du Plenti

December 17

Sorry gone so long. The usual excuses -- very busy, and so on. Mostly, though, this journal just hasn't seemed like the appropriate outlet for thoughts of late. My thoughts haven't had a lot of output at all, lately. Rather than rambling on here, I've been reading critically, thinking about the function of reviews versus critical analysis, reading poetry, making final selections for the January ish of Speculon, and reading some of my older non-fiction writing (I used to do a lot more informal essay writing and creative non-fiction than I do these days, though I've never published any of it).

Also I've been watching porn and playing with action figures until I get very sleepy and go to bed.

(C'mon, I have to watch porn -- Heather reviews the stuff for her job! And I can't very well ask her to watch it alone. Boyfriends are supposed to be, like, supportive)

Heather gave me Talisac from Tortured Souls, because she wanted to give me another present. He's my favorite of the figures, the most gruesome and the most complex. Here's a picture. So very cool. We're devoting a small bookshelves to action figures, though the bottom shelf is going to be our pride shelf, methinks, containing mine and Heather's print publications-- a little shrine to writing, to shore us up when we're feeling melancholy about our creativity. At this point, a single shelf can hold it all... but I have high hopes that we'll fill a library, one day.

Our Absent Housemate is truly moving out; she took her leather couch away today, and her dining room table is to follow. I don't know if I mentioned it here already, but Heather's sister Holly is moving in with us in February; thus we only have to pay the house's entire rent for a single month, and we don't have to live with a stranger. I like Holly. We're gonna be like a sitcom, yo.

Basically, material goodies are raining upon me. M'ris got me a copy of Golbarth's The Gods for my birthday, and it's a lovely bunch of poems. Jon Hansen sent me a birthday card and some Dali stickers. Heather and I bought a DVD player for one another. The incomparable Scott got us a gift certificate to Chez Panisse (for a distinctly non-trivial sum) for Xmas -- we're definitely going to toast him at that meal. Dear Dad sent a nice card and some cash. Fair Karen gave me a wooden Swedish bug for my birthday (and a couple of hours worth of wonderful conversation). Momily tells me there are birthday presents approaching me in the post, so that's something more to look forward to. My co-workers gave me a belated fete today, with raspberry-chocolate cake and a desk toy (such toys being something of a tradition at A Certain Magazine). Mmm. I tend to think of myself as a non-materialistic person, but to be honest, there are some things I adore -- good food, good books, good art. Weird toys. And it's nice, receiving things from friends, being given gifts... it means a lot. I feel quite loved lately. And I get to give good presents, la! Which is also a true pleasure.

Let's see. I think any attempt to catch up on the past few days is doomed to failure, but to give it a gloss: We cleaned up around the house. I'm reading Bill Bryson's The Mother Tongue, which is fascinating, a history of the English language. I attempted to read a couple of galleys that I found impenetrable, so I think I'm only going to review The Children of Cthulhu and Skating on the Edge for the February issue, though I haven't tried to read Daughters by the Tems yet. I'll give it a go over Xmas week, I think. Heather and I worked on Xmas cards on Sunday, sitting at the Temescal café (my favorite local coffee shop, but it's only open 'til 5 p.m., so it's mostly useless to me). A nicely productive weekend.

In writing news, I got the contract from Snow Monkey. My poem "Missed" will appear in the Jan/Feb issue. Also got contract and payment from Strange Horizons for my poem "Muse Trap", which should appear in February. No other movement.

At work, we're compiling the Recommended Reading lists this month, for our February year-in-review issue. We ask certain editors and critics for their recs, and gradually boil the lists down to the most outstanding stuff. It's all subjective, of course, but I have fun reading lists like that, and it's neat to be on this end of the process. The magazine editors we ask are only allowed to nominate 3 stories from their own magazine, so it's interesting to see which pieces they really love -- or, perhaps, fear might be overlooked by other recommenders. It's also nice to see the names of a couple of my acquaintances on the preliminary list of short fiction...

Tonight Heather was off gallivanting, so I had to entertain myself, which I proceeded to do by taking a nap. I rose from the couch around 8:30 feeling fuzzy of head and unkempt of purpose, and managed to get into the car and go up to Piedmont Ave. Actually got a table in Gaylord's, one of the big ones in the windows, and had a delicious mocha bianca and later a blackberry French soda (or, as they call it, "Italian creme soda"). I read, and made notes toward my book reviews, and read some more. A nice time. I like the life of the mind.

I guess that's all for now. Dunno how much I'll write this week, and on Saturday we zoom zoom fly to Indiana, where I'll be incommunicado. You'll hear from me again before we ring out the current year, though, fear not...

Tim Pratt
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222