I’ve got two stories coming out in two magazines. Both publications label the forthcoming issues “winter issue.” That’s fitting; I’ve had “winter issues” since I was a kid. I hate snow, hate cold, and complain eloquently and bitterly every time I have to scrape ice off my car.
“Defender of the Flesh” will be appearing soon in Bewildering Stories. “Tale Without Fairies” will be in Syntax & Salt.
All quiet on the writing front for a bit, but have had a string of acceptances, all scheduled for Winter ’17-’18. Some poems that ought to be appearing soon too.
Devising new flavors of margarine. Watching trees grow backwards.
Much to get caught up on, since ARMADILLOCON is over and I am back in my chaotic hideyhole. Networking, panels, workshops, poetry about chupacabras and roadkill, robots, vampires, gravity — it was a maelstrom of nerdy nirvana. Thanks to Dave Chang of Space Squid for the generous hospitality and for introducing me around to the community. It was great to be around people who are submitting to the same markets, facing the same dilemmas (how do you develop a character arc for a robot?) and starting their own interstitial avocation singularities. I feel renewed and reset.
Then it was off to Utah, where the warm and warped Elizabeth Swanstrom and Scott Svatos showed me where the tops of mountains are. We doctored old children’s books into obscene lovecraftian surgery texts, drank buckets of good coffee, stood in awe of the Mormon Spaceship.
I am home. Back at work. But horrible plots are afoot…watch this space…
Arrived in Austin 9:50 local time. But I’d left Madison at 2:15 AM. Have not slept, except fitfully on buses and planes.
Walked all over downtown Austin. Tried breakfast tacos at two different locales. Ended up at Bookpeople where I stayed for about five hours, intermittently dozing behind the shelves and blowing my travel budget sky high.
Convention started 20 minutes ago; just the opening ceremonies. Will get over there shortly.
I’m headed to Austin next week to attend the 39th annual Armadillocon. It’s the alt-weird sci fi con, like Worldcon’s snarky teenage kid sister. Going to sit in on some flash fiction panels, going to go to writing forums, and enter some contests, and drink.
It’s become startlingly clear to me recently that you can’t and shouldn’t work in a vacuum. I do it all alone in the dark, and it’s starting to make me yell at wallpaper and suspect passing dogs of being cats. I’ve realized — admitted after denying it for years — that I need contact with other writers. One goes funny otherwise. And I don’t need to get funnier.
So I’ll post dispatches from there. Once it’s here.