California Academy of Sciences; Through Glass

I've spent the day pacing around my dim little den, in part because it's too hot to do anything, and in part because I really was thinking. Me and the novel, we're going to sort this little issue of ours out, even if knives are required.

The dayjob welcomes me back tomorrow, and to say I am afeared for my hands would be a gross understatement. Typing has been largely avoided today, but I can't escape it, nor do I want to. Aside from writing-writing, there's book-reaction-writing, and trip-report-writing, and correspondence-writing, and who knows what else.

You get owl skulls instead. Photos are easier than typing right now.

Nap Attack

I lay on the bed a moment "to think" and I've lost an hour and a half.

This is why I don't do naps. It just isn't possible to wake up twice in one day. I feel decidedly disgusting, inside and out, and am certainly no longer in any condition "to think".

Sad Hands, Sad Face

My hands greatly enjoyed my trip. All that time not spent at the computer! They were very happy hands.

I spent three hours this morning taking care of my inboxes, and haven't touched a computer in ten hours. But now they are not happy hands at all.

All the things I want to do involve typing. All of them. I don't know what to do.

HOME

That is indeed the same tee as in the last photo.
Tea before shower is totally acceptable.

I am leaving the internet. I've a last day in fabulous San Francisco before jumping on a metal bird and returning to the future, 'cause this is the future, and we totally have the technology.

I will be reattaching myself to people I haven't seen in a couple of weeks, so to avoid any social malfunctions in recognition, here is a current, taken right this second, photo of me:



You peeps I just spent ridiculously hilarious weekend with, I loff you. I bequeath you the northern hemisphere, with which to do as you please. Hopefully, 'as you please' means you will turn it into a giant ball pit.

See you on the otherside of the date line.

Columbus and Broadway

Today I met an albatross, and she was so existent I stopped breathing.

The Things We Forget

Two splendid people who live very far from me conspired to send this penguinous card to me. It landed on Friday, I opened the envelope, read the edit on the front and went, "...oh yeah!"

I'd totally forgotten that my Not Birthday was coming. I checked my diary, and discovered I hadn't written it in. I wonder if that was intentional? Maybe, at the beginning of the year when I was jotting down all the good and proper birthdays of awesome people, I looked at that particular date and decided that it didn't need marking.

Who knows. It worked, at any rate. I had forgotten. And now that I've remembered...I'm kinda proud of myself for forgetting. Somethings don't need to be held tightly all the time.

But. Well. You know. Any excuse for birthday celebrations, right? I've auto-scheduled this to post on the proper Not Birthday date, because on this day, I will be in Monterey Bay, at the aquarium, feeding sea otters (feeding brilliant animals seems to be a birthday thing of mine), and then I'll be heading up to the start of WFC, to see a whole lot of people who are most excellent and attend launches for a book I have a piece in and another couple of books I quite adore.

Pretty awesome day, no?

(I may have to take steps to ensure cake is present.)

Halo: Evolutions Author List

Also known as: zomg, it's real.



From Kokatu, Who's Who in Halo: Evolutions

The only books I love more than video game novels that explore untold back-story is anthologies of stories that do the same thing. Makes for an extremely bathroom-friendly read. Check out the full list of contributors below, along with a nice shot of the book's cover, so you know what to look for.

TOBIAS S. BUCKELL, the New York Times bestselling author of HALO: The Cole Protocol and Sly Mongoose.

B.K. EVENSON, the Edgar and Horror Guild International nominated author of Last Days and The Open Curtain.

JONATHAN GOFF, writer and artist with 343 Industries.

KEVIN GRACE, writer and Managing Editor of 343 Industries.

ROBT McLEES, Bungie game developer and writer on Halo: Combat Evolved, Halo 2 and Halo 3, as well as the upcoming Halo: Reach.

ERIC NYLUND, the New York Times bestselling author of Halo: The Fall of Reach and Halo: Ghosts of Onyx, and most recently a new non-Halo series that begins with Mortal Coils.

FRANK O'CONNOR, the Franchise Director for Halo at 343 Industries.

ERIC RAAB, writer, and Tor editor of the Halo novels since 2004.

KAREN TRAVISS, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of her own Wess'har series as well as Star Wars and Gears of War novels.

JEFF VANDERMEER & TESSA KUM: Vandermeer is the World Fantasy award-winning writer of City of Saints and Madman as well as Shriek: An Afterword and Finch. Kum is the author of 7wishes and editor for Weird Tales and the Best American Fantasy series.

FRED VAN LENTE, the New York Times bestselling author of Incredible Hercules (with Greg Pak) and Marvel Zombies 3, as well as Cowboys and Aliens and the upcoming Marvel comic series Halo: Blood Line.

"Bathroom-friendly". Don't think I've come across a more appropriate anthology descriptor. I love it. Heee.

I'd like to point out that I am not an editor for either Weird Tales or Best American Fantasy. I am merely a humble editorial assistant to the mighty Ann VanderMeer. And that Jeff fella.

That Jeff fella in question posted regarding the finer points of name order in collaborations, and what he says is true, which includes the fact that it was a 50-50 effort. So, purely because it'll irk him, I won't switch the name order here, even if it is changed in future print runs of the book. Also because I just can't. I'm physically incapable of reversing the order. My audacity isn't a high enough level.

Preorder here. Is it sad to admit I'm rather looking forward to reading it? There're some fine, fine writers in that list. Although I think it is fair (and entirely irrelevant) to say that I have the greatest surname of the lot.

I walked into a door. Ahem.

We were in Macy's, hunting out Deborah Biancotti's particular brand of cosmetics. I was eyeing off the myriad of colour names - I once wrote a short script based on a character whose job it was to come up with paint names - and so only came in on the conversation at the very end, when Deb was telling the sales assistant to go to work on me.

Wait, what?

A cunning plan on Deb's behalf, as it kept me occupied while she was doing proper business. For my part, I believe the sale assistant sniffed out my bemusement like a shark on a used tampon, and went to work on me with as much enthusiasm.

I don't wear make up. This year I made tentative forays into the realms of mascara and eyeliner, and that has been the extent of it. Yet I'm pretty sure I can make my eyes look better than that.

(Deb got the awesome artist, because damn, she looked glamorous by the time they'd done with her.)

There were of course many other noteworthy things that occurred during the day, but I mention this because apparently Deb's cosmetic brand of choice is good, so good I can't get the damn stuff off, and I'm sitting here in my jim-jams and I look like a sleep-deprived panda that has just been punched in the face with a sack of coal. Twice. And started crying because it was punched, and was wearing mascara and eyeshadow which has thus run.

Hotttt.