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Conga Like You Mean It

Email rejection from new Brit mag Farthing, clocking in at either 292 days or 14 days, depending on if you count from the original submission that the Internet Beasties apparently waylaid and devoured, or from the resub date. Six of one, and so forth. A no is a no is a no.

In local news, we visited the hospital today as part of an expectant parents' tour, in order to minimize later frantic running around on my part. I approve. Lisa approved of their facilities and I concur. With luck we'll get to use them and not have some weak sitcom development, like getting stuck in traffic when the baby comes, and I'm forced to deliver it myself off of exit 265. That's not really the good exit, after all. I have standards.

But enough about us: in west coast news, Jenn sold her novel Jade Tiger! To which we all shout, "Whoo! Jenn! Whoo!" and then form a conga line, chanting her name until the neighbors call the police, the old spoilsports.

Whoo! Jenn! Whoo!

Reading: Crime Stories and Other Writings, by Dashiell Hammett.