Holy cow. Just got this email from my agent:

I talked to Jim Frenkel yesterday and he said that I should send the first half of Missionary Man [the memoir] to him, and that we should send him Silvertide [the novel] when you're done. Seems like you (or in point of fact, Laura—he kept talking about her!) really charmed him!

I can't believe I forgot to mention that Kelly Link won the Nebula for best novelette. And well-deserved it was, too, even though I predicted that Jim Kelly would win.

Here are some photos from the Nebula weekend. See if you can spot Laura and me in the later pages. (Okay, here are some hints: hint, hint, hint, and hint.)

You might also be amused by this video interview Laura conducted with two of the more articulate Nebula nominees—Geoff Landis and some weird guy from Queens.

Laura and I are just back from Kansas City. I didn't win the Nebula, but I was hardly disappointed with the experience of being a nominee. It was a terrific weekend, and it really couldn't have gone better. I met a lot of writers that I've looked up to for a long time, and I even got to hang out and commiserate with them at the post-awards party. Ah, the rewards of being a loser. :)

One of the high points of the weekend was when Nancy Kress—a multi-award-winning writer I admire who also used to write a great column on writing for Writer's Digest—introduced herself to me out of nowhere, told me she'd been hoping to meet me, and told me how wonderful my nominated story was. (I started hyperventilating around then, because until then I hadn't really believed the possibility that I might actually win. But if Nancy Kress liked my story so much...)

I got to hang out with old Clarion friends like Geoff Landis (who was also on the ballot, for his novel Mars Crossing), Mary Turzillo, and Resa Nelson, and also with Scott Edelman, a terrific who bought some of my stories for Science Fiction Age when that magazine still existed. My old friends and online writing group compatriots Mark Worthen and Jeannie Eddy showed up from Jefferson City too, which was delightful. We were fortunate enough to have Tor editor Jim Minz join us on an excursion to K.C. Masterpiece for barbecue, and I'm happy to report that he is a real gentleman, besides an editor of discernment and taste.

I was delighted to meet James Patrick Kelly and Robert Reed, both writers I've admired for many years, and ended up spending a couple of hours with them both at the post-awards party. Wil McCarthy (nominated for The Collapsium) was there, and I got to chat for a while with Mark Tiedemann too, who was delightful.

At the banquet itself, we sat at one of the Tor Books tables, in the distinguished company of Jim Minz, Jim Frenkel, Jeffrey A. Carver (nominated for Eternity's End), and Catherine Asaro (nominated for The Quantum Rose). You'll never meet a nicer man than Jeff, and it was a lot of fun to be sitting there at the table when Catherine won for best novel. (I've sat at banquet tables with winners twice now—two years ago, it was Mary Turzillo winning best novelette for "Mars Is No Place for Children"—and nothing could be more delightful.)

I always enjoy talking with Jim Frenkel, but this time was amazing in that his first question was to ask me when he was going to see my novel. My answer was: "Real soon now!"

Most of this good stuff was due to Laura, in her superhero guise as "Wife of Nominee." (Her conference badge said "Laura Shunn," which is not her name, but she took the nom de guerre to heart and played the role to the hilt.) She is a great press agent, and anyone who wants to be noticed would do well to take her along. Of course, the greatest delight (my overused word of the day) was just to have her with me while all these cool things were happening.

Take the What High School
Stereotype Are You? quiz, by Angel.

Jesus Christ, where was I when this happened?

http://www.sfwa.org/news/knight.htm

Damon was one of my instructors at the Clarion workshop in 1985, probably the most formative six-week period of my life. Besides everything else—writer, critic, teacher—he was a hell of a character. He had two little inkstamps. One was a smiley face that said "I like you." The other was a sour, scrunched-up face that said "Shit!" He would stamp your manuscript with one or the other. He told me I was definitely going to be a writer, and boy did I believe it when he said so.

RIP

So there I was, riding the W train to work this morning, holding onto a bag full of homemade tollhouse cookies for the office, skimming along in my bad novel, when the train left Queensboro Plaza and plunged into the tunnel. And into total darkness.

Seriously. I couldn't see the book. The train conductor came on the speaker and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, there are no lights on this train. Repeat, no lights on this train."

Everyone tittered a little nervously. I glanced around. Nothing but shadowy forms, barely visible. I got a little nervous as we raced through the tunnel in complete darkness, thinking that anyone could do anything to anybody in the dark.

That section of the tunnel must only have lasted fifteen or twenty seconds, though. Then the lights in the tunnel began to flash past, strobing yellow with flashes of blue, and everyone could see each other again -- albeit in eerie pulses.

I put my book away and just watched the passengers pulse.

After two or three of minutes, we pulled into into the Lexington station. We could all see again. Though you could feel the sigh of relief from the crowd, someone said, "That was awesome. Let's do it again!"

Then as the doors opened, we heard the conductor over the speaker, on the radio with someone at dispatch or elsewhere. "We don't have any interior lights," she said. "Get them turned on."

And the lights came back on in the train.

So I transferred to the 6 train, and at 42nd Street a guy with a blue plastic wristband came and stood in front of where I was sitting. He was 35 or so, white, blue shirt, blue jeans, didn't look homeless or anything. But when the train started, he said in a clear voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm very embarrassed to be asking this, but I just got out of the hospital a couple of days ago, where I was diagnosed with AIDS. I'm very hungry. If you could help me out with some food, or help me get something to eat, I'd appreciate it."

He was standing right in front of me. He turned to move down the train. I rustled the plastic bag. He turned back toward me. I handed the bag to him. "It's just cookies," I said.

"Thank you," he said and moved off down the train.

I hurried off the train at 33rd Street. I was the second one through the turnstiles. Why did I feel so self-conscious to have anyone from the train see my face as I left?

April 9, 2002

Utah Gov.'s Son Named in Fight Club

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

Filed at 5:29 p.m. ET

SALT LAKE CITY (AP) -- Gov. Mike Leavitt's 18-year-old son has been accused of participating in a fight club at a Mormon chapel.

Chase Leavitt was charged Monday with battery, a misdemeanor, plus disturbing the peace and trespass, both infractions.

Prosecutor Simarjit Gill said Tuesday that organizers had keys to the church meeting house, but did not have permission to stage the Dec. 14 fight, which drew 25 to 75 teen-agers who paid admission to watch.

Leavitt was charged because he was the only adult shown on a seized videotape throwing a punch at a minor, Gill said. Both were wearing boxing gloves.

Police were called by neighbors who reported seeing the teen-agers charging admission to the building. When officers arrived, many of the teen-agers fled but police found a video camera at the scene.

Gill said it took four months to file charges because prosecutors were busy with the Winter Olympics and it took time to identify people shown on the videotape.

The governor said Monday, "I have confidence in the process. He's a great young man, his life is on track in every way, he has the love and affection of his father and mother and we'll work through this."