April 27th, 2008



No surprises. I didn't win. Ted Chiang did, which was a Good Thing all around, since he wrote a beautiful story. So did Kij Johnson and Geoff Ryman and Robin Bailey and Nancy Kress. I'm afraid I haven't read Terry Bramlett's story, but I'm sure that's beautiful, too.

The great thing was that I got to thank Ardath Mayhar (present for the Writer Emeritus award, looking queenly with her hair braided on top of her head) for advising me on a Texas tall-tale version of a traditional British ballad I wrote years ago, called "Nanny Peters and the Feathery Bride." She said she remembered it, bless her, and was just as gracious as she could be--a Real Lady, in fact.

Everybody cleaned up real nice, as always--Connie Willis in white and turquoise silk, Kij Johnson in midnight blue velvet, my own Ellen in a black satin dress and a hand-dyed burgundy silk jacket, Katherine Kimbriel in a scarlet and gold sari, Laura Mixon in silver sequins and black satin and little black patent boots. The food was unexceptionable, the speeches succinct and telling--especially Michael Moorcock's accepting the Grand Master Award.

Home tomorrow, in the expectation of a new bookcase, which means we can get the rest of the pictures out from under the piano and hung in the hall, and maybe even get the piano tuned. And the rest of my Pooka in Five Points story came to me in a wholly unexpected flash of inspiration this afternoon, so I'll write that when I get home. And get ready for Wiscon. I don't think I'm going to be bored over the next few weeks. Not even a little bit.