Apologies.

My plan to publish a book a week has faltered as a half dozen books wind up at one time. In a mad attempt to get out from under my active outlines before finishing the two large novels I'm involved with—a slut and a good Catholic girl—and knockout enough nonfiction to permit me to focus on A Dread Grace, The Boxer Dread and The Liver-Eater project looming this coming fall, I have been sucking on tea bags, and drinking coffee until its time for a nap and then knocking back enough beer to tranquillize me.

I have not looked at my emails for days and have just been clicking the approve button on the comments for two weeks now. I apologize, want to read your words and respond, and will as soon as I strangle this obsessed monkey that has it's tail wrapped around my neck...

My editor did ask me today how I keep up on my reading when this tired and I told her that I do heavy reading on my back—Moby Dick for instance, the 800 page hardback. When I fall asleep reading that, or the Complete Works of some other long dead nut, I wake up when it slams into my face. I do my lighter reading, like the two softbacks I read on Sunday morning, while walking around.

Speaking of which, here is a story about falling asleep while reading: Arthur C. Clarke: Tales From Planet Earth.

For the next two days most of my work will not show up online as I assemble the books.