Daily Archives: August 9, 2011

Word to the Wise: Armadillocon is coming

All you Texas-area, particularly Austin-area peoples best be getting prepped for the awesome ArmadilloCon Convention going down in a couple weeks. I’m taking my suits to the drycleaners tomorrow morning to get ready, clearing the car out for the drive, and wondering what I should read Friday night, when I’ll be exhausted from a full day of teaching with Matt Bey of Space Squid in the writer’s workshop.

Even right now, I’m reading the stories over, thinking hard about them, and getting my act together to figure out what must needs be said about the stories for the workshop.

When I’m not doing that, I’m getting ready for a guest coming in from out of town, passing through on a crazy roadtrip.

When I’m not doing that, I’m poking around for some kind of new employment. I’m getting sick of hanging around the house. I’m too social to want to spend this much time by myself. I’m not shaving enough. I find myself unshaven, wearing clothes that don’t match, and it’s horrible. I find myself wasting time because it is there to be wasted instead of maintaining a rigid schedule. I work better when I have to schedule. I feel more urgency with my writing time.


Also, and related to yesterday, with the update to the Kindle, one should be able to discover my latest experiment in ePublishing of projects that have no future in any other form, in this case a thing full of my bizarre poetry.


I hope not to mention this again, because I was reading some Ann Sexton earlier today, and I suspect I will not be going down in Norton Anthologies. I think it’s good for a laugh, though, if only because I write poetry about robots, zombies, and whatever bizarre things bounce into my head when I’m stuck somewhere with nothing to do but think and scribble things.

But, enough about that. The next time I’ll talk at all about poetry will be at a round robin reading in ArmadilloCon, where I will regale you with some of my not-remotely-immortal work!

ArmadilloCon, people, focus on that. It’s coming soon, and it should be a wild time. Howard Waldrop, Paulo Bacigalupi, Stina Leicht, Patrice Sarath, Lou Anders, Scott Lynch, Martha Wells… I’m telling you, it’s going to be great. I’m driving in from Georgia.


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Don’t Blame Me; Blame Yourself.

I was encouraged to do this by someone who shall remain nameless, and I think it might be a terrible idea, even if I had great fun doing it.

It is done, however, going to be appearing for Nook and Kindle in a matter of hours, and is already up at Smashwords:


Much of this has already appeared on my blog, so hardcore readers need not bother purchasing this unless you have money burning through your pocket.

It’s your fault. You know who you are.

If you’re reading my blog, you’ve probably already seen all of this, so this is basically like saying: “Look, you could be paying for this crap!”

I feel like I just spit in the Mississippi. No one would notice, and it’s all so blackened and muddy in there, among the poetry collections that are put up by the poets themselves, that what little I contribute is sullied the moment it touches the water.

I feel dirty.

I’m going to bed. Good night.

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