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Progress stuffs itself up

This cold/sinus/allergy thing that’s been sneaking its way into my head has finally arrived, triggering a slight fibro flare and a pretty good ear infection to boot. That cut my writing time short tonight and ended with me foggy enough that I left the drug store with cough medicine, not the cough and cold I meant to pick up. Project: Tantric sex/magic story, now with more poly love, a plump dominatrix, and a Chicago swinger’s club.

Back in the saddle, now with statistics

I’ve been a little slow getting back into the habit of writing new words since I’ve been back from Clarion. Besides catching up on ye olde day job, I’ve been working on revisions and submissions, organizing my inventory list, and other life issues. Most of the stories in my backlog are either trunked, needing rewrites, or massive revision. Unfortunate, but them’s the breaks. Not including the current work(s) in progress, there are:

Friday is for Friends who are Awesome

Happy fifth birthday to Hadley Rille Books, who published my first in print story. They publish many fine books and anthologies, so please consider supporting this great small press. Today is release day for Rigor Amortis, edited by Jaym Gates and Erika Holt, and containing stories by R. Schuyler Devin, Kaolin Imago Fire, Kay T. Holt, John Nakamura Remy, Andrew Penn Romine, Wendy N. Wagner, and many others. This first of October 2010 also marks the launch of Inkpunks, a group blog by some of the brightest up and coming writers and editors in speculative fiction.

Study: Bangkok street fruit often contaminated

The spam of the day award goes to this gem. I’m not sure the point, but it did make me giggle. O’Donnell’s Tempest in a Tea Party Pot Groups mount new challenge to Ruby Pipeline plan Helena, repeated several times, was never accepted by Napoleon. She died in 1825 at Florence, from consumption, reconciled to her husband, from whom she had been separated since 1807. She was buried at Sta Maria Maggiore, Rome.

Aren’t you that guy that went to that writing thing?

By Internet speeds, it’s been years since Clarion ended and not just a month. And the neglectful blogger I’ve been, it was six weeks before that since I last posted anything resembling an update. It’s time I said something, don’t you think? Well yes, but not exactly what you might expect. Eighteen people met as strangers in late June, in San Diego, and became a family. Along the way, aunts and uncles and cousins, and a grandfather or two, who guided us through the Clarion process.

It begins

This will be my last communique for six weeks. Despite some weather delays in Chicago, I made it to San Diego and am ensconced on the UCSD campus. I’m as prepared as I can be for a very intense experience and that means throwing myself into it completely. No blogging, no LiveJournal or Facebook, nor Twitter. I will be in the dark until my return, so keep the joint in good shape until I’m back.

Spoon!

The Spoon Theory became very real for me earlier this year. Along with all of the other challenges, getting into Clarion almost seemed more a curse than a blessing at times. “Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens.

Cognitive Dissidence

Guess what? I feel better. Better than I have in five years or so. What changed? Interesting, that… A couple weeks ago, I decided to do a reboot of the diet. My reading on Fibromyalgia led me to discussions of Celiac disease and how much of an overlap there is between the two. I figured that going back to a basic diet of protein, vegetable, and fruit for a week or two would be a good reset.

Sale – “A Cup of Tea”

Into the urban jungle

I’m off to Chicago for another day of work meetings and decided to give the WordPress iPhone app a try. Not bad so far. I spent several years working downtown in the late nineties so going back via train is always a bit nostalgic. I made a few transient friends along the way — names forgotten but faces that will always be familiar. Walking through the tall marble white walls in Union Station’s grand ballroom or its darker coridoors I catch the scent of popcorn and it takes me back in time to those younger days.