August 22nd, 2007

sf star trek horta/spock

you will make a secret journey. you will meet a holy man.

Toronto: Survived. If you notice that there seems to be less of it, that's because we ate a significant portion. Somehow, my jeans still fit. It must have been the Bataan Death-March of Eaton Center Shopping.

O mah feets. But I now have a fall/winter wardrobe, which I did not have before.

The signing seems to have gone well. I read the same story I read in NYC and made different mistakes. Torontonians take longer to believe it's okay to laugh at the funny bits than New Yorkers do. *g*

And I came home to the entirely pleasant news that Asimov's is buying the Shoggoth story, which I guess needs a real name now. And I need to write some more short stories.

In other news, the heat broke. And I don't have to go anywhere overnight again until Viable Paradise. Thank dog.
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masturbation

the spiders has jammed the police lock. i ain't been inside for a week.

Paul Jessup on the newbie writer cycle.

jaylake on the early-career writer cycle.

Neither of these match my own experience, I should say. But they are both interesting.

Today's mail includes a rejection from F&SF. And I have hot water again, so I no longer smell like road trip. This is good, for I do not want to smell of road trip.

Book report #74: Nalo Hopkinson, The New Moon's Arms

This is good, and it made my sniffly, and Nalo's writing is incredibly fabulous. She's got a wonderful world set up where things slip through liminal spaces and the magic all tastes faintly of things that happen on summer nights when you are paying attention to something else. The characterization is wonderful, though I really wanted to drown the protagonist in a bucket an awful lot. I honestly couldn't figure out why the people around her were so nice to her, given what an enormous pain in the butt she is. (The narrative knows perfectly well that she's an enormous pain in the butt, in fairness.)

The book reminds me a bit of Liz Hand's Generation Loss, in tone and the oblique angles it takes on its themes, and just something about the way it's put together.

I don't want to spoil, so I will just say that I liked this an awful lot, but I loved The Salt Roads more; it came together more satisfyingly in my head in the end, where this wound up feeling a little more lightweight.



And now, I must practice guitar, and write some of this damned story that I have been stuck on for ages. Talking with stillsostrange might have given me a direction. I wonder if the monster I want exists, or if I need to invent one.

ETA:

I have been kind of swamped with life and travel and commitments, so not writing much since I finished the last draft. However, I have 7 short stories and two novellas that I want to have finished by the end of the year, and I will have All the Windwracked Stars and The Stratford Man to revise by November 1so I can have the decks clear for Chill, which means I really need to get myself in gear. So, starting tonight, back to the three pages a day of doom.

La.

*shrugs up the harness*

Also, I should do some yoga. And find something to eat.

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Oh, and whoever anonymously gave me a brain in a jar.... er. Thanks!