Stupid Cookie

22 May 2001

The other day I had a fortune cookie. The fortune said, "It is easier to make friends than to keep them."

Yeah, shut up, you stupid cookie. Just let me enjoy this, okay? Dessert should not attempt to interfere with my sense of balance in the world.

Yesterday was a two-rejection day. One of them was a form rejection, on a little tiny slip of paper. Hand-cut. Now, if you're going to send out rejection slips that fit four or five to a page, is it not more cost-effective to invest in a paper cutter than to pay someone to hand-cut them with scissors? If they're paying interns to do this, well, they could invest the money better, is what. The other was a very nice personal rejection with reference to another story I'd just sent the editor in question, so that was good-ish.

I will receive only acceptance today. I have decreed it.

So. Work is going well on the two novel fronts. I have interesting things to do with new and old friends. You-all should just wait for tragedy to befall me so that this journal is more interesting. I'm going to hang out with David today and Susan tomorrow. Susan and I are supposed to go to a museum. I like museums, and they're usually good for story ideas. (Magritte exhibits are my favorite. Magritte titles are the best. I need to write more from my Magritte titles. But even non-art museums are good.)

Yesterday's big news involved birthday presents for Mark, which are well and good but do not belong in this journal for another five days. He wants to go to the Rhythm and Brews festival on Saturday. The website is on our calendar. Let me repeat that, in case a casual reading made it look sensible: the website is on our calendar. Not the location. Not the time. Not the price. Not the names of any of the bands playing. No. The website.

Is it unreasonable to suggest that, given @ Home's track record, some other information might be useful to place on the unrepentantly analog calendar?

And speaking of analog, good grief. I didn't know that the SF magazine of that name really meant it, but one of the correspondences I got from them was quite clearly written on a typewriter. A typewriter. My land. Analog is supposed to be the hardest SF in the field. It is the geekist of the geeky, the tunneling edge of SF. And their editor is using a typewriter. It is, of course, his prerogative to do so. But I was certainly startled.

With all the advice I have, you'd think I could be A Consultant. I could just Consult. I'd tell people what, and they'd nod wisely and go about their business.

This has never worked for my mom, so I don't know why it would work for me.

Back to Morphism.

And the main page.

Or the last entry.

Or the next one.

Or even send me email.