Here's my biggest update yet: On Monday, September 29th, my daughter was born. Matilda showed up in the wee hours of the morning and life hasn't been the same since. Nor has my sleep schedule. She's a week old today and remains unimpressed with her father's writing.
A tired mind reaches for cliches, but this week has been a wild ride, a roller coaster, with thrills and spills, etc. etc. It's been the hardest and the best week I think I've ever had, full of discoveries, horrible and beautiful. On a related note: one thing they tell you at the hospital is "Everything is new to her! She's discovering new feelings, new sensations, sounds, smells, everything all the time." What they forget to mention is that babies hate new sensations with a screaming and fecal-oriented passion. She's pretty dang cute though.
In more quotidian, but very gratifying news, I have a handful of short stories coming up: "The Dog Upstairs" in Day One, an ebook-centered literary magazine by everyone's favorite global behemoth Amazon; "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." in Booth; and "21 Figs for Summer," which will be published in West Branch. If you see me, you can buy me a beer. I'll be the guy who's giving up sleeping.