Mortality, and catching up, almost
Settlers is done. Not yet submitted, but done. The excitement begins.
I have been largely underground and thus was remiss in not mentioning a couple of things, though those of you that read the other Homeless Moon journals already saw this.
The folk at The Homeless Moon and I -- that would be jsridler, scott_h_andrews, boonofdoom, and the_slow_train -- decided last year to put together a chapbook of our work. Most of them are being much more clever in their descriptions of this undertaking, but it's 2:30am and I want to go to sleep. So I'll just say that some of the initial proposal for the chapbook was to show what we could do to the big ol' world, but mainly we just wanted to put together some stories and appear in the same publication, something that, barring blackmail or other unsavory tactics, was not likely to happen fast enough for our chum-like impatience.
John Klima very kindly blogged about the chapbook on the newly-revealed Tor.com -- looks like a snazzy site indeed, breaking many a mold for previous expectations of online speculative fiction fare.
Anyway, re the belatedly mentioned chapbook, I'm honored to be sharing page-space with these stories, and you can, as the site page says, download an electronic copy of the chapbook for free if you weren't lucky enough to snatch a copy at ReaderCon.
Speaking of which, I was not there. I neglected to mention that here, and in particular I owe an apology to elenuial, whom I conned into applying for Odyssey and should just now be recovering from the shell-shock of the six week experience. I'd intended to go to ReaderCon and harass various folk -- lesser_celery, cristalia, time_shark... I shouldn't have started to name names, there are many more. But. 2am. Visa issues and Canadian Immigrations put the abrupt kibosh on this plan, causing jsridler and I to forfeit our already-paid-for Pricelined hotel, and more irritatingly to miss the con and the opportunity to see rarely-seen folk and hang out with the HM guys for a few days. We are also not at TNEO due to the chaos of preparing to move out west. Next year, however, all of this will be corrected. I understand ReaderCon was pretty cool, as always, and congratulations to those who pulled Rhyslings or one of the new shiny Shirley Jackson awards.
More updates when I have had sleep. A parrot update is long overdue, with photos of Smeagol's semi-new cage. Vasya is in her annual summer super-molt, but recently began voluntarily taking baths, almost, and has polished up her beak. I wonder who she's trying to impress.
A particular greenbottle fly has been buzzing around here for the past three days, being generally annoying and doing its fly thing, bouncing off monitors, chasing food, etc. About an hour ago I heard a persistent buzzing; it had kamikazed itself into my coffee cup from this morning and was in the process of noisily drowning. A-ha, I thought; nature at work. The stupid irritating buzzing will be no more.
Then in about two seconds I sighed and realized I was not in fact going to let it come to a messy end in stale coffee and non-dairy creamer. So, without much help from the fly itself, I fished it out on a second attempt with the end of my pen.
It has been fastidiously drying its wings, perched on a copy of Julian Dibbell's Play Money, for the last hour. I have named it Steve.
I have been largely underground and thus was remiss in not mentioning a couple of things, though those of you that read the other Homeless Moon journals already saw this.
The folk at The Homeless Moon and I -- that would be jsridler, scott_h_andrews, boonofdoom, and the_slow_train -- decided last year to put together a chapbook of our work. Most of them are being much more clever in their descriptions of this undertaking, but it's 2:30am and I want to go to sleep. So I'll just say that some of the initial proposal for the chapbook was to show what we could do to the big ol' world, but mainly we just wanted to put together some stories and appear in the same publication, something that, barring blackmail or other unsavory tactics, was not likely to happen fast enough for our chum-like impatience.
John Klima very kindly blogged about the chapbook on the newly-revealed Tor.com -- looks like a snazzy site indeed, breaking many a mold for previous expectations of online speculative fiction fare.
Anyway, re the belatedly mentioned chapbook, I'm honored to be sharing page-space with these stories, and you can, as the site page says, download an electronic copy of the chapbook for free if you weren't lucky enough to snatch a copy at ReaderCon.
Speaking of which, I was not there. I neglected to mention that here, and in particular I owe an apology to elenuial, whom I conned into applying for Odyssey and should just now be recovering from the shell-shock of the six week experience. I'd intended to go to ReaderCon and harass various folk -- lesser_celery, cristalia, time_shark... I shouldn't have started to name names, there are many more. But. 2am. Visa issues and Canadian Immigrations put the abrupt kibosh on this plan, causing jsridler and I to forfeit our already-paid-for Pricelined hotel, and more irritatingly to miss the con and the opportunity to see rarely-seen folk and hang out with the HM guys for a few days. We are also not at TNEO due to the chaos of preparing to move out west. Next year, however, all of this will be corrected. I understand ReaderCon was pretty cool, as always, and congratulations to those who pulled Rhyslings or one of the new shiny Shirley Jackson awards.
More updates when I have had sleep. A parrot update is long overdue, with photos of Smeagol's semi-new cage. Vasya is in her annual summer super-molt, but recently began voluntarily taking baths, almost, and has polished up her beak. I wonder who she's trying to impress.
A particular greenbottle fly has been buzzing around here for the past three days, being generally annoying and doing its fly thing, bouncing off monitors, chasing food, etc. About an hour ago I heard a persistent buzzing; it had kamikazed itself into my coffee cup from this morning and was in the process of noisily drowning. A-ha, I thought; nature at work. The stupid irritating buzzing will be no more.
Then in about two seconds I sighed and realized I was not in fact going to let it come to a messy end in stale coffee and non-dairy creamer. So, without much help from the fly itself, I fished it out on a second attempt with the end of my pen.
It has been fastidiously drying its wings, perched on a copy of Julian Dibbell's Play Money, for the last hour. I have named it Steve.