I can’t sleep, ergo, pictures! Here’s a couple Dragon*Con ’04 pix, and a skunk or two.
Hobkin was disinclined to sleep early this AM. And he was disinclined to let me sleep either. There was much walking over me, hopping up beside me and then immediately wanting down, and then when I didn’t move over for him, much pawing at my head. Not the best way to start off the week.
The next WotF quarter begins next month. With my two RoF sales, plus “Running on Two Legs” coming out in the next issue of The Third Alternative, I don’t think I can send anything to them anymore. *sniffle* The end of an era and a milestone. If I don’t win with the two entries they’ve currently got (for this quarter and last), it looks like that’s a feather I’ll never get to wear in my hat. Not holding my breath on either of the stories, so I’m pretty much resigning myself to the cold, hard fact that I don’t seem to write stories that are winners with them. They’ll throw me quarter- and semi-finalist bones, but I’m destined never to make the money round. Foo.
And my eBook of Ascendancy of Blood is now the #4 Fantasy Bestseller at Fictionwise! It’s preceded by two Terry Brooks eBooks, and one by Keith R.A. DeCandido! Yippee skipee!
The fringes of Ivan are being felt here. It’s very dark outside, and there’s a deluge of rain. I checked the forecasts and it looks like they’re now predicting that the eye won’t even go through Georgia, so I suspect all we’ll get is a few thunderstorms over the weekend, but then that’s pretty much what we expected anyway.
Finally heard from Patrick. He weathered Ivan at a friend’s parent’s house that’s on the west of the Louisiana bay area, above sea level. I checked the storm maps and it looks like the area he’s in was downgraded to “tropical storm” from “hurricane.” At least he’s above sea level.
Hobkin displayed that he has a wee brain last night. Matthew startled him as he was eating his midnight snack. We’re not sure what happened next. As best as we can figure it, Hobkin bit his own tongue or his mouth–like people occasionally do and it both hurts like the dickens and makes you feel inordinately stupid. We theorized that he didn’t understand or know how to deal with the pain, and blamed the veggies he was eating for the hurt in his mouth. He began to systematically “kill” his midnight snack–pawing and scratching veggies apart, and in the process getting vegetable guts everywhere. After mauling them quiescent, he would try to take a bite of the resultant mush, but apparently his little mouth still hurt, so he would go back to killing them again.
I was concerned he’d cut his mouth or chipped a tooth or something, so I picked him up and tried to peer in. He made to snap at me, but when I touched the side of his mouth, he flinched away, which really worried me at first. I ended up using a piece of bread to lure his mouth open so I could see in. All teeth intact, no blood or visible wounds. Silly beastie.
By morning, of course, he was fine and ate an extra-hearty breakfast. Even begged shamelessly for more. His brain is small. It’s a good thing he’s so cute.
And, holy Jeebus! I checked the current bid on my chapbook at the ebay charity auction, and it’s at $22.50! This book retails for $3.49. Wow. And the auction doesn’t even end until the 18th. Wow.
So far, ten crits from Critters on “The Tanuki-Kettle,” and it’s going over well. A couple folks have commented that they think it would be appropriate for both a younger audience and an older one, which pleases me. And I actually managed to lop off nearly two hundred words, bringing it under 3K. I’m worried that I may have butchered it, though.
In any case, I have plenty of time to mull it over. When I do get it to “final draft” stage, it’ll still have to languish in my “to send to Cricket” queue for a minimum of two months . . . unless the Cricket Group rejects one of the submissions I have with them. Or buys something with uncharacteristic swiftness.
When I said a few months ago that it was skunk shedding season, I had no idea. I swear, it seems like Hobkin hit the EJECT button on his coat. He’s fooffing out his undercoat and his long, coarse tail hairs. Everywhere in the house there’s billowing tumbleweed-esque balls of downy, white fur, punctuated by handfuls of long tail hair. Only twenty-four hours after a thorough vacuuming and there is, once again, fur everywhere. I’d say I couldn’t wear black, but since so much of my wardrobe is black, I really can’t omit it completely. So I’m just wandering around in public looking like I’ve waded through a swamp of white fuzz. Sheesh.
On a heartening note, he looks sleeker these days, like he’s lost some weight. I wonder how much fur weight he was trundling around with last December?
The last segment of the three-parter on Sci-Fiction is due up tomorrow, so I’ve started on the current story: “Left of the Dial” by Paul Witcover. I usually prefer to review as I read, making comments and jotting down notes as they occur to me. Because of that, I typically strive to finish a story in a single sitting that I’m reviewing. But Witcover’s story is a novella, and I’m not on a Caribbean cruise this time, with endless hours to languish with my laptop, overlooking the ocean. Pook.
Beginning to get twitchy on the response time front. Thinking about querying LCRW which has had a story of mine since May, and IROSF, just to make sure they received my cyberpunk article. *twitch*
My wing stubs didn’t hurt today! Hurray!
But this morning was rough on the sleeping front, due in large part to an insistent fuzz beast whose internal clock claimed adamantly it was breakfast time a good two hours before it actually was, and for that matter, before I needed to wake up. I can’t count the number of times Hobkin clambered up beside me, pawed at my head (thereby waking me), and then hopped down to pace in front of his food tray . . . loudly. Oof. Bloodshot eyes and frayed nerves, that’s me.
Updated the Daily Dragon website and wrote up staff handouts, as well as schedule change request and announcement request forms. Definitely getting in gear for Dragon*Con.
Practiced my opening talk for Ann’s Workshop. Needs some work yet, but I’m getting there.
And to deflate my sails, also in the mailbox:
– A 9-day “there’s nice writing here but . . . ” from JJA of F&SF. Sigh. I remember once upon a time getting alases from GVG. Out it goes again.
– A form “no” from The Strand after 535 days, without even an apology for the long wait. Grrr.
– 30-day personalized “not quite right for us” from Stanley Schmidt of Analog with invite to send more.
But, to end on a “yay” note, I also got a lovely fan email from an aspiring writer who discovered my blog. They said they were inspired by my ramblings to join Critters and to start submitting their stories to markets. They also bought a copy of Ascendancy of Blood. It really made my day.
In other news:
– The new issue of IROSF.com came out sans my “Subgenre Spotlight on Cyberpunk” article. No word from the editor on whether they liked it yet. *fret fret fret*
– Carina’s back from her vacation and I still have yet to receive a BFoD from my second story that was in the previous RoF batch. Might I *gasp* actually have had two stories forwarded to Shawna from that batch, bringing my total waiting on her desk for her attention to three? Oh my. I shall, of course, query Carina, because she is the coolest, nicest slush reader evar.
Matthew and I were discussing a horror story in the making last night. With all the boxes in the dining room, Hobkin wouldn’t go in there, and seemed to avert his gaze when he had to walk past it. It was almost as though he could sense something evil that we couldn’t. Doo do doooo.
Or maybe he was being a big chicken. This morning, he followed me in there when I had to retrieve my lunch bag, so perhaps the evil has departed, or he’s had enough time to get his courage up to brave the scary boxes invading his territory.
Pictures of a lazy fluffhead for cuteness sake:
Watched The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, of which I have to say: “RAWR!” Laughed myself loopy. People must see it. Go. Shoo!
Woke up this morning before my alarm went off. Hobkin was nestled beside me, snoring and snuffling occasionally, so I thought it safe to wrap him up in the blanket, and sneak off to shower. After all, Matthew was right there. He’d wake up if Hobkin started getting into mischief, right?
Wrong. Very very wrong. While I was in the bathroom, getting ready for work, Hobkin apparently woke up and decided, since I was absent and Matthew was asleep, that meant it was open season on everything he knows would merit many “bad skunk!” and “no!”s. I was getting out of the shower when I heard a loud *thump* in the living room. Hair dripping and half-wrapped in damp towel, I ran out to investigate, and immediately found a pile of black foam/sponge bits on the floor, and a guilty-faced skunk standing over them. He’d been very industrious, ripping one of our speakers, the woofer, to shreds. He’d pried off the front screen part, and was busily tearing out the inner foam section that encircles the sound box when I intruded. I suspect the woofer is now an ex-speaker, but we haven’t yet confirmed it. Sigh.
And, my wingstubs really hurt.
Is it skunk mating season? Hobkin has been positively wild this last week. And he keeps rubbing his chin and face on the wall corners, marking his territory. I actually dosed him with Rescue Remedy this morning, he was so frenzied. First he started trying to tear the speaker screens off, then he tried to wrestle open the printer cabinet, and finally he got a hold of a dangling computer cord which I only managed to retrieve from him with some difficulty. What’s so funny is he’s like a Jekyll and Hyde fuzzy. He’s all sweet and loving in the evening when he wants to snuggle. What a silly, exasperating beastie!
1100 words on the new SF piece. Yay, wordage!
Hobkin has been a fuzzy chaos fiend these last couple days. Could it be the recent blue moon we had? This morning I woke up way before my alarm, and then tried to get up without rousing the slumbering demon. Didn’t work. Spent the next hour trying to restore order to the house. Have the forearm welts to show for it. He figured out how to snap off the baby locks holding our entertainment cabinet doors closed. If he repeats the stunt, we’re going to have to find a new way to secure them shut.
I think my head is filling up with cyberpunk fiction. Need to get a brain upgrade with more storage space.
Took Hobkin to the vet for his shots. He growled at everyone (except me, whom he clung to with every fuzzy fiber of his being), and huffed whenever anyone touched him. Poor little guy really doesn’t like vet visits. Fortunately, Debbie, Hobkin’s godmother, was there to assist (she works at our vet’s). He likes her and will tolerate great indignities if she’s holding him.
He’s lost a little weight–hurray! But the vet said he could stand to loose more–boo! But aside from that, he got a clean bill of health. Hurray!
Going to head over to dire_epiphany and astralfire‘s place to hang after lunch. Good company and relaxed atmosphere sounds like heaven.
Also swung by the library and picked up some cannon cyberpunk books to read. Going to Netflix some of the few cannon cyberpunk movies I haven’t seen yet. Had an interesting experience at the library. Their online system said they had a book I wanted–an anthology–but when we went to the stacks, we couldn’t find it. Engaged a helpful librarian in the hunt, with limited success. She wondered, since it was a collection of short stories, if it had been filed in the 800s in non-fiction (non-fiction??), since apparently that’s where short stories go. But then Matthew had the epiphany to look in the wrong place for it. And yup, there it was, filed not under editor, but under title. Yikes. If Matthew hadn’t been the clever thing he is, that book would have been lost in the stacks forever.
Voracious reading to commence.
