good at; there was a heavyweight crash from upstairs, as of something mighty valuable being hurled to the floor by stray tabby cat-action.

It's not an uncommon noise, but in the circs I thought I might as well go to see.

It was, unsurprisingly, a book. Both boys are particularly gifted at choosing books for me and hooking them off shelves.

This one? Is an edition of Rudyard Kipling's selected verse that I always forget that I own, because I also have the complete collected so of course I always go to that.

This one? Is introduced by a long essay on Kipling. By T S Eliot. Which as these are two of my absolute touchstones in the matter of literature, I really need to read that.

Um. Sometime...

My package, let no one bring it me

Oh, I am no good at this. Waiting in. Friday I waited, and the courier never came. Today their website does at least acknowledge my existence, and my package too; it went on the van in Sunderland at 9.55am. Which is six and a half hours ago, and not more than half an hour's drive away. And yes, I know there will have been other packages also, other deliveries to make; and even so. Six and a half hours. I have read, I have written, I have cooked. Now I am listening to the thunder. Soon I shall be gibbering.

[When it comes - since you ask - it is a book. Which I have no time to read, obviously.]

Here comes the rain. Good-oh. I disapprove of thunder without rain. Also houses without books, days without deliveries, Chaz without easement.

Twenty-seven minutes before I can legally open a bottle. *waits*

The previous post, redux

At 4.49pm, the tracking information changed to "Incorrect address". I don't even know what that means. Demonstrably, the address is correct; this is the very address to which they brought this very package on Thursday, when I wasn't home.