The Baying of the Wolves

April 27

Hee. I made an interesting discovery yesterday morning. See, I first got the idea for doing chapbooks at Christmas from Charles de Lint, who's been doing the same thing for years. So last December, Heather and I sent him a copy of Floodwater, and a little note of thanks for inspiring our fledgling tradition. Just seemed like a nice thing to do, you know?

Yesterday morning, while waiting for Heather to get ready so we could leave for Palo Alto, I was flipping through the June issue of F&SF, which we got at the Nebulas last week. I came upon Charles de Lint's marvelous "Books to Look For" column, which I always enjoy, and started reading it.

The second thing he reviews in the column is Floodwater. And it's pretty much a rave. I went, speechless, into Heather's room, and showed her the magazine, and we both did the woo-hoo! dance for a while. We never expected to see Floodwater reviewed -- we didn't even send out review copies! But we certainly aren't complaining. This is super-cool. I mean, he can only review three or four things per issue, and there's only 11 issues a year, and he chose to spend precious column inches on our little chapbook! We're honored and thrilled! I wonder if we'll get any orders? The review gives our address and website, so maybe so...

The funny thing is, I read several stories from that issue of F&SF at work about two weeks ago, and then we got a copy at the Nebulas and had that all week, and still didn't notice the review until yesterday morning.

In other news, I also found out who else is going to Rio Hondo -- and there are a few people I already know, so I won't feel totally ill-at-ease among strangers, which is a relief. I'm increasingly excited...

So. On to the usual meanderings... We've added a story to the Flytrap #1 table of contents. Heather and I started layout, and noted that we had room for another story or two, and shortly afterward got e-mail from that ratbastard Barth Anderson, lamenting that he'd let the deadline go by without sending us anything. So we said "Well... technically, you're late, but..." and let him send us a couple of stories. One of which, "Scrapbook for an Epidemic", absolutely rocks the civilized world. (The other one was good, too, but "Scrapbook" is just the sort of cool weird thing we want for Flytrap.) So we bought it. And now we're really closed to submissions.

Saturday morning I finally wrote my review of The Five of Cups, very first thing. Marvel at my virtue! Then I puttered around a bit until 11:30 or so, when Heather and I hopped in the car and drove to Palo Alto to see Dave Kirtley. The trip was pleasant and uneventful, except for the bit on the Dumbarton bridge when a couple hundred empty plastic bottles flew off the back of a truck in front of us and went bouncing all over the pavement. At first I was like, "Ahh!" but then I thought, "Well, they're just empty milk jugs," and drove over them without ill effect.

We got lost (they apparently don't believe overmuch in road signs in Palo Alto, at least in the construction-afflicted bit just after the bridge), but finally made it to the apartments where Dave and his parents were staying. (They were there for a month, and actually left today, so we did indeed wait until the absolute possible moment to visit.) We walked around the Stanford campus, and chatted, and Dave gave us a tour of the museum (love those Gates of Hell!). We had dinner at the little museum-café, overlooking the Rodin sculpture garden, and talked about writing, mutual friends, books, famous writers we desperately envy, and so forth. Very nice, well worth the trip. Then Dave showed us the huge church on Stanford's campus, and we walked around some more, and, poof, the afternoon was gone, and Heather and I had to go home. Too bad. Wish we'd had more time to visit.

Once back home, Heather and I had time to relax, briefly, then went to have our anniversary dinner at -- da dum! -- Bay Wolf. I love that restaurant, even if it is an extravagance, but hey, Heather had to spend her state income tax refund on something. I had potato soup for an appetizer, and steak with buttermilk mashed potatoes and various kinds of mushrooms for an entree -- oh, it was good. And a glass of so-red-it's-nearly-black wine with dinner, and white chocolate cake with candied walnuts for dessert. Yum to the nth degree. And afterward, we did a hot tub, and by the evening's end I was a well-fed, intensely relaxed young man. Heather made it a perfect night. I can't believe we've been together for two years -- I'm still as captivated by her as I was at the very beginning.

This morning I rose and wrote a review for Richard Matheson's Come Fygures, Come Shadowes, thus completing the things I absolutely had to finish this weekend.

Which reminds me that I forgot Friday. O, tempora! Friday morning I wrote a mere 500 words on the Frog novel. But progress, however incremental, is still progress. Friday night I finished proofreading Star*Line 26.2 and sent corrections to our layout guru. Heather and I also did laundry -- always, ahem, a treat -- during which time I read The Dark Knight Strikes Again by Frank Miller. It's no The Dark Knight Returns, but it wasn't bad; it was nice seeing Plastic Man in full-on psycho mode, and I'm always happy to see Superman get his ass kicked.

So, today, my plans are pleasantly vague. I'll finish reading The Portrait of Mrs. Charbuque, I think, and I'll probably wander up to Berkeley at some point to have coffee and check the PO Box, but otherwise, I have no fixed plans. I've been feeling a bit snowed-under lately, so maybe I'll just relax, drink beer, and so on...

Words written since February 1, 2003: 36,200

Words written since last entry:
1,500

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