Category: Writing

Update: Life keeps happening

Just random stuff that has, is, and will be happening.  Let’s see.  I now have health care.  I have surgery scheduled for August 22nd to install a defibrillator in my chest which ought to help keep me alive and will make me a Cyborg.  I now have a “partial denture,” which means that I can bite into things again, and great is my glee.  I’m still working on Hawk, albeit slowly.  I’m also working on an Incrementalist short story that my critique group savaged.  (Well, that’s not fair.  They didn’t savage it; they just said it didn’t work as is, and pointed to some ways to make it work.  That sort of thing would annoy me if they weren’t right).

Yesterday, helped give my friend John Sjogren the best. birthday. present. ever.

I have a full physical–the first one in years–scheduled for July 23rd.  I’ll be heading to Armadillocon at the end of the month.  Then back for August and some of September, then I’m planning an East Coast road trip culminating in Viable Paradise in early October.  Then I’ll be heading to MileHighCon in Denver.

I would love to have a first draft of Hawk finished by the time I leave for the East Coast, but it seems doubtful with how slow the damn thing feels like going.  On the other hand, that’s because the plot insisted on getting all twisty on me.  I kind of like it when a book does that–I think the last one that turned on me like that was Orca, and I was pleased with how it came out.

Need yet another translation to Ancient Greek

I’m looking for the ancient Greek for: We can do better.

In English, there is some ambiguity there (We meaning us?  We meaning humanity?  My group can do better than your group?).  I don’t know if those ambiguities would translate, but, if so, I want them.  If not, I’ll chose the best meaning for my evil purposes.

Any help would be appreciated.

Fourth Street Fantasy Convention

This is a reminder to everyone who might be interested that Fourth Street Fantasy Convention is approaching.  For those who don’t know, this is a small convention (100+ people) heavily oriented toward writing and writers–I sort of made it up back in, I think, the late 80’s so I could hear smart people argue about problems I was having.  The theory is that anything that is about writing is also about reading; “How to Read Better” has always been an unstated discussion topic.

What distinguishes Fourth Street from most conventions are two things: 1. A very high percentage of professionals (writers, editors); and B. Strict single-track programming with lunch breaks, so everyone can be at every panel (and, of course, continue the arguments from one to the other).  It used to be that did the programming; lately it’s mostly Alec Austin with help from Tom Whitmore and me, and I’ve been delighted by how things have gone.  I have learned stuff.  I think it has helped me write better; I know it has helped me get more out of my reading.

Check out who will be there (John Scalzi, Elizabeth Bear, Will Shetterly, Emma Bull, &c &c)

It’ll be in Minneapolis, June 22-24, and for actual, useful details, go here.

I’d love to see all of you there.

 

 

Too Many Danes

By Rex Stout

 

When the doorbell rang at the old brownstone on West 35th Street, I was already in a lousy mood.  We had just finished the Beltham embezzlement case, and it was Friday, and I had wanted to celebrate by spending the weekend with Lily Rowan.  Instead, Wolfe had insisted I finish the paperwork.  I knew he would have no interest in a case, in any case, what with what we’d just been paid, so I made up my mind that, whoever this was, he was getting in to see Wolfe.

The man on the other side of the glass was young–I’d say in his early twenties.  He was slight, but seemed athletic.  When I opened the door, he said simply, “Mr. Nero Wolfe?”

“No,” I said, “I’m Archie Goodwin.  But if it’s a case, I can take you in to see Mr. Wolfe.  He’s just down from visiting his orchids.”

“His–?  No, never mind.  Yes, I’d like to see him about a case.”

“Then come in, Mr.–”

He handed me his card as I took his coat.  I looked it over–expensive printing, gold lettering.  I guided him to the leather chair.  Wolfe looked up, glared, started to speak, but evidently put it together, because instead his lips pressed together into a thin line–or as thin a line as he can manage.  I handed Wolfe the card.  He glanced at it, glared at me, then turned his attention back to our guest.

“Very well,” he said.  “How can I help you, Mr. Hamlet?”

“I want you to prove that my uncle killed my father.”

He wagged his finger.  “I will do no such thing under any circumstances.  Should I agree to take the case, I will endeavor to discover the truth.”

“That will be fine.  As a retainer, I can–”

“Excuse me, I haven’t said I’d take it, yet.  Now, what makes you think your uncle killed your father?”

“His ghost told me,” said Hamlet, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

Wolfe glared at me.  “Pfui,” he said.  He started to say more, but then stopped, and a sort of malicious glint came into his eye.  He turned to Hamlet.  “That is very interesting,” he said.  “It is getting rather late.  Perhaps you could stay to dinner and afterwards Archie can get all the details?  Archie, tell Fritz we will be having a guest.”

No way around it, I was beat.  I got up and headed to the kitchen to tell Fritz that something smelled rotten in the office.

 

[Sorry, folks.  I just sorta had to.  Next, Pamela will demonstrate how Shakespeare would have written Plot It Yourself.]