February 22nd, 2008


Happy Morning

First thing this morning (for some given value of morning), I opened my email, and found one from a West Coast friend, festooned with jpgs of wine swirling into a glass and congratulations for "The Fiddler of Bayou Teche" being on the Nebula Final Ballot.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

And what wonderful company I'm in! "Pol Pot's Beautiful Daughter" is my beloved Geoff Ryman at his poetic, wry best. And Kij Johnson's "The Evolution of Trickster Stories. . . " is remarkable. I haven't read the other stories yet, but am anxious to do so--they sound very attractive.

Did I mention Happy, happy, joy, joy? Things like this make tackling the disjecta membra of Magic Mirror so much more bearable.

Thank You

all for your kind good wishes. I bask. I preen. I polished off Chapter Four and started Chapter Five.

In other news, New York is doing its usual precipitate slide from Winter Wonderland to Slushy Hell. This morning, all was fluffy snow and each branch edged in lacy white. This evening, the view out the window is more sheets the dog's been rolling in the mud. I miss the yard in Boston, and the wood stove we could stoke up and boil the tea water on so I didn't even have to go in the kitchen to make my tea when I was writing on the couch.

On the other hand, I didn't have to shovel two sidewalks around a corner lot. You give a little, you get a little.