Well Now, I'm All Fired Up!

Spoke to the friend who'd been reading The Last Captain. He had very valuable input, input I am putting into practice with a re-write.

I'm all fired up, and glad of the chance at fixing the problems of The Last Captain.

When Your Friends And Loved Ones Come Through

I got taken care of this weekend. Big time.

Saturday night I had the boys over for Greedy Little Bastards. One of my players has two daughters that came with, dyeing easter eggs to hunt on Sunday. My daughter and the eldest daughter of my friend told me, in no uncertain terms, to hide the eggs well!

The game went wonderfully, the best I've run in months, if not years. All the players were laughing and thoroughly entertained.

During the night I had an email from a friend that managed to get me into World Fantasy this year, transferring his additional attending membership to my name. I owe him such a debt for doing this. I was terribly worried I would not be able to attend the con this year because of a SNAFU I mentioned before.

Sunday morning the aforementioned girls came over and hunted the eggs I planted ahead of time. The girls spent thirty minutes searching my very small back yard, complaining I had hid them too well.

Then, The Coolness made brunch, feeding my two friends and the three egg-huntresses a killer meal. It was a great meal, and my wife a gracious hostess. I am so blessed. My friends were floored, and truly appreciative.

On occasion, I really do need to recognize how lucky I am in my friends and family.

My, But I've Been A Lucky Man

Several of my friends have recently, merely by striving to overcome the shit circumstances they find themselves in, proven to me how lucky I am. Not just in my family and friends, but in life in general:

The Coolness had a very tough year, and came through healthier than she went into it. She's working as a teaching assistant at my daughter's school, and doing so well that the principal made statements indicating her great confidence in The Coolness' abilities.

My kid kicks ass, and I am blessed with the opportunities to observe and coach her and her young friends at soccer, something few get the chance to do. She is also very sharp at school, reasonably well-mannnered, and the apple of her daddy's eye. Not bad for my simple, fervent wish of almost eight years ago that she simply be born healthy and whole.

I have a job to whine about. This is certainly not to be taken for granted, though I know I too often focus too much on the tiny negatives in the workplace (like asshats and their asshattery). It is, however, sure motivation for the next thing I have to feel lucky about.

I was published this last year, and paid near a thousand dollars for my work. That's pretty damn cool. It was confirmation I have a modicum of talent for this writing thing that might lead to a second career.

I survived a thankfully minor accident on the motorbike, and was even able to make my daughter's soccer dinner that very night.

I had the opportunity to reconnect with a friend of mine of 28 years. Not only did we manage to meet in a city neither of us live in, we had an incredible time and made a number of new friends (WFC was the shit! If you missed it, you need not do so again. If you write or read fantasy, go.) Among those new amigos were some guys who have consistently taken care of me, and been great fun to shoot the shit with.

I am thankful for all the experiences this undeserving, loud-mouthed, Ranting Griffin has had in the last year, and hope that if your year was less than stellar, that it is only because the stars were aligning for your future, and you need only endure this brief while.

I certainly hope to be there to help and encourage every one of the people that have proven me so very lucky in my friends and life.

Thank you.

For now, my lovely daughter is smiling at me, and I go to join her and The Coolness...

Bill, A Man of His Word, Must Want Someone Dead

I am a recovering bibliophile, mainly because I refused to torture myself with desire for limited edition books I can't afford. Today I fell off the wagon, big time. Rather, I got kicked off by a man of his word.

You might remember me mentioning I wore my most offensive shirt the first night at WFC. I had a great time, met a presidential candidate's cousin, and also spoke with and entertained Bill.

Now, I had no idea who Bill was on meeting him; just a guy in a band t-shirt and bad attitude Kyle and I had a blast shooting the shit with. Partway through the evening Bill said that the more we entertained him, the more books we would get. Uncertain what that meant, we gave him some shit. He then told me to email him with my home address.

Subterranean Press was in the email addy...

Oh!  Snap!

Like I need that much encouragement to act the fool.

He emailed me the next day to inform me he'd sent the goods along. I gave him another ration of shit. Bill gave as he got.

When I got home, still no books on the doorstep. More shit ration email.

Today I was trying to get some writing done before the end of season meal with my Pink Pixies. Leaving at the last moment, I jumped on the motorbike. As I rolled by the front door, I saw two cardboard boxes. Cursing my lack of time, I sped off.

Needless to say, when I got home the boxes were torn open within two minutes. Inside, I found these treasures:

Now, there are some signed, limited editions in there.   I haven't owned a limited edition anything, let alone ones as valuable as these.

As some would kill to have these books, I can only conclude that Bill wants someone dead.  Be afraid, people. Bill's a man of his word, and he's got the currency to purchase willing bibliophile slaves.

Be very afraid.

Thank you, L.E. Modesitt

Sunday, the last night of WFC, I was lucky enough to go out dinner with Mark Van Name, L.E. Modesitt, and Eric Flint.

What I'm working on came up.  I suppose it was simply the kind thing to do, you know, ask the kid what he's doing and all that.   At any rate, they were informed of what I was working on and what I do for a living.

We then talked about that old saw of 'writing what you know'.

L.E. Modesitt said two very interesting things on this point; the first of which was about his worst-selling book (He has 56 novels out there.  That's right, FIFTY-SIX!).  The poor-selling novel was based on his experiences in DC.  The tale he told was quite funny in hindsight: the book sold less than three hundred copies in hardback. Not funny at the time, I'm sure.

The second thing L.E. talked about was the difference between his experience and spy thrillers.  Namely, how boring the reality of DC was: no political killings, no international assassins, just a lot of suicides when people were discovered to have sold themselves or accused of crimes they could not live with.

Riding home today, I was trying to figure out what the hell to do about the character that has been giving me a headache for the last few months.

Like a thunderbolt, L.E.'s words came back to me!  I was screaming into my helmet like an idiot at 70 miles an hour.

Thank you, L.E.

Plot problem solved.