I'm exhausted. I've been working 12 to 14 hour days for most of a month. Ella even had to come to the office with me Tuesday evening because there just wasn't anything else to do with her. Our project launches September 8 and has suffered every imaginable setback, and as we push toward our delayed live date my contribution to the effort will be leaving to go to Boston for five days for WorldCon. As a matter of fact, I leave this afternoon. █████ was supposed to come too, but pretty much at the last minute our carefully arranged dogsitting plans completely dried up. So I'll be in Boston alone.

In the good news column, I did manage to polish up another draft of The Accidental Terrorist, which went in the mail Monday morning to the next potential agent. (Huge thanks to ❦bobhowe for a lot of good advice and helpful line editing.) My previous non-fiction agent, D., left the biz in the spring, pretty much orphaning the book. He suggested, however, that the head of the agency he had just left, J., might still be interested in the book. When I wrote J. earlier this month, he responded that he had just been looking for my email address, so I'm cautiously hopeful. This guy has a hell of a track record, so I'm now on tenterhooks.

I haven't had much time to get work done on the last tiniest little polishes to my novella "Inclination" thanks to the work situation. Maybe I can squeeze those in this weekend, because I'm very eager to send this thing off to Ellen Datlow at Sci Fiction.

Attention to friends has mostly fallen by the wayside this past month. I hope to change that in September. I now I've got to put my nose back to the grindstone, because I only have two and a half hours left to days five days' worth of work.