Mr Pedia and I played a little game earlier in the week in which he read the first sentences (or paragraphs, or in some cases phrases) of famous SF stories and I attempted to identify them. I was surprisingly successful. But that's what "famous" means, I guess. Also, there are certain SF anthologies we both of us grew up reading over and over, which makes the game kinda unfairly easy. (E.g., any Larry Niven story published before 1980.) Though for some I could guess author but not the story. And in other cases, when he was sure I had no idea who it was, he would read enough until I told him whether the story was any good or not. Playing this variant of the game, I gave emphatic thumbs up to early Zelazny. I also panned Ray Bradbury without knowing who he was, though eventually I pinned the story as "Mars is Heaven". (The word "Ohio" gave it away. Which says interesting things about how this recognition process goes.)
"Dust on his hands from the sky", which might or might not be the actual title, is now at 8000 words and ticking along. I have an outline, though it's pretty fluid at this stage. I'm pushing myself and staying in unconscious-active mode with this one. Ethan has made an appearance and is a major character. So far he's less of a quotation fountain than he has been every other time I've written him. Instead he's smoking a lot. I had been going to kill him off, but I realized today that I'm not. You should fear what I'm going to do instead. Not to him. To somebody else.
I think I know what story I want to write for my second summer_of_giles day. I think it might be a 100% Giles/Buffy summer for me.