Once in a Blue Moon...

Ieeeee!
Friday, April 30, 2004

Guess what I got in the mail today!

I have my contract! It's official...I'm going to be published by Zumaya. They're a great publisher, and I'm honored and excited to be a part of it.

It's long, but very straight forward. I've been reading it slowly the past hour.

Now it all feels real. Like it really is going to happen. On the first page, where it says "Author Name" it says My name. Where it says "working Title" it says Blue Moon.

So, now, all sorts of things will happen. I'll sugn both coies of the contract and send one back. I'll begin the editing process. I'll try and figure out changes to my web page. I'll write a back jacket blurb and discuss the cover. I'll try and figure out how to publicise it without being a total pain in everyone's rear. I can mention my impending puboication to others...the fact that my book has been accepted should help me sell my short stories.

I should probably take down the except from Blue Moon. At least until I have the final version.

But...finally...I'll soon be able to call myself an author.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 5:12 PM 0 comments

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Nichole over at Passenger Pachyderms posted this, that a few people in other blogs have been doing....

--- Grab the nearest book.
--- Open the book to page 23.
--- Find the fifth [full] sentence.
--- Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

I'm about to go do it...as soon as I read another website she mentions, (she seems shocked, and that's unusual, since she's way unfazable. Trust me. I've tried.) where women are encouraged to "Take one for the country." Is it what I think it means?

Uh. Oh. Huh. Yeah. It is. I can't beleive their's an organization dedicated to enouraging single women to have sex with military men about to go over seas.

Um. No further comment. Let's go pick a quote.

Ooh. Magic Explained by Walter Gibson. That ought to have something good...

"When snapped, the math actually recoils from the pin, making a rapid revolution in a backward direction."

Ah. Not really all that interesting. What else do I have?

Taking the Waters by Alev Lytle Croutier...which is an extremly nifty and unusual book about our relationship with water...especially bathing.

"Under the appellations of naiads, oreads, dryads, and Nereids, they lived in caverns and grottoes, and sanctified springs, streams, lakes, and the sea."

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 4:12 PM 0 comments

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And so...
Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Anyway, I was sitting around thinking today, that if I had told people before about what happened a couple Tuesdays ago, where the editor of Zumaya said she'd like to publish my book Blue Moon, I'd have something to say. But I decided to wait until I actually had the contract in hand...sad, otherwise I could tell people all the things I've been doing in preparation for publication. I could tell them how I downloaded a bunch of free programs (www.freeserifsoftware.com) and have been fairly pleased with the drawing and photo programs, even if their registration process is a pain in the bum. I could descibe how I used a 3-d rendering program to make a blue moon. I could tell them how I've been making plans to change the website...maybe renaming this page as a journal and making a new blogger page for the front...in either case, I need to make the front page blue. (Can't decide...I'm thinking my more personal thoughts really shouldn't be on the front page. I'd ask you what you think, but, well, you're not really reading this because I'm not telling you yet. Right?)

I could tell them how excited I am. I could say, "Look, see, I know what I'm talking about, I'm about to become an author, doesn't that make me seem like I have more authority when I review/edit/manage forum/lead chat/maunder about writing on my blog?"

But I don't have my contract yet, so I won't.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 3:17 PM 0 comments

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Ooh! I'm a Benevolent Ruler!
Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Your distinct personality, The Benevolent Ruler might be found in most of the thriving kingdoms of the time. You are the idealistic social dreamer. Your overriding goal is to solve the people problems of your world. You are a social reformer who wants everyone to be happy in a world that you can visualize. You are exceptionally perceptive about the woes and needs of humankind. You often have the understanding and skill to readily conceive and implement the solutions to your perceptions. On the positive side, you are creatively persuasive, charismatic and ideologically concerned. On the negative side, you may be unrealistically sentimental, scattered and impulsive, as well as deviously manipulative. Interestingly, your preference is just as applicable in today's corporate kingdoms.

____________________________________________________________________

That was according to: http://www.cmi-lmi.com/kingdom.html, the Kingdomaility "What is your Medieval Vocational Profile?" test.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 6:50 PM 0 comments

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Hello. My site's changing servers...hence the missing pictures and such. (Has to be...the servers ae the only things I've changed). But the pictures still work....when you click on them the submenus still show, so we should be ok until the changes finsih setting up.

:-)

One hopes.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 11:00 AM 0 comments

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Pulling teeth. It's like that. Really.
Thursday, April 22, 2004

I spent much of the past couple of days writing. I'd do a review once in awhile for a break, and force myself to write on the book. It's hard, because I know a ton of work needs to be done in the first half of the book. Tons and tons. But I want to finish a draft, so I keep writing, adding in things I know will be supported on the second write, knowing all the while that if someone where to read theis draft, they'd be like, "Where did that come from? Eh?" It's a little frustrating, but I think if I went and started over now, it'd be worse.

Anyway.

Watched two movies tonight: Master and Commander, and Timeline.

M&C was excellent in, like, 90% of its aspects. I've watched so many ship movies, and this is the first one I've seen that really felt real. The ship felt small inside...which it is, seriously, I've been inside a few. Usually, in a movie, the inside of ship practically looks like you could play a game of football in it. Also, in the first fight scene they dropped the boats...something I've read of them doing, but never before saw. Really, a marvelous movie.

Timeline was...eh. The battle at night, at the castle? Yes! Purty! Nifty as all get out! All the emotional high dungeon and dramatic yelling? Lousy. Stupid. Kiddy. The guy who played Marrick (looked it up...Gerard Butler) tho... :D

Last night I finally got to see The Usual Suspects. That is a rather nifty movie, isn't it? It was really well put together.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 10:04 PM 0 comments

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For My Lover, Returning to His Wife....
Monday, April 19, 2004

I couldn't resist posting this Anne Sexton Poem...actually, I think this is my true favorite, because of the last two lines...

She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.
Let's face it, I have been momentary.
vA luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,
has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter's wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,
done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.
She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission --
for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound --
for the burying of her small red wound alive --
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call --
the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 5:28 PM 0 comments

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Is one of my favorite poems by Anne Sexton. It's online all over the place, so maybe I'm, not the only one who loves it...click here for a brief bio and 171 more poems...

Wait Mister. Which way is home?
They turned the light out
and the dark is moving in the corner.
There are no sign posts in this room,
four ladies, over eighty,
in diapers every one of them.
La la la, Oh music swims back to me
and I can feel the tune they played
the night they left me
in this private institution on a hill.

Imagine it. A radio playing
and everyone here was crazy.
I liked it and danced in a circle.
Music pours over the sense
and in a funny way
music sees more than I.
I mean it remembers better;
remembers the first night here.
It was the strangled cold of November;
even the stars were strapped in the sky
and that moon too bright
forking through the bars to stick me
with a singing in the head.
I have forgotten all the rest.

They lock me in this chair at eight a.m.
and there are no signs to tell the way,
just the radio beating to itself
and the song that remembers
more than I. Oh, la la la,
this music swims back to me.
The night I came I danced a circle
and was not afraid.
Mister?

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 5:26 PM 0 comments

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She is beautiful, she is tragic...
Sunday, April 18, 2004

Well, tragic might be little too much of a word...after all, she still stands, they haven't stripped away her stained glass windows and carved wood doors, they haven't crushed her lofty spaces and filled in her foundations for a parking lot. She still lives, a rarity that no one notices, a synagogue in West Brownsville, a dying town that once rivaled Pittsburgh....who would have thought there was enough of a Jewish community to put together such a magnificent building?

I wonder what they would have thought, all these worshippers, if they new many years later their beautiful temple would become what it is now. I see their names, placed near the bottom of stained glass windows, and I wonder.

The basement is now painted a deep red, sponged over with a brick red color...in places it looks like dried blood, and though I suppose it makes the restaurant and bar look more intimate, I don't particularly like it. On the back wall marquee lighting framed posters for movies that you can rent upstairs...today it's Mona Lisa Smile and something with the Rock in it. A flat screen TV...the same one where I got my first glimpse of Lord of the Rings...graces another wall, and I watch it for a time, trying to decide if the picture's really better while I wait for my sandwiches to be done so I can leave.

The Philly cheese steaks alone, I figure, probably violate ever Jewish dietary law there is.

Upstairs, there is a pretty, intimate foyer, and twin narrows staircases going up into the loft...I've never been there, it's off limits, though I imagine the view is lovely.

Then the main room...some of the pews are left, but they all have computer towers stacked on them. In an alcove to the right, there are booths, and computers-for-hire, to the left, the alcove has a couch and another flat screen TV, playing football. Where the altar once would be, there is a video rental counter, and a place where you used to be able to buy coffee, and in between the door and that counter are tables of software, computer parts all a mess, especially when compared to the neatness of the twin low marble coffee tables that hold displays of rifles. Handguns are in the case to the right.

The room is so tall. I look up, up at the huge vault of ceiling, where a seven tiered chandelier hands town, hanging right from the center of a slightly raised Star of David molded on the ceiling, painted a dull gold. Each of the arches over the alcoves bears a smaller star, and to be honest, it was my first clue, the first time I came in here, of the place's past.

It is a beautiful place, the dark wood is lovingly kept clean, the doors are magnificent. The windows I could study for hours, looking at the symbols so same and so different from my own religion. The carpet on the stairs is soft under my feel, and thick, making everything silent as I walk up and down, wandering, thinking, killing time.

I'm glad it's here.

But also, it seems ironic. What has happened. What it has become. A place of worship that rents dvd's, and sells handguns and has wing night, .30 cents, eat in only, and dollar drafts.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 12:21 PM 0 comments

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But why the rum?
Friday, April 16, 2004

In case you've ever wanted to have a day just like one of mine...

Get up in the morning, around 8. Blink and smile at the bright sunlight. Decide that today, you're going to clean the kitchen cupboards....check.

Start with the closet, taking all the cans out. Scrub away. Dance around when the UPS-man comes with the highpoint of your day. Don't realize that the book and accompanying tee is the only thing that, later, will keep you from, Sylvia Plath-like, sticking your head in the stove...check.

Decide that while the closet is drying, you'll clean the cupboard over the fridge. Move fridge. Remove 1 half 5 year old bottle of peach schnapps, 1 quater-full 3 years old bottle of Irish cream and one full bottle of Bicardi Rum, never touched, bought last year on sale. Turn around so that you don't see full bottle of Bicardi rum jump to its death, shattering on the cement floor. Check.

Scream, "But why the rum?" not realizing that you're channeling Captain Jack Sparrow until later.

Spend a very long time cleaning up. Get glass in the palm of your hand because you were leaning on it, trying to stem the tide of rum. Get glass in your foot because you had no idea that glass shards would fly 50 feet away from the scene of impact. Air out the house, but it doesn't help. Say "F*** the closet", put the stuff away without dusting, scoot back the refrigerator, and decide it's time to clean the inside of it instead. Check.

Remove all sorts of things from refrigerator. Amuse yourself by trying to guess whether the grey thing you found in back was once asparagus, celery or an alien baby. Remove the bottom of the refrigerator, even, to clean underneath. Get it stuck when putting it back, force it, and break pieces off of it so now the bottom of your refrigerator wobbles drunkenly. Realize this is the type of day you bought the rum for. (Ooh, the irony.) Hope your mother doesn't realize you busted the floor of her refrigerator. Wonder if the rum killed the germs in the bucket of washwater you used to clean it up. Realize if the germs and pieces of glass didn't kill you, the Mr. Clean probably would. Check.

Reassemble the refrigerator. Realize that you'd forgotten all about the closet and go to put the cans back. Hear a weird squealing sound and realize, heaven knows how, that one of the cans of broth now has an air hole in it. Sigh and throw it out. Check.

Realize that you still have two closet shelves to go. Realize that you're really not up to it. Decide to go online instead. Can't get online until 9:30 at night. Finally get around to blogging this for the amusement of the world. Hum...ok...check.

The moral of the story: Getting up early and clean living doesn't pay off. Not only did I double the amount of work I ended up doing, but because I was trying to be a clean, upright person I never drank any of my rum. If I had partied, stayed up late, slept in later, I would not only not have broken the bottle, but if I had, there wouldn't have been anything in it. The clean up job would have been much faster, and my house wouldn't smell like, well, someone dropped a bottle of rum in it.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 9:37 PM 0 comments

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Predictive writing
Thursday, April 15, 2004

It's..sunny. There's...light. Lots of it. My eyes can hardly adjust...after weeks of rain I don't know if I'm still evolutionarily equipped to handle it.

:)

Anyway, I went to Wal-Mart yesterday. This wouldn't be something to blog about save that for, years ago, while I was sick with a very vile flu, I concieved of a book that I've written tons of pages on, called Darker Days than These. It was a futuristic about a woman who was a reluctant assasin for a government permitted security agency who, refusing an assignmnet, gets assigned to guarding cola trucks. (See, people are so poor, that they'll mob even garbage trucks if they think they can get away with it.) And the point of this was, that Wal Mart is the only store left, in Monaco's time, and she goes there in one scene, and remembers what it was like, acording to her aunt, to have a varity of things to buy, and it sounds to her like a myth, a fairy tale, something that can't be real.

I ought to hurry up and finish it, I think, becasue, well, it's starting to come true, and if I don't do it soon enough I won't have "predicted" the future, I'll have recorded truth.

For instance. I could have sworn that there were more varieties of garbage bags than "Best Choice" and "Hefty". Didn't Glad use to sell garbage bags? Yet, when you go down the ailse at Wal Mart, half of it's taken up with two brands. Now, I do suppose that there are people who feel that I should be lucky that I can buy garbage bags at all, that I have a choice between two. They would be correct.

But that's not quite my point.

Slowly, as Wal Mart takes over, they'll choose for us what products we can have and what products that we can't. And it bothers me. A visit to Wal Mart is smoke and mirrors, all bright colors and confusing layouts and humongous quantities of things all placed to trick you into beliving you have a variety, you have a choice. There are things that I like -- Pledge Floor cleaner, for instance, (and not the stuff with orange -- the new trend -- in it.) that I can't find. It's still being made, but for how long if the bigger chains no longer distribute it? It causes a fake supply and demand. I've lost a lot of good products to this, and I can see, as Wal Mart kills the business so that it can price fix to its heart's content, that the list of things I'll feel nostalgic for is going to get much longer.

Yeah, I can live without these things. I can use Murphy's Oil Soap instead. But I want to be the one to choose, not Uncle Sam. And since my choices, locally, are either Gaint Eagle, Save a Lot or Wal Mart, I'll be contributing -- ironically -- to the erroding away of my consumer rights.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 2:59 PM 0 comments

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Hey, it is national poetry month!
Tuesday, April 13, 2004

So, I thought I'd list some of my faves, plus links to their work:

Today it's Edward Arlington Robinson: http://www.bartleby.com/233/index1.html

From The Children of the Night

2. Luke Havergal

GO to the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,
Like flying words, will strike you as they fall; 5
But go, and if you listen she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes; 10
But there, where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies— 15
In eastern skies.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this,
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go. 20
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this—
To tell you this.

There is the western gate, Luke Havergal, 25
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.
Go, for the winds are tearing them away,—
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call. 30
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 7:26 PM 0 comments

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My theory of poetry
Sunday, April 11, 2004

I had this idea last night, while I was trying to go to sleep. I almost got right up to blog this, but I was just getting warm, and I didn't want to go through all the fuss and noise.

To write poetry you need to know where you are in life. Poetry requires roots...it requires a place to plant things to tether the emotions, the images, something that you can hook everything from so that it stays coherent, it stays poem shaped. You can't afford the extra luggage of context to explain where you are. You have to already be there.

I don't know where I am. So I can't write poetry, I can't express the things I need to when I don't really know what they are.

Then, I think, short stories might be the medium for finding where we are. What we are. They're perfect, because they're short...you can back off before it becomes too painful, you can attack the problem from different angles, different perspectives.

So what are novels, then? I think novels are what we want to be. You spend a long, long time with a novel, much longer than anyone else. You need to live in a world that is better than reality, where the destination is what you desire, not what has to be.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 11:28 AM 0 comments

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They whipped the rabbit?!?
Thursday, April 08, 2004

Sometimes I think that typos appear by themselves, ages after the post has been put up and the writer was sure all was well.

May be they're like rabbits.

Which reminds me.

One of the local churches here had a little Easter play. They invited all the little kids to come and watch what most parents probably thought was a warm and fuzzy Jesus loves you affirming play that would get their kiddies in the mood for egg hunting and candy and pastel colored clothing.

Image their surprise when the performaers began smashing easter eggs, whipping the Easter bunny, and chanting, "There is no Easter Bunny."

No. I'm not joking.

It's so funny on one hand, (I hear Elmer Fudd singing "I whipped the Whabbit" along to the tune of "Flight of the Valkiries") but so depressing, all at once. I mean, the person who thought this was a good idea must secretly hate children.

Oh! Here's a quote from a newspaper: http://www.zwire.com/site/news.asp?brd=1282

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Easter event offends some in attendance
By DAVID WHIPKEY, Daily News Staff Writer
What was supposed to be an Easter celebration for children reportedly turned into a demonstration of how Jesus Christ was crucified.

Several area residents were outraged by a performance sponsored by Glassport Assembly of God church Saturday at Memorial Stadium.

"It was absolutely horrendous," Melissa Salzmann said. "We left after about 45 minutes, it was so bad."

Residents quote performers as saying, "There is no Easter Bunny" and breaking eggs meant for an Easter egg hunt.

A portrayal of the Easter Bunny being whipped and tortured as the 12 stations of the cross reportedly was part of the show.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 1:33 PM 0 comments

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TV frightens me.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004

The news gets worse every day. It's little things...small oppressions, that added together create a picture that makes me want to hide. I'm not near far enough out in the wilderness, I think. I keep remembering my history...Rome, Venice, every great empire eventually grows top heavy and collapses in on itself. God save us, sometimes I worry about it happening here.

So. Before the Constitution collapses, or something:

I love Jesus. I'm not the best Christian, especially since I have a feeling that maybe really, really good Christians don't love vampires and dragons nearly as much as I do, but, well, I try. And see? I confessed. So that's got to help in the end. Any way. That is my freedom of religion.

People should have the freedom to get married no matter what their race, religion or gender. Also, we should concentrate on keeping jobs here **bulletin, there are North Americans who will gladly work for Indian rates**, as well as figure out ways to make sure that everyone has adequate housing, food, and prescription drug coverage, all while leaving the Social Security find alone. That is my freedom of Speech..

I was in doubt about the war in Iraq because I desperately wanted to believe that my government is good at heart. I was wrong. I now believe that George W. Bush took any excuse to go to war to please him's daddy. I believe he's responsible for the deaths of innocent soldiers who were just doing what they were ordered. I will not be voting for him. When I hot post and publish, this will become my freedom of press.

I believe that the government needs to explain exactly why they've decided that invading Iraq is more important than the stability of the nation. This is as close to my and right to petition the government for a redress of grievances as I can go.

I think that everyone who has a blog or home page should do this. American or not (though, I think I, being a yank, can get away with this a lot easier than other countries...) you should spread the word...reaffirm your rights, remind yourself that you have them and what they are. This is my freedom of assembly.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 7:27 PM 0 comments

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I've been writing!
Monday, April 05, 2004

I have. I'm doing really good right now. I'm spending a lot of time with Drachen, under the surface of the sea. I meant to enact a certain feel with the reader through Sorrenna, my human character who will eventually become a mermaid/Mirrim, if things go right. (Though every time, so far she's had the spell to change her in her grasp, it's fled.) See, there's a long standing convention in fantasy that has driven so many books...you have a person, ordinary bloke living in our boring, tired, mundane world, and somehow he/she gets pulled through into a fantasy world. What makes that so darned alluring a story line is that you and I, vicariously, go through into that other world in the main character's head, and share in that feeling of pleasurable discovery. We all see the things brand new...the dragons, the magic, at the exact same time. For that reason, that feeling of wonder that automatically comes if it's done right (For example, Gaiman's Neverwhere...one of the things I love about Richard is that he's too busy being in awe to ever be worried, or think, "Where the heck am I?") I was going to have Sorrenna...and us...go into the sea at the same time, see the Mirrim city and culture first hand. Drachen, who's already gone back to being Mirrim (hence the point of the book) has other plans, and I've been writing some really wonderful scenes that most definitely come before Sorrenna gets her tail.

**************

OK. The reason why I've been able to write is because I've given my self a Schedule. How, you may wonder, does a writer make a schedule for herself when she doesn't know how long her first draft is going to be? It's fairly easy...and it's something that could work for you, too, since most of us work better with a goal/deadline. First, what's your general per day word count? I shoot for 2,000 words a day, partially because that's what Stephen King does, and partially because I usually can do that. The next number you need is a first draft word count goal. For most books, 100,000 words is a good average...some mysteries are around 80,000, some fantasies are 150,000...but 100,000 is a nice, round number. Now, I'd already started my book, so I subtracted the word count I already had from 100,000...and that number, I divided by 2,000. That gave me a number of days that it would take, if I wrote 2,000 words every day, to reach 100,000 words. I counted those days out on my calendar, not counting weekends (which I use for other things.) Now I have a goal...and I will do whatever I have to to reach that goal. If I can't write 2,000 a few days, I know I'll have days when I write much more. When I get closer to that date, I'll reevaluate, and adjust my daily word count accordingly, though now I have a goal, I'll probably get done sooner.

I do the same thing for the second draft, using the existing word count as my other divisor. For the other drafts, I use pages...I try and do ten pages a day, say, instead.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 6:11 PM 0 comments

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Reviews, reviews....
Friday, April 02, 2004

Let's see. I've reviewed quite a few for Fantastica Daily:

Earth Logic -- Laurie J. Marks
Impossible Odds -- Dave Duncan
The Emerald Cavern -- Mitchell Graham
The Highwayman -- R.A. Salvatore

And one for the SfSite...I'd turned in a couple, so they'll probably appear in the mid month update:

A Time to Die, Mickey Zucker Reichert -- Robin Cook-esq medical thriller set in the future.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 9:13 PM 0 comments

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For years I've been guilty of saying "I'd read Neil Gaiman's grocery lists if he published them." Well, that day has come. Visit The Fortean Bureau, a Magazine of Speculative Fiction, to read the grocery lists of such lovely writers as Neil Gaiman, Lois McMaster Bujuld, Jo Walton, Karen Traviss, Steven Brust, and many others. Scroll down a little, and ye'll be ok.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 7:01 PM 0 comments

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I'm Highly Efficient
Thursday, April 01, 2004

No, no, I am. Jody Wallace, lady of the wonderous Science Fiction Romance site, says so. I'm their Listkeeper. Don't you love it? That's my title. It's so...official, yet medieval.

What I do is I comb what's been published, looking for Science Fiction Romances...fantasy and SF books from major houses that are romantic, books from mainstream romance publishers that are Science fictiony or fantasy. It's not as hard as you might think, and anyway, I often spend time combing these sites as a book reviewer looking for prey. Er. Books.

If you happen to have a published book that fits tbis idea, go on over to http://www.sfronline.com/links.htm, see where your book fits, (Small press? Large press? Etc) and then email me, either at the link there, or at the link under about in the menu to your left. :-)

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 8:42 PM 0 comments

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