August 4th, 2009





I got nominated for a World Fantasy Award!

What? How could this have happened?

It's for A Buyer's Guide to Maps of Antarctica, my Clarkesworld story from last year.


Of course, the ceremony is on my wedding day.

But you know, every time I go to the awards I don't win. When I don't, I do. So maybe this is a good thing? I don't really expect to win, but being nominated just makes me want to scream and run around.

The ballot is full of so many awesome writers and works I believe in, including nisi_la 's Filter House AND a story from it! And Daryl Gregory! And elisem ! And Paper Cities! I'm so proud of everyone!

  • Current Mood
    accomplished accomplished

Two Things

One, today is The Red Tree day! greygirlbeast 's new book comes out today and I am DYING to read it. I can't wait! You should run out and get your copy now. Feed the Tree!

Also, my beautiful assistant who keeps me sane, corvaxgirl, has set up the onaleopard  poll for the Fairyland Museum contest. You have to be a member to vote, but please make sure to take part!

I'm still kind of wobbly and freaking out about the WFA nomination. I...never expected to be nominated, I can't believe I am, and the number of awesome things that have happened in the past 24 hours beggars the mind.

  • Current Mood
    bouncy bouncy

Oh For the Touch of a Vanished Hand...

When I was young, 16, to be exact, I was broke. Since I ran away from home at 16, you can begin to imagine what broke really meant.

After awhile, I managed to get my first apartment. I didn't keep it very long--my roommate was a stellar specimen, a literal crack-smoker who stole the cashier's check that drained everything I had in savings from doing TV commercials as a kid (finding out all kinds of things about me in this post!) and then evicted me for not paying the rent. Awesome. After awhile, I got a second apartment. I didn't keep that long, either, as a 16 year old isn't terribly employable in California. But for a brief summer I had a place to sleep and it was ok.

But I'm a nester, man. I can't just stare at the walls and sleep on the floor and be ok myself. So I put up pictures of my favorite authors that I tore out of the few books I had. Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Byron, Whitman. Whitman wasn't even a favorite then, but I had him, so I put him up. They kept me company. They made me feel alive, and that life would go on. And maybe someday I would write something. Maybe.

When I grew up a little and grew coincidentally both more employable and less broke--but still broke, there are layers and layers of broke, I took those pictures and put them in cheap frames with cheap mattes.

And then on all the mattes, I wrote out in my tiny, calligraphic hand my favorite lines from their work until the long-dead faces were surrounded by words. With Miller, I covered the back of the matte, too. There was too much to fit on the front. And that was what decorated my fourth apartment, which was the one I kept, for awhile, until I moved away to San Diego to go to college. I looked at those faces every day. I loved them like saints.

A box came in the mail last week. My mother moved and she boxed up everything that was mine and sent it to Maine. Not much, really, I'd taken most of my stuff a year or two ago.

But there, in the box, were Miller, Whitman, and Byron.

I don't know what happened to Nin. Makes me a little sad, since I love her the most in some ways.

But in my kitchen now, my three boys are up on the walls for the first time since I was about 20. I had to do some surgery on the frames, and Whitman is missing his glass, but they're still there, surrounded my a very young girl's handwriting.

It's strange, that they survived. This reminder of the girl I was, the books she loved. When I ran away I took books, not a toothbrush. 

I like having them there. It's like...nothing is ever really lost.
  • Current Mood
    moody moody