The running of the errands

Which are much like bulls, in this case. Between being trampled by a bull or paying to overnight a manuscript to New York, I'm not sure which is more painful.

deakat and saare_snowqueen, your books are finally in the mail! Sorry for the delay.

Blood Rose Books is running an interview with me and attendant contest (scroll down, you'll find it). If you know anyone who doesn't have a copy of The Drowning City yet, they can win one there.

And now, at long last, I get breakfast, and to sit down and brainstorm on the proto-book. Word Race 2011 crashed and burned spectacularly, as is my way with races, but maybe now I can get moving again.

I was not angry since I came to France

So, this amazing vicissitude* of literature as performed by Orson Scott Card (link provided for context--I don't encourage actually reading it unless you like the taste of shit and increased blood pressure) was just brought to my attention, and while I won't comment on the work in question, this prompted me to reaffirm a manifesto of mine.

Every time bigots like OSC open their mouths--or set fingers to keyboard--in public, the healthiest nonviolent response I can muster is to write something really fucking gay. So congratulations, bigots: a few more fictional queers have just been born because of you.

Another reasonable response is to take a few moments to (belatedly) celebrate Freddie Mercury's birthday.

And my favorite tribute:

* I mean that more in the White Wolf sense than the dictionary's.