Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines.

I am under the pleasant crush of deadlines, pleasant because deadlines implies work. My secret novella project fell through, thus I have an orphaned novella that will now hit the submission trail in January. I just wrapped up a short story for a market whose reading period closes at the end of the month. It’s body is not even cold and I’ve started the work on a story for an anthology that I was invited into (its deadline is not quite a month from now). I will let it sit until this weekend when I can look at it with fresh eyes, do a polish on it then send it out. Come January, I polish another couple stories to be sent out to markets with deadlines at the end of that month, then I can get started on the two new novel projects I have slated for 2006 (one’s a carry-over from this year).

I’m still pulling together my comments for my panels at the HJAG 2005. I was supposed to do three panels (“The Horror Genre”, “Graphic Novels and Comics”, and “Race and Cinema”), but I am heading home before the “Race and Cinema” panel (because my wife would kill me if I wasn’t home for New Year’s Eve). I am, however, forwarding them my notes (all 15 pages of them. For those studying at my notes, I was kidding about analyzing King Kong as the story of black people: taken from his home by white folks, falls for a white woman, then gets lynched).

I’m also putting together a series of Kwanzaa-related blogs intended to add to the diversity conversation of the emergent church. “Related” in that Kwanzaa makes me reflect on all things “black”.

In short, My Muse has been most cooperative of late. The words are coming pretty easily at the moment, so I’m not changing notepads, pens, or anything else that might interrupt the flow. I described the writing throes that I was in to a friend of mine as “making love to my muse.” Which my friend found immediately disturbing. So, since I was listening to blues cds all weekend, I’m referring to the process as “doing the shout.”

I’m doing the shout all week long.