As you may already know, we lost Mike Ford last night. A fine and wise and quiet man with amazing eyebrows, he wrote extemporaneously on nearly any topic, often in highly structured poetry, and the more you knew the funnier it was. He will be sorely missed.
We spent most of the evening at our neighborhood book group. Unusually, we managed to spend most of the time actually discussing the book, 40,000 in Gehenna by C. J. Cherryh. When we got home I read over my work in progress (tentatively titled "Firewall") and realized that it would really be happier in first person. I think I'd been avoiding it largely because my last two stories were in first, but when I went through and changed it, it was like loosening a belt that's too tight. After that I added one paragraph and a few scattered sentences and I'm calling it a night. I'll take the train tomorrow.
Much else ought to be done. I have two stories to put back in the mail, two short stories and two novels to critique, and I still have to unpack from Foolscap, plus the usual groceries, dishes, and other life maintenance. Too bad. Not gonna happen right now.