Weird. For the past few weeks (months, really), I've been anticipating another move. Plenty of logistics involved in such a move, but anyone who's ever gone from one place to another knows this. Where it's been extra crazy for me is here, on this friggin' blog. See, I've been maintaining a forced schedule of posting all year to prove a bit of a point (and those in need of this "proof" know who they are), but it's been... shall we say... a tad inconvenient.
Long-story short, given several potential move dates, I wound up pre-scheduling a number of posts (at one point, I was three or four months ahead). These pre-scheduled posts not only included all of my "rant and rave" days, but many of my "creative writing" days, as well. Problem with that, though... there are three creative posting groups I like to participate in (The Tenth Daughter of Memory, Magpie Tales, and Theme Thursday) and I very quickly realized that scheduling the "creative writing" days in advance effectively preempted any participation therein. So I unscheduled... and wound up with a rather large backlog of ready-to-go material.
And now my brain isn't working. I think I've run through my imagination supply for the year. Seriously, it hurts to think (then again, that might be an unrelated problem). Basically, my attempt to "get ahead" might result in not being able to participate, anyway, thanks to massive brain farting.
Ah, well.. c'est la vie.
In other news, a few loyal readers have expressed disdain at the fact that several stories that have appeared on these virtual pages are not to be finished on these same virtual pages (I have a reason for this, and it's explained elsewhere... but I'm not sure if it's in a post that's already up or will be up soon). So, I'm considering starting a new blog that's invite-only for those who are truly interested to see how my brain (when it works) pieces together the remainder of these stories. If I do create the new blog (and I've made no decision as of this writing), I'll let those who expressed interest know.
For the first time in a long time, I became appalled at the ability (or willingness) of American book distributors to supply works from foreign authors. I'm currently under contract to analyze the works of some Commonwealth short story writers, and two of those writers are Australian. One of the authors was easy to find, but the other... holy cow. Granted, had these writers been from, say, Sri Lanka or Tanzania, I'd be a little more forgiving of the difficulty in acquiring English versions of applicable works from those nations... but I'm talking Australia, a rather large English-speaking part of the world. Seriously, I went to Borders, Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, Amazon.com, Buy.com, and even some specialty shops. All to no avail. Were it not for a good friend living in Sydney, I'd have had to (gasp) search university libraries and (gasp) lose my tax write-off.
Yes, I just made a mountain out of a molehill. It can be fun sometimes, you know.
That's all for now.