Nattering

And there went the weekend. No email answered (really, those two don’t count). Family seen (lovely) and a little writing done (whew). But I really do want to get all caught up on the correspondence before the houseguests arrive for Thanksgiving (YAY!).

(TV* sidenotes: Is it just me or is the new bad guy on House reminscent of Road House? Also, my favorite parts of Bones are when Bones and Boreanaz bicker in the car — who said car chatter is always dull?)

*It is my favorite procrastination tool. Besides, y’know, life, which hardly feels like procrastination.

Psst: I finally got around to booking our hotel rooms for

So, last Friday a bunch of people with scattered thoughts were posting little listy updates. Now I imitate the format.

1. I’m very jealous of all you guys heading to Austin for World Fantasy this weekend. I hear even the notorious Skip Moles will be making an appearance,  and everyone knows he’s usually off globe-trotting with Carmen Sandiego, just one step ahead of Interpol. So I do wish we’d be there. That said, I’m soooooo relieved not to be going anywhere or doing anything major. October was way too overscheduled (though fun) and full of colds (not fun).  I basically plan to hole up for the next month and try and finish a draft of this novel.

2. Daylight Saving Time is not recognized by Emma the Dog and Hemingway the Cat, proving once and for all that it is backwards nonsense we should leave to Ben Franklin. (Not adding more to it!) I really need that extra hour of sleep, just as much as my dog needs breakfast at her usual time.

3. It’s Manbug week over at the LBC. This was my favorite this time around and I’ll be posting over there about why at some point, probably Thursday.

4. It’s very gray outside today. I disapprove.

5. Forgot to say how lovely Scott and Justine‘s visit was, and the augmentary visit by Scalzi: Much fun was had and many Mexican pastries were consumed. Especially cool was getting to see all the Uglies madness at the Indiana school Scott visited — there were hoverboards and games and all sorts of things, but my favorite was a gameboard set up like Operation, complete with bones and things to be removed during prettification. And–not to get too heartwarming–it was amazing to see how much not just the students but the adults had gotten into the books.

6. I really would relocate to Portland in a nanosecond. What a lovely city. On the flights, I managed to read two books (one I didn’t much care for in the end and another I liked very much — more on these later), write a good number of new pages of Aztec Dance Tunes, and all this despite being seated next to a very rowdy member of our military. Although I pretty much hate airplanes and the hellish, belittling, fluid-conscious experience flying has become, it sure is easy to be productive and read and write a lot WITHOUT internet access. Just saying.

7. Christopher taught a two-hour workshop on writing SF for one of the city library branches last weekend, despite still hacking with walking pneumonia, and the most amazing thing was that one of the attendees was that rarest of creatures: Someone who became a reader as an adult. It was because of The Lord of the Rings movies. He hadn’t realized they were based on books, had surgery, and started reading during the recuperation period. Has a day job where he does repetitive tasks that allow him to listen to audio books constantly. I was pretty pleased and amazed to discover this is even possible.

8. Thanksgiving is coming! Let the Thai meal planning begin!

9. Has Aaron Sorkin started to suck? Or is he just having an off-year? I thought the early episodes of Studio 60 showed promise (though I did not have The Love, like I did with Sports Night or early West Wing), but the last one was abysmal and the promise has only shown up in flashes here and there. This makes me very sad. Someone make Sorkin write something with less speechifying and cartoonish moralizing, ‘kay? Still, Matthew Perry is golden, and I say that as a not-Friends-fan.

10. Novel! Must! Write! Finish! Draft! Hard!

The sun came out. Whining works.

One of my most teeth-gnashing deadlines this past month involved talking to lots and lots of people in travel publishing about their extremely fascinating segment of the book biz, and particularly about publishing guidebooks on emerging destinations. This week’s Publishers Weekly cover story is the result. Check it out, if you’re so inclined.

Since I was starting from less than scratch, I did lengthy interviews with many, many gracious publishers; there was so much good stuff that ultimately space for everything just didn’t exist. This especially includes an interview with English-based publisher Hilary Bradt, whose Bradt Guides focus on countries in turmoil or recovering from war or other types of catastrophe. I may run some of her comments here early in the week, inspired by Ron’s (and Sarah’s) example.

After one interview, I’d be convinced we must immediately start saving to go to Dubai; the next day, not so much. Here are some certainties though: Go to China now. No one thinks Bulgaria is that hot. Eastern Europe in general, on the other hand, is. Ditto Vietnam. There’s still juice in Latin and South America. Oh, and Lanzarote’s one of the Canary Islands.

So, two years ago today we drove off to Raleigh and got hitched. (I don’t know what it says about our ability to remember dates that if that blog post didn’t exist, we’d still be looking for our marriage certificate to figure out what day we got married.)

Anyway, we met at a science fiction convention (the International Conference on the Fantastic in the Arts in 2001), as you do. It was in Ft. Lauderdale, so that’s where we met, despite Christopher having recently moved back to Kentucky. Kelly Link introduced us, which is also not that unique a story. Nothing as interesting as Jeff Ford’s story of meeting his wife Lynn:

The Wolfman mask is a shout-out to my wife, Lynn.  Sept. 1st was our 27th wedding anniversary.  Our first date involved a wolfman mask, a bottle of tequilla, climbing a mountain, discovering an abandon shack with a letter in it written in pencil from 1932 that said "Love You Forever" in the salutation.  That was our first date and we’ve lived together ever since. 

For our part, what actually was our first date is still an open topic of debate. There’s one school of thought that says it involves an underground art show, dancing to John Hammond covers of Tom Waits in a sad hotel room someone lived in, packaging up a camera in the middle of the night and phoning Richard Butner (otherwise known as The Best Man and Web Bunny). That school is SO overly optimistic. I might concede that a Shakespeare in the park night a few weeks later was a real date, but honestly? I think it was when we went out to a fancy dinner at a chichi Pacific Rim-influenced restaurant where C knew the chef, drank martinis, and agreed that we liked each other; then I turned the wrong way down a one-way street on the way to a movie theater where we watched the Most Depressing French movie ever. THAT was definitely our first date.

I just got a very nice voicemail message informing me I got in to the Vermont College low residency MFA program in writing for children and young adults. I’m going back to school. YAY!

Um, nearly setting the kitchen on fire by turning on a burner with a plasticy thing (where vegetables were being cut up) on top of it — TWICE. The entire house is full of smoke.

There are reasons why I’m not allowed to cook, really.

No emails answered to speak of, but other types of rest were committed (including a completely necessary, sanity-restoring massage from Magic Hands Dan; viewing of some season three Buffy; and reading a serendipitously discovered, BEA-obtained ARC of Cynthia Leitich Smith’s fabulous Tantalize despite the taunting of a freelance review assignment*). Anyway, I either have a bit of cold or allergies and not doing much was achieved. Although I am regretful not to have seen the latest le masterpiece de Shyamalan yet.

Back to a regularish posting schedule this week. I’d feel more guilty about the hooky if it weren’t so brain-frying hot** and so summer. Isn’t this what summer is for***? Emma the Dog thinks so. (Hemingway the cat = likes catnip; prefers spring and fall when the window screens are accessible and Al Gore is happy(ier).)

*There’s plenty of time for that!

**It’s a fucking egg, not a brain, Bill, we know.

***I mean, besides watching vast amounts of questionable reality television — like, say, Work Out! (For which I blame YOU!!!)