Today, Valerie, my Faithful European Companion (I'm part American, Ute I think) had her chance to watch the Macy's parade in color for the first time in her life.

This is one of the great spectacles of our time.

I imagine.

See, TV reporters are people who are so important that they're allowed to talk over the President of the United States, so a mere parade just hasn't got a chance.

The parade began at 9 AM, Pacific time.

After 37 minutes Valerie shut it off, barely holding back tears. The entire time had been spent watching some guy standing in front of floats and marching performances, then the camera followed him into the crowd as he went to talk to someone.



You know, while defending yourself from your government is the principal reason for the Second Amendment, the reason it comes right after the right to free press is that the Founders immediately realized that from time to time it was going to be necessary to shoot a reporter.

I want those people dead and in Hell, and I want it by Christmas.

I want it FOR Christmas.

Friday through Sunday I will be at SiliCon, a convention at the Doubletree Hotel in San Jose. It's a small convention, and a few years back it was the first that ever invited me for free, and I'll support it as long as both of us hold out.

I have two panels, one on World Building, one on Marketing Your Work. What with the agent who asked me for a novel and then refused to represent it, I have a valuable story for the latter.

Today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Pirates are people who stop legitimate shipping for the purpose of depriving those aboard of their honest earnings, thereby furthering the pirates' interests while ruining and often ending the lives of people who have done them no harm.

So:

"Save the whales. Arr."

Three years ago I sent some stories to Eleanor Wood at Spectrum Literary Agency, and was informed that while she did not do short stories she definitely wanted to see any novel I wrote.

About two years ago I started reading a highly successful series, which led me for the only time in my life to consider burning a book. I started Godspawn in late 2007.

Last month, quite literally trembling with strain, I sent the hardcopy to Eleanor Wood. Today I got a reply which said she "was not sufficiently enthused" to represent a book which: A ) was written by a member of SFWA, which she supposedly represents, and B ) took two years of effort I could have devoted to stories I know I can sell, which work I would not have done without her solicitation.

I have no idea why I am not manifesting Tourette's Coprolalia at this point.

Anyway, I submitted the ms. to the Baen Slushpile, since whether or not it is of interest to Baen Books I know this is someplace that won't jerk me around.

Currently I have an enquiry out at SFWA asking why she is allowed to describe herself as our agent if she will not represent our work.

Harlem Nocturne, by Combustible Edison.

Two different things.
Five out of six fortunes would say, "Do not read this aloud. You are being auditioned for a reality TV show. No matter what you hear your friends say for the next five minutes, just stare at them without expression."
The sixth would say, "Don't look up. I work in the kitchen. This place is part of a spy ring. Your friends have all been replaced by surgically-altered assassins to kill your nation's leaders. I can't get out, you must report this to the FBI."
Then, when the guy who got that said, "Hey, listen to this," read it, and looked up-- everyone at his table would sit looking at him with a face like stone.
8{

This message has been censored by Google at the request of the Chinese government.

New book started.
Hard SF.
Travelers find an alien device that rebuilds people to whatever specifications they wish.
The title is the old Vedic term for the time at the end of the world when all the gods kill each other.
(Does anybody besides me find it disturbing that there's a story about that in every human culture?)

Godspawn is finished, at 154085 words.

Now I just have to splice together the ms. with the appendices, print the monster out, and ship it off to Eleanor Wood at Spectrum Literary Agency, who asked to see any novel I wrote.

More work.

Jesus, I gotta get ink now.

150505.

My dragon ring.
It winds twice around my right ring finger, and weighs more than the butter a waiter will bring you in a restaurant when you ask for more.

I am so fed up with spam.

It's gone from crooked to stupid to funny to cruel.

The two kinds I hate most are:

1 ) The message from an "emerging nation" looking for "an imaginative and technically-informed person who is capable of communicating effectively", to be their new Minister of Technology;

2 ) The message from "twins who had to drop out of high school to support their family by making porn films," who say they have retired and are looking for "an educated man to live with them and provide the education they missed"-- posted from a new address every time I block one, and really irritating, although the pictures are nice.

1977:
1 ) Stay the hell away from aspirin and mint and start taking guaifenesin;
2 ) Your father is pocketing your income, get it back by threatening to report him to the IRS;
3 ) Invest the money in Apple Computers;
4 ) The love of your life lives in Mountain View, California (details of name and address added);
5 ) BUY A DAMN WORD PROCESSOR AND START WRITING. MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WANT TO READ YOUR WORK.

The Norwegian Parliament, which awarded Al Gore the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to halt Global Warming, is considering him for another, this time for his selfless work to ban the proliferation of corbomite.

1 ) I have repeatedly been hit on by female pornstars and invariably turned them down.
2 ) I am able to levitate small objects.
3 ) I can see into the near ultraviolet.

140300.

I've never been on such a roll.

The war has begun.

I've decided to post a hint about the story, one which will NOT be included in the book. The encryption is a type I've never heard of-- which proves nothing, as I'm no expert-- but it seemed sufficiently enigmatic that it might give people some exercise.

I'll even throw in another datum. The decrypted message includes spaces but not punctuation.

Here goes:

XYIQWZBJLQRKWYWETCDZWQFDEEVRRXIQ

First person to PM me with the correct answer gets to name a character in the next story I sell.

130137 words.

The threads are beginning to tie together.

Cindy Sheehan is an attention whore turning tricks on her son's grave.

I just got fed up and needed to get the word out.

The dam is broken.

120541 words.