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I've put up Chapter Six of The Donor and I've also added cute little chapter synopses to the index page. I think they're pleasant little teasers and they might help a person who returns at irregular intervals to find their place again. I have 81 unique visitors . . . what does that mean, usually, in terms of people actually reading the thing? Like sixty? Like seventy? Is there a counter that can record returns -- not total hits, but returns for each person? I suppose there might be an ethical problem there, in that people might not like being tracked like that. I guess you never do know all the things you want to know, do you?
As always, please tell me about typoes or broken links.
Livestock report: very fat, very insolent squirrel with the last of this year's almonds. Kestrel harrying the bejeesus out of that huge redtail at Lighthouse field. And I wish I had had my camera when I was watching Gunnar-the-boxer leaping up into the air, all four feet off the ground, and repeatedly bashing his whole face on the entrance to a gopher hole. He looked like a spring-operated toy. And did I say we went to look at the Telegraph Hill parrots again yesterday?
I know I decided three weeks ago to query other publishers about The Conduit since that one publisher with three letters in its name doesn't seem to intend to communicate with me ever again but I'm still banging the query letter into shape. It's a bit too long and lacks a conclusion, but I'm close, I think. It's harder than writing the book was, though less hard than writing Afterwar is (I've added a couple hundred words to that. It's really hard to do it with the nice fellow home, which he is because summer conferences are ended and the regular school year has not begun. The unreasonable person keeps insisting on existing in my consciousness).
Hey! if I say something about Esperanza Highway I'll have given thought to the writing or publishing of all four of my okay novels! (I have three which are compost, of which two I think will at some time be reshuffled to make part of three different ones, and one maybe I will revisit one day but I won't hold my breath on it as I have a couple-few new ones in mind and I'm always thinking of new ones after those, and after those. The only breason I wish I was thirty is that I could use another twenty years of writing time)
As always, please tell me about typoes or broken links.
Livestock report: very fat, very insolent squirrel with the last of this year's almonds. Kestrel harrying the bejeesus out of that huge redtail at Lighthouse field. And I wish I had had my camera when I was watching Gunnar-the-boxer leaping up into the air, all four feet off the ground, and repeatedly bashing his whole face on the entrance to a gopher hole. He looked like a spring-operated toy. And did I say we went to look at the Telegraph Hill parrots again yesterday?
I know I decided three weeks ago to query other publishers about The Conduit since that one publisher with three letters in its name doesn't seem to intend to communicate with me ever again but I'm still banging the query letter into shape. It's a bit too long and lacks a conclusion, but I'm close, I think. It's harder than writing the book was, though less hard than writing Afterwar is (I've added a couple hundred words to that. It's really hard to do it with the nice fellow home, which he is because summer conferences are ended and the regular school year has not begun. The unreasonable person keeps insisting on existing in my consciousness).
Hey! if I say something about Esperanza Highway I'll have given thought to the writing or publishing of all four of my okay novels! (I have three which are compost, of which two I think will at some time be reshuffled to make part of three different ones, and one maybe I will revisit one day but I won't hold my breath on it as I have a couple-few new ones in mind and I'm always thinking of new ones after those, and after those. The only breason I wish I was thirty is that I could use another twenty years of writing time)
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