RockPaperScissors

Eventually, Orion will discover that RockPaperScissors is a social tool, to be employed when decisions need to be made, generally about who's going for food, but occasionally for much more important delegation. For now, he likes a good round just for the fun of it. Me too. Today we discovered that it's even more fun...underwater.

Summer Hell is just around the corner. We've begun putting shades up. Every year when we put up shades I think of future Aubrey and Orion, talking about how we put up shades in the beginning, more each year, to try to cool the area around the house, before everyone began leaving the desert, before everything changed.

Clearly I read too much science fiction for my own good.

I've not quite fallen off the face of the planet, but I have been mostly invisible, holed up trying to make progress on a number of large-ish collaborative projects that all sort of reached the point of being 'in my court' at once.

Electric Velocipede, with its very Poppet cover, is now available for purchase HERE. It will premier at Wiscon, and is an all-girl issue.

Tomorrow I'll take a break from projects. I can't promise I'll not think about them. When the work is good, it's really good and I just can't help myself. But I'll try. I'll let friends and family know I'm still around. I'll catch up on Reaper and Lost and eat some cheese or something.

But I won't go out much. Because my mind is full of the work.

I'm kicking myself for not going to see Roger Waters at Coachella Music Festival last weekend. There was a giant pig (the pig) balloon and a WWII plane dropping glitter.

I'm an idiot. Pete worked the concert, hung out with the bass player from Flogging Molly.

Did I mention I'm an idiot? I heard Sia was excellent as well.

I read about the storms in Virginia. I haven't seen much news---writing and making art can be a lot like hiding sometimes. It's warm and dry and windy here, sand blowing everywhere and palm trees bending. There's a fire somewhere in the east. I haven't checked into that yet either.

So, for now, mostly just lots and lots of work, paper to my rock, scissor to my paper, rock to my scissor.

And sometimes a bit of swimming.

Mostly about books

I've had a great week working with Larry Niven on Strange Light. It's a mental workout on many levels, and a joyful eater of notebooks, pens and hours.

In addition, I finished the cover for the May edition of Electric Velocipede, an all-female edition that can be pre-ordered here. I've read some of the stories. Definitely worth getting. And, on the cover, Poppets!


Indeed, I built a set using a much-appreciated puzzle panel and yes, I set it on fire to create this image.

Such trickery. Such fun. It felt like play, but for the deadline and other deadlines that happened to converge this week.

This seems to be happening more often. Probably not a bad thing. Likely I need to be reminded occasionally that this stuff I do is a real job. You'd think I'd get that, given the hours I work. I don't, until I have to work hours when I don't want to work. This month has been particularly grueling. Luckily I have Pete, and now Angie, to help me remember to eat, make it to my dental appointments and not walk off cliffs.

Because when I do things that feel like play, I tend to forget things I shouldn't.

Oh yes, the dental appointments. And pain aplenty. I'm looking on the bright side of this one (ouch, even) deciding I'm happy to be at the dentist now, and not then, and that this is the price I pay for living so long. Ok, one more--- Owwwww. Then, in two weeks, more.

I put a few new things into the store. Some Little Pink's (the original 2 inch ones that no one has seen for ages) and some signed(by many authors), numbered limited edition copies of Strange Attraction.

Pete pointed me to this sweet circle of Poppets on Fond of Snape.
I like seeing photos of Poppet collections. It's sort of like working with authors. The work looks different, and more magical, out of the studio and into the worlds of others.

That's about it for now.
g'night

Gene Wolfe, Poppets Aware, Waking up Dreaming

This past weekend, Gene Wolfe was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame.

At right, Gene(accepting a Locus award for Neil Gaiman) and Connie Willis.

Then, David Hartwell (Wolfe's editor), Kathryn Cramer (wife of Hartwell), Gene Wolfe, Rosemary Wolfe, Teri (Wolfe) Goulding at the ceremony. These photos were sent by Jordan's Mom (via her extremely nice spouse, Joe). Thank you!

I have two things to say about Gene Wolfe:

The first is that I've read more of Gene Wolfe's work than any other author. (I read....a lot.)

The second is that I'd do absolutely anything Gene Wolfe asked.*

*with the exception of whatever ridiculous and humiliating thing he might conjure up after possibly having read this post.

If you haven't read Gene Wolfe, I would recommend starting with Storey's from the Old Hotel. The stories inside are tremendously varied and there's a good chance you'll email me later to tell me how grateful you are for sending you there.

If you want to try a bold tack, read The Shadow of the Torturer. If that one hooks you, I envy you, because you're in for a long ride from which you will emerge changed. I'll want to know if that happens.

More on Gene Wolfe.

Coincidentally, John Klima sent me this photo, which he titles "Poppet Contemplates Self."

I like it. It has Gene Wolfe. It has Poppets.

John is editor of Electric Velocipede. Check it out. I have issue #11, which I thought was good. John is looking for persons to help produce the EV. If you're interested, there's contact info on the site.

We swam in the evening when the light was fading and the bats were waking. We stayed in until a perfect crescent moon appeared and Venus, and suddenly a whole host of stars came out and our fingertips were prunes.

Here's the thing. It hardly rained at all this year. And, by July, we'll need another thermometer, one with more numbers.

We'll swim 'like it's going out of style.' It might.

I didn't sleep well. Two nights now. Dreams. I woke, thinking it was 9 a.m., but when I shambled out of the bedroom, it was nine p.m. and there was a party. The house was party-lighted and there was music and people milling around with their drinks and dressed for dinner. I could hear the ice in their glasses and bits of conversation as I wove my way through pairs and groups looking for Pete, or Orion, or Aubrey, or anyone who could tell me what in hell was going on. Some guests acknowledged me with smiles but without recognition. Most looked familiar. No one seemed to mind my pajamas. I began to lose that subconscious sort of acceptance, that sense of observation one has when dreaming, and real panic set in as I finally realized I was wide awake, twelve hours off and extremely confused. My heart pounded and I felt dizzy and short of breath and suddenly, I opened my eyes. It was 9 a.m. and the bedroom was filled with sunlight.

That was yesterday morning. This morning I had the same dream, with orange pajamas, not gray, and I awoke to Orion, who'd climbed into bed with me (Pete has an LA gig) and slept with his feet on my pillow in a familiar room once again filled with light. My heart was pounding.

Generally these types of dreams come in threes. Now I have Gene Wolfe on my mind, three could get really weird. Perhaps I should watch TV instead of reading myself to sleep. As if there's no potential for weirdness there...

Poppet Contemplates Self ............... Poppet Googles Self.

I may not sleep for days.

g'night?