Monthly Archives: May 2008

within three hours of the start of BEA…

I met Neil Gaiman, John Scalzi, Kelly Link, and Gavin J. Grant.

Tomorrow? Ray Bradbury.

Oh, and I did get an ARC, signed and personalized, of “The Graveyard Book”.

I wish my publisher flew me to BEA every year.

Seeya again soon, party people.

Joe sleep now. NOW!

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and now for something completely different from Iraq.

I asked my sister if I could put this up here because it’s quite nifty.

E____ says this:

“This photo cracks me up. Our troops go out all the time to talk to the locals, etc. etc., and it always looks so interesting that we are all Rambo-ed out, to include indoor meetings, etc. In this photo a group of troops wanted to go play soccer, but they still can’t take off their gear! I bet we’d play a great game of football in this stuff!”

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BookExpoAmerica Setup Pictures

I have put together a flickr stream:

Tell me if that doesn’t work.

I think set-up is, in many ways, more interesting than the actual event. It’s like looking at a decorated cake versus watching the pastry chef build the effervescent loveliness out of a slab of cake and some food coloring and almond paste.

Three couldn’t make it into the stream. I’ve put them below:

Seriously, this thing is huge. After walking around the trade show floor, it occurred to me that I was going to need to get a bigger bag for tomorrow. Perhaps one that rolls… My back is injured already, I don’t want to exacerbate my perfectly macho shoulder injury with a what appears to be a billion pounds of promotional copies of books.

(Also, Richard Dansky keeps wanting to give me some kind of squirrel-based beverage… I wish I was joking.)


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Dirty Woman Sitting On a Stair in Los Angeles

We’ve talked about this, before.

How do I know which people are real and which people are fake?
The fake ones are the ones that look at me.
The fake ones are the ones that listen.
The fake ones are the ones that know my name.

That’s how I know.

I don’t want your help.

(Also, she said “Merry Christmas” to everyone walking past, too loud, too dirty, with no joy in her voice.)

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SHIT! I forgot to mention this! The End of Her World is up in Dark Recesses Press!

My short story “The End of Her World” shows up near the end of the latest issue of Dark Recesses Press April .PDF…

Wow, what planet was I on when I didn’t mention that here?

I liked Sharyl Nantus’ story, in this issue, too, btw.

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my schedule for the week of May 25-June 1

I’m busting it at the day gig hard until Thursday.

Thursday, I’m off to Los Angeles for Book Expo America.

Thursday Night, I’ll be signing books with oodles of other awesome authors at Dark Delicacies Bookstore. ( An awesome line-up of writers that is, to be sure. Come by and say hey if you’re in the Burbank area.

At BEA, I’ll be at the Wizards of the Coast booth on Friday from 2:00-4:00, signing books. Then, on Saturday, from 11:30-12:30, Rob Rogers and I will be hanging at Author Alley signing more books.

Also, if you’re reading this, and you’re going to be at any of the event looking for me, bring me some coffee. I’m going to need it. Two creams, two sugars. Stat.

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Because I am a man. Because that is what men do.

I pulled a muscle in my shoulder at the gym this morning. It hurts.

In telling this story, a common theme of the stories of men hurting themselves will appear.

So, I was at the end of my workout, and had just one more exercise to do. Bicep curls. Easy enough, right? I go over to the dumbbells. the weight-level I was on was being used by others right then.

I could have a) gone five pounds lower; b) gone five pounds higher; c) waited for the other guy to finish with the weight i wanted; d) found an alternative means of exercising those curling biceps.

Naturally, I should have just waited for the guy to finish with the weights, or found a different way to curl those biceps. At the very least, I should have said to myself, “Self, ’tis the end of my workout and I’m tired, and I can survive just going five pounds lower this time.”

But – drumroll please – there was a *hot girl standing there*!

I was not interested in this girl. I had no desire to flirt, or chat, or in any way, shape, or means ingratiate myself with this hot girl. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was way too old for this hot girl. This is not the point however.

I still did the dumb thing. I went five pounds higher. I know I would have not done this if a hot girl had not been standing there.

And, of course, I pulled a muscle in my shoulder.

Why do we do this, men? Why do we insist on trying to impress women even if we aren’t actually interested in them. If I was married with twelve children, I’d have done the same thing. If I was married to Angelina Jolie with twelve children, I’d have done the same thing. If Helen of Troy was waiting anxiously for me to return from the gym, I still would have reached for the heavier weights. When I am ninety and some hot twenty-something girl is in the weight room, I will likely still do the same thing.

Because I am a man.

Because that is what men do.


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got a reject back that made me laugh…

apparently, an unnamed magazine i have submitted to exactly once sends back editorial comments with every piece.

i… hesitate to go into the whole thing and quote from it (and don’t even ask me to name names! No way!), but i will say that if you want to berate a writer for multiple paragraphs about his total misunderstanding of an ethnic group that’s comprised of primarily native americans, while also admitting that you don’t recognize the technical term for native americans of mayan descent.

hm. maybe i used the proper name for that ethnic group…

this is one of the many reasons why standard editorial feedback is a bad idea. if an editor likes a story and wants to encourage the writer, then it’s a good idea. if it is standard, it is very likely going to reveal more about the editor than the writer’s work.

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turn the last thing you read into a haiku:

my bills are too big.
i wish i was reading books,
cereal boxes.

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did you know what the nicest thing you can do for your favorite media artist is?

the best and kindest thing you can do for all your favorite media artists is simple. media (books, magazines, websites, music, films…) is the original virus.

give your favorite media to someone that you think might like it.

blurbs from neil gaiman, harlan ellison, and whatnot are all lovely things. but they are not as lovely as a blurb from you to your best friends. those are the best blurbs of all.

even better than a blurb? imagine if your best friend was handed something and told, “here is the virus that i am giving you. be infected with this art.”

i explains it because folk be looking at me funny when i randomly give ’em something and be like, “hey, check it out. pass it on if you want, or give it back. whatever.”

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