We spent the weekend visiting Brigid, so I didn’t do any writing this weekend. This represents the longest stretch I’ve gone without creating as least a few words since the year started. So, I guess that’s good.
Brigid is doing great, by the way, and it was much fun to see her again.
During a quiet time, we stopped into Borders and I picked up a copy of the Year’s Best SF (Hartwell and Cramer’s), and I’ve manages to read five or six of the tales so far. They’re all good, of course, but I’m struck by how dark and cynical that field seems to have become. Only one tale that I’ve read to date has has had anything close to an upbeat message about the future. Lisa and I talked about this over breakfast today. That’s one reason she’s taken more to romance and YA reading–she doesn’t mind meat on her stories, but she wants something more entertaining than anything else, and it’s hard to feel entertained by a “all-is-lost” cast to a story.
It was an interesting conversation, all around.
Anyway, I’m looking forward to reading a story by Vandana Singh, an Indian writer whose short story Somadeva: A Sky River Sutra I first read last week on Strange Horizons. I enjoyed it quite a bit. Check it out, you might, too. I spent considerable time on her site, and will probably spend more later. I think I need to dig into Indian SF. So much to do, so little time.
Finally, on the personal writing front, when we returned home, my mail included something I can only describe as an intriguing rejection from one of the major markets in the field. Not sure completely what to make of it, but I guess we’ll just see what time brings. No one ever said being a writer was particularly easy or straightforward.
On to Monday, eh?