June 10th, 2008

rengeek the puppet (poisoninjest)

Speak friend, and enter. (Punctuation counts)

Well, I set my alarm for five, decided when it went off that it was already 75 degrees and I needed more sleep more than I needed to get out of the house, and went back to bed for another hour and a half. And then I went for a run, in 79 degrees with 78% humidity, and air quality crappy enough that I was having some trouble finding an unbonded oxygen molecule. Bleg. Now I am dripping grossness.

But I made two miles, barely, and my cardiopulmonary system seems to have figured out that it can keep breathing while I run a mile. On the way back, though, I only ran about half of it and walked the rest. The only reason I had the motivation to drag myself out there at all was because I remembered that today was the day I pass the doors to Moria.

And so I did. I am now 1.6 miles inside the mines. No sign yet of cave trolls.

121.4 miles to Lothlorien.

And now I have to go get cleaned up so I may venture forth and do what must be done today.
muppetology need bears fozzie & kermit

(no subject)

First things first. filkertom (Our own beloved Tom Smith) has seriously injured himself, requires surgery (which is happening this afternoon), and could probably use both moral support and the more fiduciary sort.

Today I:

Got up and ran two miles
Went for a massage therapy session
Got the stolen stereo in my car replaced with an unstolen one
Bought a suitcase that will hopefully last me many, many years, unlike the two I've killed in the past 24 months ($160 suitcase marked down to half price. This one had better not explode. I'm just saying.)
Bought sheets, so I have a second set when my houseguests arrive in July
Updated my voter registration
Rewarded myself with an espresso brownie (first thing I had eaten since dinner last night. zippy zoom!)
Bought beer
Bought bagels

...came home and fell over. It is 97 degrees out there and I may never leave the house again.

Yeah. I'm mighty.
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lion in winter dead

Algis Budrys, 1931 - 2008

A scholar and a curmudgeon.

Also, responsible for me having a career as a writer, which is a good trick for an editor who never published a word I wrote.

However, he did reject an early version of  "Gone to Flowers," the first and original Jenny Casey story, from tomorrowSF in the mid 1990s. And at the end of that rejection, he wrote, "A good story but it fell apart at the end. This made me sad."

And thus was the student enlightened.

I'd never realized, before, that the editor was rooting for me.

I got to thank him in person once, at a Readercon. He had no clue who on earth I was. And that's okay.
can't sleep books will eat me

we sail tonight for singapore

Autocannibalism on NPR (Actually a Talk of the Nation interview with Richard Preston on his book Panic in Level 4.)

Authors feel pressure to produce a book a year may affect the quality of their work. (Catty comment about the quality of Patricia Cornwell's recent work heroically redacted.)

My current goal is to find a way to live off a a mere two books a year, because that seems like a pace I could sustain without killing myself.  

Maybe I should start writing thrillers.