At least I’m not Lee Adama…again.
No word monkeys required. What a concept: Make publishing profitable by eliminating the writers, the editors, the layout team, the proofreaders, and anyone else who knows anything about making books.
I’ve glimpsed the future…and it sucks.
It is my pleasure to report that I have, this evening, finished the first-draft manuscript of the final volume of the Star Trek Destiny trilogy, Lost Souls.
I still need to do a read-through and polishing draft, and it then it will need to go to my beta readers for seriously rushed comments and revisions so that I can turn this in before I leave for Mexico…
…but the manuscript is done, and I feel good about it.
It clocks in at 108k words, 490pp. I have been slogging away on this project for 16 months now, and there are still more months of copyediting, line editing, rewrites, and page proofs to come.
But at least all the fucking manuscripts finally exist. Hallelujah.
To everyone on my f-list who received e-mail invitations to join my daytime employer’s new toy, the Battlestar Galactica Social Network:
If you actually join and want to link up with me on the network, my user name there is Fireball, and I’m on the human team. If you haven’t received an e-mail invite from me to come play, but would like one, let me know your e-mail addy and I’ll send you one.
That is all.
As already noted by many LJers on my flist, today marks the anniversary of the day my friend and rabbi, David Honigsberg, passed away of a sudden heart attack at a much-too-young age.
Over the past year, I have found this subject very difficult to talk about or write about. I feel as if I would be remiss if I didn’t at least acknowledge the day, as my friends have done. Beyond that, however, I am struggling to find words that adequately express my continuing sense of loss at his absence.
I got the news that sunny, unseasonably warm Tuesday morning via cell phone. Glenn Hauman called me while I was on my way to work, and I was on the subway, aboveground in Astoria, when he reached me.
I walked around in shock the rest of the day and submerged myself into my work to prevent myself from going to pieces. As I type these words today, I realize that part of me is still there.
That’s only fitting, I suppose, because there are times when I’d swear David is still here, as well. When I think of him, I can see him clearly in my mind’s eye, and I hear his voice and his laughter with uncommon clarity in the normally murky theater of my memory.
David encouraged me many times to consider the possibility of a more spiritual side to life, and he did it in a way that was philosophical rather than evangelical. He never tried to convert anyone to his way of thinking, but he often encouraged people to at least try thinking. At one point, many years ago, I had been uncertain whether to embrace atheism or agnosticism. He persuaded me — by example, and without ever advocating anything — to fall on the agnostic side of the fence.
I miss listening to him spin tales, sing songs, and cry out, “More whiskey!” I miss drinking more whiskey with him.
Mostly, I just miss him.
Have to stop now.