Sometimes I feel like I never stop travelling. It’s not a negative or a positive, it just is. I listened to some actual On the Road on audiobook while we drove to Florida and my response to his amazing road adventures ™ was more or less “yeah, and?”
I am currently in Chicago, having only recently returned from my forced exile in Pennsylvania. I was home for four days. I did not post. I wrote a short story. I played some Magic with the boys and did not entirely make a fool of myself. I cleaned the house. I made a few dinners, celebrated
‘s birthday. Then I was off again. I lectured (read: babbled) about the book to Leah’s class yesterday–somewhat different than lecturing about Chaucer and Homer, who are unquestionably awesome, but I think it went well. They had tons of questions and I signed a mess of books, and the kids were slightly shy and cutely fannish. There was also a disturbing statue in the buliding lobby of a priest all done up in a leather cossack with a little boy in his arms. Um…way to go, Catholic Chruch. Winning the PR war.
I’m staying with Leah till Tuesday, and she is awesome, though no longer possessed of an LJ. I hope to see
before I leave.
Also I fell hard on the ice outside our door before heading to the big city, and bruised my tailbone something fierce. After the bus ride I could barely sit down. The ride itself was agony. Way fun. It’s a little better now, but yes, I have teh butthurt. I’m surprised there were no amusing cartoon sound effects when my feet pinwheeled in oversized shoes and I went down in my bathrobe two feet out of the door. Well done, Cat.
I keep meaning to post about my experience in the OMG 24 HOUR TRAFFIC NIGHTMARE! (headline courtesy the ever-calm and considered CNN) but whenever I think about it I feel terribly tired and am filled with an inexplicable loathing for humanity. I’ll get to it.
During my brief sojourn home, I also watched Torchwood. And…huh. Just huh. Can anyone tell me why Captain Jack is doing such a dead-on impersonation of Angel? Broody Angel was boring on his own show. Keep him out of my Who. And stop shoving this frog-lipped Owen-asshole down my throat as teh sex and universal love interest. Hate that guy. On the whole it was very disappointing. Almost all the emotionality of the last eps were unearned by anything established in the previous ones. I only liked the Who references, really.
Als while I was home I found out that “The Child Bride of the Lost City of Ubar,” “The Eight Legs of Grandmother Spider,” and “The Descent of the Corn Queen of the Midwest” were all nominated for the Rhysling. Very thrilled am I. My stories “Temnaya and the House of Books” and “Milk and Apples” made Rich Horton’s 2006 recommended reading list. And on top of all that there is a very lovely review of The Orphan’s Tales here and a long but interesting interview here. I like the bit about flowers best. You’d think all that would have me feeling good about my career, but I’m just worried about the next book. I feel at sea, without a book to live in right now. Without invisible friends and invisible worlds. I haven’t been not working on a novel for five years. And three weeks of that puts me in a panic. I need to get started on the next one, stat. But there are all these other things clamoring for attention first…
Life, she goes. Home again soon, with
coming soon to visit. That will be good. In the meantime, I do not spend enough time in Chicago. We must engineer ways to be here more often.
Missing everyone. See you soon.