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Two years and two days ago, I started a journey from Santa Monica, California by foot, bus, train, and plane. Many hours later, I reached Detroit and was met by my friend Katni, who drove me through the Detroit-Windsor tunnel where, six months after being kicked out, I re-entered Canada and was reunited with Andrea.

Being home still feels really good.

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Andrea and I drove up to Toronto — or Richmond Hill, one of its northern suburbs — for World Fantasy 2012 on Friday. This was my second World Fantasy (the first being Columbus two years ago) and Andrea’s first. The hotel(s): We stayed at the Holiday Inn Express, one of the overflow hotels. That hotel itself was pleasant, albiet slightly incompetent. One elevator was out of order the entire stay. Andrea was trapped between floors in the second elevator on Saturday and had to be rescued by the fire department.

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I may burst with glee. Tomorrow is Nikola Tesla day. Today, the Mad Scientist Journal published my secret history of Tesla, “Man Out of Time“. I even have word that someone on Facebook commented that they thought the story was a “great idea to run a game/one-shot on”. Katie Nyborg did the fabulous illustration for the interior. How much does this mean to me? Well, Tesla is my hero more so than any other historical figure ever.

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Yesterday was Independence Day back in the states. We already had our fireworks over the weekend, and I worked through Canada Day on Monday and had yesterday off instead. Among the joys of American/Canada relations are mixed holidays. Our plans were a little more focused. Yesterday we saw an apartment, and made a deposit, and transfered utilities to our name. This was kind of a big deal, because for the first time in more than three years, we’re in a position to start a new chapter in our lives.

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Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat Total Avg 582 171 309 473 91 783 2,409 344 A little bit of a rocky week, especially Friday. Ideally, I’d like to average 1,000 words/day. That’d be awesome. Life creeps up, with unavoidable things like responsibility and sleep but I have a secret that I’ll share with you.

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The Clarion Write-a-thon began yesterday. I got some decent writing time in, despite a late start to the day and having to confront a would-be pervert attempting to flash his private bits at my favorite writing spot. I expect the first several days of writing to go slow as I revise the first chapter of the novel, trying to set the right tone and pace. The 25k words I wrote during last year’s Nanowrimo are, I realize, mostly outline but do span the length of the novel.

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There are now four days until the Clarion write-a-thon begins on June 24th, where I will continue work on my novel-in-progress and attempt to add 30k new words over the course of six weeks. It’s been a busy lead up to the write-a-thon because, frankly, I’ve been unfucking a few things structurally. Writing a novel feels a bit like building an engine from scratch when your only previous experience is with watching someone else do it.

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I’ve been a fan of Crossed Genres for a long time — just shy of three years, which is forever in Internet time. As a small press, they’ve done a massive amount of good work publishing hundreds of authors (including myself) but Bart and Kay, proprietors, fell on hard times and were forced to turn to Kickstarter to keep CG alive. And made their goal of $4,000 in just 22 hours.

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The Clarion Write-a-thon starts on June 24th, running parallel to the six week workshop I attended in 2010. While this summers workshop students toil away in San Diego, I’ll be one of many writers helping to raise awareness and solicit donations to a cause we believe in. What is a write-a-thon, anyway? It’s just like a walk-a-thon. But instead of walking, we’re writing, and instead of making pledges per mile, we’re making pledges per word, chapter, or story.

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We built the house, my ex-wife and I, a decade ago. We poured our love into her foundations as we watched her bones rise over the snowy plains of Illinois. Vein and sinew were strung throughout and were covered by skin. A miraculous thing, to witness for the first time. A house is a thing but things have feelings, too. Ask any little girl who’s every owned a doll. My house took care of us, and I took care of her the best I could, clumsy hands and all.

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