Writer. Scientist. Thoroughly Disappointing Flesh Muppet.
Happy Birthday, little book! You’re one year old today.
You’ve aged so quickly. How is it possible? It seems like only yesterday you were nothing but a vague, faintly naive idea.
I remember how thrilled I was when I took you home from the hospital first saw you in a bookstore. I thought you were the cutest book ever. I still do. But not everybody agrees, and that’s why your mommy and daddy your publisher and author are working hard to make new clothing devise new cover art for you
This article in Sunday’s Albuquerque Journal gives a nice glimpse into the local SFF writing community here in the Land of Enchantment. [ETA: Even though you probably can’t read it, because the link became subscription-only sometime in the past day… Crud.] There are many, many more writers here than appear in the article — Pati Nagle, Sage Walker, Vic Milan, Bob Vardeman, just to name a few — but I can’t blame the author for not reaching every single writer in the state prior to his editorial deadline.
And he made me sound much more polite than I am. I did at one point actually yell out, “You guys are wimps.”
The giveaway for The Year’s Best Science Fiction and Fantasy, volume 5 has ended. I’m happy to say that two copies of the book went into the mail yesterday. The lucky winners are:
From Goodreads: James Culshaw
From this blog: Dawn Sabados
Congratulations to James and Dawn! I hope you enjoy the anthology.
Mailing those books became a vivid reminder as to why I’m so hilariously inept at being, you know, an adult.
Well, gosh. This is something neat on a dreary Thursday: thanks to this morning’s Google Alerts, I’ve learned that somebody wrote a nifty little poem based on the Milkweed Triptych.
How’s that for a lovely compliment? I’m amazed that anybody would feel compelled to take up a pen and compose verse after reading Bitter Seeds. Wow.
The poet, David A Marcillo, has graciously consented to let me post his poem here.
A few years ago, I wrote a pair of posts about one of the strangest experiences of my life. It left me with the unsettling suspicion that squirrels (1) can read, and (2) are plotting something, probably against me.
But that wasn’t the only time I got outwitted by a squirrel at the University of Minnesota. Oh, no. Not hardly. When I returned to the U of MN for graduate school, the squirrels stepped up their game. They went from subtle gaslighting to outright demonstrations of contempt for my intellect (such as it is).