So, Strange Horizons is totally my BFF this week. On top of the Oracles review, they very thoroughly and kindly reviewed Yume no Hon yesterday. If you ever wanted a solid rundown of what that book is about, it’s right there for you.
(But please to ignore the bizarre personal attack on one of the reviewers on the Yume Amazon page. That guy has had way too much crack for one day, but I don’t know how to get a review that has nothing to do with the book removed from Amazon.)
And on top of that…damn, I’m still kind of boggled. I was boggled that a dinky story of mine was reprinted in Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror last year. I think I’m actually more boggled to have gotten a peek at a preliminary list for this year’s to find I have…twelve honorable mentions. Twelve. Like those apostle guys. Most of them are poems from my collections, which is really gratifying, because my collections seemed to have fallen under the radar for much of the year. But…twelve. Damn. *shakes head*
On other fronts, I do want to apologize for the lack of content lately. The thing is, there is not too much going on in my life except editing/writing the new volume of The Orphan’s Tales, which takes up massive portions of my day, and good, warm-belly company of the Cleveland-variety. It’s fun, and it’s pleasant, and it’s one of the best environments to write in, but it’s not much for LJ posts, unless you really want to hear about the editorial process of the OT. Which, hey, if you do, holler and I’ll make a filter for it, but I’m guessing not. I’m stretching even to find a column topic for this week, and I really need to update Goblin Market, I owe a letter to a certain Michigan poet, and need to re-submit a short story to a new market…but those damn fairy tales and their insistent place on my cobbler’s bench. If I didn’t love them so much…well, I’d probably be dicking around with their wiki and not making any actual manuscript progress.
The thing is that things are going pretty well, or at least pretty much as expected. And I try not to post sales, not because I don’t make them or think they’re important, but because I know there are a lot of struggling writers on my flist. Sometimes, when I don’t feel like I’m doing much or that the things I’ve done aren’t doing well, I can get pretty discouraged by the barage of sales/nominations/awards posts on my list. It makes me feel lazy or worse. So I try to only post when the sale is published, so you can read it, or reviews, which you can also read, so that the link is at least somewhat useful to you guys. If I post a simple announcement, it’s something big enough to trigger an emotional response, something I actually want to share because it’s huge for me.
But when writing is your job, that’s kind of all that’s going on, and there’s not much else to post about. Especially if your social life is a bunch of people in Ohio, all of whom have LJs, some of which you know incredibly well, some of which you like a lot and want to know better, some of which you know not at all, but are all part of the same circle in which you are new cow–but who wants to hear about that? And did I mention I’m living in a town called Chagrin? That’s a book right there, really.
As for else, well, I haven’t even seen a movie since Brokeback Mountain, which I saw far too late to weigh in on the debate. The last book I read was American Gods, rescued from the dripping maw of my wolf-dog, and that ain’t no spring chicken, either. I tried to get into Vurt and just couldn’t stomach the futuristic Trainspotting wangst, despite the promising incest storyline. I’m a few pages into Lighthousekeeping right now. I think it’s funny that Cheney shot a bitch, and I almost threw up when someone posted new Abu Ghraib pictures, but these days I find it hard to deal with politics at all. It’s slightly less fun debating partisan shit when it’s your husband out there.
I too am being throttled by Netflix. Fuckers.
Johari windows and Nohari windows require that you first entire six adjectives about yourself, and frankly? That’s too much work for me just to find out someone thinks I’m “whimsical” or “a bitch.”
So…the thing is that my life isn’t spectator-worthy right now. There’s some private stuff I wish I could talk about, but last year’s drama sort of nixed this place as a safe one for intimate confession. I am so wrapped up in my books right now that I go to sleep thinking about them and wake up thinking about them. It’s bliss–but it isn’t HBO if you catch me.
But I can give you this. It’s the funniest thing I’ve read in awhile. Fake Russian mail-order brides are the new situation comedy. I desperately want an animated icon of this story. A small snippet:
I want to tell to you a little more on myself. As you to know from my last letter I to live together with mum and the sister. I to not have the father, he was lost some years back on a hunt. He had relatives in Siberia and sometimes went to them on a visit. Once he has gone with the friends on a hunt. It to occur in the winter. They casually came to a den of the bear and unintentionally to wake it him. My daddy stood very close and had not time to shoot at a bear and the bear of him to kill. So it is sad my father has died. But let’s forget about mine daddy and we shall not touch so sad memoirs.
Poor Elena. But it’s funnier than that crying kid you sick bastards were throwing all over the net yesterday. Crying kids. You oughta be ashamed. Dad getting eaten by bears in Siberia, now that’s comedy. I wonder if the bear was named Boris? Did he have a little hat? Did he dance while he ate mine daddy?