I was gearing up to release a new story for tomorrow, when a voice came into my ear. I’m not sure if it was Sloth or Wisdom, but what it said was reasonable.
“You damned fool– everyone will be having a party or plotting, Grendel-like, the destruction of everyone who is having a party. No one will have a moment to look in at a new story, however short.”
I thus abandon the time-table only I know about, and prepare for the next release to appear not tomorrow, but in the new year itself, shortly after the hang-overs fade (all but mine, which shall never be born– woe, woe, the lot of the driver).
Dirck de Lint's Missives from the Living Skies 