It occurrs to me that I could use this space to tell bad beat
stories.  For those who don't know "bad beat" stories are
tales of woe about how you lost a hand you "should" have won
becuase "some idiot" got very lucky.  Everyone I know hates
hearing bad beat stories, even those who tell them.

I could tell some of mine here.

But I won't.

In general, in spite of bad beats, poker goes well enough,
and the book proceeds slowly, but not too badly.  Actually,
I'm enjoying it at the moment.  I mean, it's still at the
"grind it out" a sentence at a time point, about midway through
chapter 3, but I like it.

I'll be staying in Minnesota for the entire run of the
Renaissance Festival this year, courtesy of Mark "2 Cents"
Lazarcik and Guin who are kind enough to put me up.  That will mean
I can actually veryify that my kids still exist, and I'll
even be in town for the twins' birthday.

I want someone to walk up to Niel's Gaiman's Death and say,
"Hey, baby, kiss me with those big, wet, luscious
apocolypse."

Still reading my own stuff, making notes, and occasionally
scratching out a sentence.  It's going slow, but not badly.  I
actually cracked myself up with one of my lines, which can't
be a bad sign.

The animal (species: gigantus blancus salivatius) is
settling in well.  Poker goes well.  Onward.

I've been reading past Vlad novels as I work on the new one.

I think I write gooder now than I usta did.

A large, white, salivating thing has entered my life.

It is a kuvasz.  He is six years old.  His name is Harcos. 
He noticed that there was a bird.  The bird, on the other
hand, refused to admit that there was a large, white, salivating
thing there, and continued his dinner.

So far, so good.  I now have to see if he can be trained to
sit at my feet, stare up at me, and say, "You are the best
writer EVER!"

Yes, friends I am windows free.  Been playing with Linux for
a month or so and I'm getting comfortable with it...a lot of
stuff from when I used to work for a living is coming back,
and proving useful.

I am in the process re-reading all the Vlad books so that I
don't contract them accidentally during this one.  Only two
chapters and a bit of the third done on the new one so far,
but I'm fairly happy with it.

I've also been playing online poker some, at UltimateBet,
and doing pretty well.  I'm starting to get the hang of
no-limit.  I'm not fully comfortable there: No limit really wants a
Grant or a Lee, and, to my everlasting shame, my inclinations
are much more of a MaClellan.  But I hope increased
knowledge and experience will overcome this.  And I'm beating the
games.  Right now, I'm only seven miles from Richmond.  What
could possibly go wrong?

Back from Opuscon.  Had a splendid time, highlighted by a
Hungarian Feast by the same wonderful lady whose cooking I
enjoyed so much last year.

I feel a bit better about writers who do media tie-ins now,
after being on a panel with Kevin Anderson and hearing him
explain that, basically, most of those who do them are fan
geeks who just love playing in those worlds.  That makes it at
least understandable.

If all goes well, I should be running Linux by the end of
this week, thanks to my friend Lee who is supposed to drive
here from Phoenix and set it up and train me in on it.  If all
goes well, this should result in removing a lot of the
annoyances that have been slowing down the work.

Fingers crossed.

I have come to the conclusion that civil war general George
B. McClellan possessed all of the virtues of a general.  He
carefully guarded his flanks and lines of communication.  His
entrenchments were solid and well-manned.  His attacks were
well-planned, bold, and brutally effective.

Unfortunately, all of these virtues only applied to his
political in-fighting with Washington and other generals; if he
had fought like that against the enemy, we'd be living in a
different world today.

These reflections come from reading _Landscape Turned Red_
by Stephen W. Sears, on the battle of Antietam, which book
Bruce Schnier kindly sent me.  It is an excellent book, up there
with MacPherson's _Crossroads of Freedom_.  The trouble is,
Antietam is such a *depressing* battle to read about.  I know
I'm supposed to maintain a sort of scientific detachment,
but all I end up doing is fantasizing about going back in time
and smacking McClellan up 'side the head.  Or shooting him.

And Hallack with him.

I'll never make an historian, I'm afraid.

Had a grand time at Minicon, seeing family and old friends. 
The Line of the Weekend Award goes to Karen Cooper: "Well! 
Who died and made *this* a holiday?"

The book has picked up nicely in the last few days.  It
seems, however, that instead of being TIASSA, it has decided that
it wants to be DZUR.  Well, who am I to argue?  We'll see if
it changes it's mind again.

I'm in the process of interviewing people to be my personal
assistant.  With any luck, this will keep me from fucking up
my life as I am wont to do.  It would be easier to find
someone good if I could afford to pay a reasonable amout, but so
far, there seem to be a few students who are at least
potentially interested in a few hours a week at mininum wage.  We
shall see if this works out.

In other news, yes, I am now planning on Minicon, and
looking forward to it more than I can say.  Bless Karen Cooper, and
thanks to Nate who has agreed to loan me a guitar.

Turns a corner last night.  I'm starting to think I have an
idea where this book is going.  If I'm right, I may not
terribly enjoy writing it.  We'll see.  If it becoems too horrid, I
can always change my mind and write something different.  In
the meantime, I'm enjoying the feeling that the breeze has
freshened enough to give the thing steerage way.

Another St. Patrick's day has gone by with me unable to see
BiL.  With any luck, I'll be back in Minnesota by this time
next year.  That's the goal, anyway.

Strange little book this is being--for how slowly it's
going, it should be frustrating, but it isn't.  

Writing is like a tree.

Well, actually, it isn't at all like a tree.

I'm still in a funk about the dog, of course, but I managed
to get a bit more work done today.  It's still much too early
to say anything definite, but, so far, it tastes pretty
good.

Today I took my dog, Miska, to the vet and had him put to
sleep.  It's astonishing that I could have reached 48 years of
age without ever going through this before.  He's been with me
since, I believe, 1986.  He had a good life.  I'm a wreck.

I'll try to post something more cheeful as soon as
possible.

Well, I almost have a printer.  That is, it's here, and
plugged in.  Now, if I can just convince my computer that it
really exists.  The trouble is that I have no printer port, so
I've had to use an adapter to plug the printer in to a USB slot.
 So far, the computer is denying that there is any such
thing as a printer.  I shall continue to argue with it. 
Eventually, I will win.

Other than that, everything goes slowly.  I need to
reconfigure emacs for the new software.  Everything takes too long. 
But it moves.

I need to wax the cat.

Windows crashed again.  *sigh*  I'm now up, and using a
slightly different flavor, but of course I'm way behind on email,
and haven't gotten any work done in a few days.  <mutters
something about Bill Gates>

Should be up to speed in a few days though.  Thanks, Corwin,
for sending me the utility (again) to make log entires.

I think I write fantasy because I hate technology.

Contrary to popular myth, there were not two log entries
yesterday, only one.  But, for some reason, my web log utility
gets annoyed when I try to do an entry that's too long, so I
had to break it up.  Somewhere in the background of this the
Lord of Publications for Glorious Mountain Press is saying,
"See?  See?"

Also, that book I received for a quote was not from Tor, it
was from a particular person, and it happens that the book is
being published by Tor.  I must not blame Tor, because it
would be unfair, unjust, reprehensible, and because it turns
out that certain Tor editors read this weblog.  Don't they
have, uh, books to edit or something?

Tor sent me another book for a quote.  I won't read it.  Gah.
 In general, I love publishers, but if Joe Schmoe sent them
a manuscript telling them how wonderful the book they were
about to read is, how would they feel?  Well then, why would
they imagine I'd feel any different when they send me a book
for a quote with a cover letting saying how great it is?  I
don't want to hear how great it is.  I don't want to be
intrigued into reading it.  Dear all publishers: Try this: "Dear
<author>: We're sending you an advanced copy of <insert title>. 
We hope you like it, and hope you feel inspired to give us a
quote on it.  Sincerely yours."   That's pretty much what
they want when they get a manuscript; why can't they do the
math?

Okay, rant mode off.

Actually, I'm just in a bad mood because I had a horrid,
horrid experience last night.

I went out and got all the Stuff for a really good stir fry:
fresh ginger, brocoli, good seasame oil, &tc.; &tc.;  I took
something out of the freezer that I thought said, "cube steak"
or something like that, and when it was defrosted, it turned
out to be, well, I don't know.  Something like highgrade
hamberger.  I have nothing against highgrade hamberger, but...

Okay.  It's pain and tragedy that makes us grow.  In ten
years, I'll hardly remember this happened.

And that's enough for now.  I'll do another one in six
months or so.

Joke, Moishe.

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it?  Sorry to those of you
who care.

Work on the new Vlad novel is going slowly, but it's still
fun.  Odd combination.  It's nice to be back in Vlad's head,
though.  I don't know why, but I really like the sonofabitch.

My sister gave me a copy of _The Professor and the Madman_
by Simon Winchester, and it's a real delight for anyone who
cares about language in general and the OED in particular. 
It's all tangents, and it's all wonderful.

Hmmm...what else?  I'm now out of the financial dark ages. 
Things were pretty ugly for a while, and still aren't good,
but certainly better.  I think I'll even be able to reclaim my
treasures from the pawnshop in a week or so.

 

Take a package of rib steak (a couple pounds) out of the
freezer and slather garlic all over it.  Splash in some
worcestershire sauce, the juice of half a lemon, cilantro, basil, and
a few splashes of some really, really hot salsa picante.

When the meat has defrosted, slice up fine and sautee it in
olive oil over low heat.  Add in two finely diced onions and
one finely diced green pepper, and any hot peppers you have
around, to taste.

Cook up a cup of rice.

Take a couple teaspoons of tomato paste and mix it into a
couple cups of water.

When the meat is cooked as you like it, add in the tomato
sauce, and the rice.  Cook uncovered over medium heat stirring
often until the liquid evaporates.

Wrap in a tortilla.

Finally saw Master and Commander.  There would tons of things
to nitpick about it, but the big thing is that it really
seems to have been made by people who love the books as much as
I do. There were bits of business taken at random from
various of the books, but they were put together coherently. It was
very refreshing.  They did feel the need to put in a plot,
but I forgive them that.  All in all, I loved it.

A trying day, but, ultimately, a successful one.

At two bells of the morning watch, in moderate SSW
topgallent staysail breeze, the Linux box grounded in a moderate shoal
on a lee shore, which turned out to be a dead hard drive
complicated by a video card that was suffering from dry rot.  To
make matters worse, not half a glass later, Quar's car
turned out to have a dead battery.  With me needing to check email
and Quar needing to get to school, there was the devil to
pay and no pitch hot.

Well, we cleared for action at once and sent the hands to
breakfast, after which we signaled for AAA.

Around six bells, we beat to quarters, dismasted the box,
rebuilt her (a new copper bottom--with a decent trim she should
do very well on a bowline) and floated her.

AAA showed up, the car started, and when Quar got back from
school I was able to send the copyedited manuscript of
_Sethra Lavode_ off to Tor.  By the time I was back, the software
was up and running, and the only problem was getting the ISP
connections right.

I must say that officers and men behaved most handsomely--we
found the gateway, rigged it, gave her a broadside, and
boarded in the smoke.  By four bells of the afternoon watch we
were back on line, by which time the breeze had freshened to a
moderate gale.  I should be able to check my email before we
make landfall.

I should especially mention the efforts of Quar and Caliann
who behaved in a most officer-like manner during the cutting
out action; Doug, who handed the dog watch (so to speak); and
Lee, who provided the necessary intelligence regarding
Redhat Linux and saw to the arrangement of the hold.

All in all, it was the completest thing.

I have the Honor to Remain &c.;

Recevied copyedit for _Sethra Lavode_ and finished it
yesterday.  Now, if I could just figure out where I put the cover
letter, I'd know to whom exactly I should return it.  It's
around here somewhere....

Thanks to DDB and Caliann's friend Lee, I mostly have a
version of emacs working, which means I might actually be able to
write.  What a concept!

I've slept 12 hours the last two nights, which tells me my
body is trying to fight off some sort of bug.  It seems to be
working, as I actually feel pretty good.

Okay, the plan for the day is find that bloody cover letter
and get this returned to Tor.

The exciting news today is that my phone service got cut off.
 Again.  All you future writers out there: If you are, by
nature, totally fiscally irresponsible, you want want to
consider another profession.

Nah.

In more important news, I'm fighting to get Xemacs working
like my old emacs, so I can continue on the next Vlad novel. 
"Fighting to get xmacs working," in this context, means I've
been speaking with various experts I know.

My friend Jason, a chef at The Four Queens, was over
yesterday helping me out a bit with some food questions for the
book.  It made me hungry.

More when I feel like it.

Well, my strapping son got me a utility to open this thing,
so I guess we're back on the air, such as it is.

Since I was last here, I have a new computer, visited
Minnesota where I didn't see as much of anyone as I wanted to, and,
well, like that.

Now that I have this working again, I'll try to post to it
at least once in a while.

Thanks, Corwin.

They try to disambigufy
(Because they hate to ambiguate)
The harm it'd do us were it ambiguous
Makes us skewer each ambiguer.
(And do no less to an ambiguess)
Our tongue they sully most ambigufully
So I'll take my station on ambiguification:
"Do not slip into ambigumanship!"
Only a pig would make an ambig
For I'd rather die than ambigufy.

Moments of drama....


Just about every Civil War history mentions that moment when
Grant, just about to be confirmed as the first Lieutenant
General since Washington and to take over command of all U.S.
military forces, arrives at his hotel.

What happens?  Nothing.  The clerk says there's a room
availible, he signs the register, the clerk recognizes his name,
and gives him the best room in the house.  It really isn't all
that much.

But it really IS a moment of high drama.  The incongruity
between the pomp and circumstance one might expect and what
actually happens not only reveals a great deal about Grant, but,
in a wonderfully negative way, is terribly dramatic.

Okay, that's my profundity for the day.

Well, I've been making good progress on revisions of _Sethra
Lavode_.  I've been asked to do an introduction to a
collection of short stories by Roger Zelazny.  I'm more than a little
flattered and honored.  But I have no bloody clue what to
say.  No one wants to read three thousand words of, "But. like,
he's really good!"  I have this terrible urge to call Neil
Gaiman and say, "Here.  You write it."

But I'll play around a bit, and see if I can come with
anything.

If all else fails, I can always bring a Richard Thompson CD
to one of those places that makes karaoke CDs and solve my
problem that way...

Revisions to Volume 3 are going at a rate of about one
chapter per day.  Not too bad.  I think when they're done I'll have
to print the whole thing out (assuming the Great Printer
Problem is somehow solved by then) and do another pass.

One nice thing about putting the thing away for a couple of
months before looking at it is that you start appreciate your
own wit.  Of course, this can be carried too far.  But it's
kind of cool when you crack up a piece of writing, and then
realize you wrote it.  I recommend this feeling.

Someone wrote to my friend Will Shetterly about kicking me to
update this thing.  So Will kicked me.

He kicks pretty good.

Okay, I'm finally starting in on revisions to volume 3 of
viscount, and seem to be going at a rate of a chapter a day,
which isn't bad.  Also, the mytersy novel I'm working on with
my friend Don is proceeding well enough.

Why is it so many sf writers want to write a mystery some
day, but so few mytersy writers are rarely interested in sf?  I
guess the "trying to figure it out" thing is part of what
grabs us about sf. I dunno.

I've just re-read, for about the fifth time, Mike Ford's
About the Author for Volume Three of Viscount.  I'm not sure what
to say about it except that it's as brilliant and hysterical
as you'd expect from the guy who wrote _The Dragon Waiting_
and _How Much For Just The Planet?_.  How'd I get so lucky?

I've been invited to do a short story for Thieves World, and
I've been sort of picking away at it.  I'm really not
comfortable with short fiction.  But I have some ideas, and if I
can pull this off, it should be all right.  Of course, knowing
me, I'll probably get it down about six months too late for
the volume.

Occasionally, when bored, I contemplate interesting methods
of suicide.  Today's selection is to go to one of those places
that will remove the vocal tracks from a CD for use at
karaoke bars.  I have them make an entire CD of Richard Thompson
songs set up for karaoke, mail it to Emma Bull, and then just
wait for her to show up and shoot me in the head.  Probably
twice.

Just back from a convention in Denver, Opus.  Had a great
time.  A lot of panels with Mike Stackpole,  whose name I'm
probably spelling wrong, but we had a great time.  In general, a
really fun convention, and they treated me well.

Got to see a bunch of old friends, including a dinner with a
bunch of old friends of old friends, followed by music with
same, and my ego was thoroughly stroked.  All good.

Then, today, a wonderful lady named Eniko brought us home
for Easter dinner with her family.  Barack palinka before
dinner, Hungarian chicken soup, a mushroom dish that includes I
know not what but was beyond praise, Hungarian cucumber salad,
lamb, turkey, cabbage, masked potatoes made with sour cream,
and dessert!!!  Oh man.  Food coma.  It's been seven hours,
and I still think I'll never eat again.  And there was hardly
a word of English at the table; it was all Hungarian.  I was
in heaven.

Tonight I shall sleep the sleep of the happy and well fed.

Recipe for Piarran Mist:

In an over-sized brandy snifter (4 cups):

1 chunk of dry ice
Fill with ice cubes
3 shots (about 4 1/2 oz) Captain Morgan Private Stock Rum
1/2 shot Rose's lime juice
Fill with Ginger Ale
Dribble of grenadine

Drink while steaming

Niel called today and read me the "About the Author" he's
done for _Lord of Castle Black_.  It's brilliant.  It's
hysterical.  It's perfect.

I wish just thinking how nice it would be if I had the
bankroll to play $100-$200 hold'em.  For those who don't know, that
refers to a poker game at which the betting and raising is
in increments of $100 for the first two rounds, and $200 for
the last two rounds.  So any given hand you get involved in
might cost you a couple of thousand dollars.  If there's a
multi-way pot, it's easy to find more ten thousand dollars in the
middle of the table.

To sit down at the game and feel good, I'd want to buy in
with at least twenty thousand dollars.  Probably forty
thousand.

The experts say you should have ten buy-ins in your bankroll
for the particular game you're playing.  So that would mean
something like two hundred to four hundred thousand dollars
to play $100-$200.

If I had that, I could pay the IRS, go to Minicon, go to
Congenial, and still have enough left over to play some nice,
friendly $4-$8 hold'em.

Sure is a shame I don't have that bankroll.


 

 

This falls, I guess, under the heading of an offical
annoucement.  Much to my regret, I'm not going to be at Minicon this
year.  I hate missing it, but there is just no way to swing
it.

I'm going to rather grumpy about this for a while.  It would
be very convenient if there were someone to blame.

The Dragaera list has been discussing female role models,
which makes this a wonderful time for a rant.

<Rant On>

The whole idea of women requiring "female role models" is,
in my opinion, flawed.  That's the nicest way I can think of
to put it.

When I was younger, I had no trouble identifying with Judy
Bolten.  Insofar as I had a role model, she worked fine, at
least while I read those books.

Harriet Vane still works very well.  During the passages of
the Patrick O'Brian books where we see through Diana's eyes,
I identify with Diana.  Jane Yolen, for example, as never had
trouble making me identify with a female protagonist.

Geeez.  I hope my manliness isn't compromised.

Is the idea that someone of one sex is supposed to be unable
to indentify with someone of another?  Or that it is somehow
bad to do so?  Why?

It seems to be really popular these days (these days defined
as over the last fifteen years or so) to emphasize how
different men and women are.  We hear that we "think" differently
(without, of course, ever defining "think") and other
unscientific rubbish.  Following the unscience, we get the
pseudo-science: "Well, women use the left-brain to blah blah blah" and
all with either dubious or no supporting evidence.  And all
of the counter-evidence (such as the whole history of
mankind) is ignored.

I am a 47 year old male American who speaks English and
lives what is typicially considered a middle-class life. 
Somewhere in this town is a 47 year old woman who speaks English and
lives what is typically considered a middle-glass life. 
Somewhere in the world in a 19-year-old poverty stricken male
who only speaks, say, Persian.  Is someone claiming that I will
be able to have better mutual understanding with the latter
than the former because we are both male?

And don't tell me I'm cheating by introducing language. 
Language is the most important single factor in the
communication of thought.

And it is more than that.  One vital test of art is exactly
that it can break down trivial barriers between people.  The
Mona Lisa has proven itself because it evokes powerful
responses in people accross barriers of time, class, and culture. 
Crossing barriers of sex is almost a waste of time for the
poor dear.  It's too easy.

Keeping componay with the "female role models" theory is the
"women writers" theory.  How demeaning to Emma Bull, to
Diana Wynne Jones, to Jane Yolen, to Pamela Dean, to claim that
they are "women writers" as if that were some special branch,
some particular subset.  Remember twenty years ago?  "You're
a woman: you should write about women's issues."  "You're
black, you should write about black issues."  "You're gay, you
should write about gay issues."  Times haven't changed so much
in this regard.  So then, who should write about issues
important to all of mankind?  Geez, I guess we're left with
straight white males.

Bugger that.

So, to put it in scrictly scientific terms, I think that
this emphasis on "female role models," at least in literature,
is a lot of hooey.

<Rant off>
 

I am under orders to update my web log so that I can talk
about my toe fungus.  Unfortunately, I lack toe fungus, and thus
have little to say.

The printer is still broken.  DDB is saving my ass by seeing
to it that Volume II of Viscount makes it to Tor.

People seem to think I moved to Las Vegas from Minnesota
because of the weather.  In fact, that was no consideration at
all.  While not a fan of Minnesota winters, and even less of
Minnesota summers, they never bothered me that much.

On the other hand, the other afternoon I sat outside
drinking coffee and having a nice chat with the parrot, and only
after I came inside did I come to realize that it was the middle
of January.  So, while I didn't move for the weather, I have
to say it's rather a nice bonus, from time to time.

A year ago I mentioned spending New Year's Eve alone in a hot
tub with a bottle of champagne and some Godiva chocolates. 
This year, I forgot to buy the chocolate and forgot to chill
the champagne, but I wasn't alone.

I'd have to call that a win.

I just finished the revisions on _Lord of Castle Black_ and
am pretty happy with it.  I'll be sending the revised version
in to Tor just as soon as my printer comes back from the
printer hospital, or is pronounced daed and I get another.

I've been soundly taken to task for not mentioning _Lord of
Castle Black_ in my Weblog.  I herewith do so.

Hmm...okay, a little more than that, I guess.

It's due out in August, and I'm finishing up the revisions
on it now, and feeling pretty happy with it.

Now, if only my printer would be released from the printer
hospital, I could maybe deliver it in reasonable time.

Just reread _Sex Tips for Girls_.  Cynthia Heimel is a
walking clue waiting to be found by the clueless.

If you're going to permit yourself to be offended by a cat,
you might as well just pack it in.

Listening to music while reading is like putting ketchup on
steak.

Conjecture was absolutely outstanding.  A first year
convention, and very fannish, in the best sense of the term.  Met
some great people, had some very good panels, and was treated
like a god for the weekend.

This latter is sort of strange.  I like it, no question;
it's good for the ego.  But it's also sort of strange. 
Somewhere in my head it's still 1984, and I have one book out, and I
know very well that no one has heard of me, and I'm still
bouncing about the whole idea of being a real, live, published
writer.  The idea of people being excited to meet me makes me
want to ask, "Uh, are you sure you're thinking of the right
Steven Brust?"

But, no question, it *is* good for the ego.  

In general, I have to say it was an outstanding convention
and I had a great time.

Now I want to sleep for about ten years, and then never,
ever, leave home again.

It turns out that the convetion in San Jose this coming
weekend is actually in San Diego.  That's the last time I pay
attention to the dog.

Just received the "About the Author" for _Paths of the Dead_
written by Teresa Neilsen Hayden.  I am *so* psyched!

I've come to the conclusion that the real trick to being
successful in any field is to surround yourself with really
talented people who can not only teach you stuff, but make you
look good.  Of course, other than stumbling into them by blind
luck, as I did, I have no idea how to accomplish this.

But _Paths_ will be bracketed by work from Emma Bull and
Teresa; so I'm feeling like, even if my stuff sucks, it ought to
be worth reading just for the preface and afterword.

Tee hee.

I'm back from Minnesota, and back from the book signing in
Oakland, and almost over the cold I picked up.

It was grand to see everyone, and to do the Fest, and all of
that, but I'm terrible at these trip report things, so I
won't try.

Once I finish with this cold, I'm going to put a bit more
effort into the murder mystery, because it's starting to grab
me a bit.  And I'll also be doing revisions on volume 2 of
Viscount.  The Vlad novel is still percolating in my head, so
I'll just let it do that for a while longer.

I chatted with Neil about my upcomming rant on historical
accuracy, and came to the conclusion that, whatever is bugging
me, isn't yet formulated enough to set down, so that, too,
will percolate for a while.

I've got a comention in San Jose in a week; after that, I
won't have to leave home for some time, and can get serious
about work.  I'm looking forward to that.

Off on a long pilgrimage.  A few days in central California,
then Minnesota to catch the last couple weekends of the
Renfest.  I'll be back in early October, and maybe then I'll have
my thoughts organized for the rant in which I explain why I
think historical accuracy is over-rated in fantasy.  Yee-ha.

Hot damn!  _American Gods_ won the Hugo.  This rocks!

Page proofs for _Paths of the Dead_ have arrived, and I'm
working through them.  I'm at that stage with this book where
everything I've written sucks, and yet I'm still finding some
things that make me chuckle, which might bode well for this
one actually being okay.  I dunno.  I guess I'll know in a few
years.

Other than that, life is sweet.

Well, tomorrow (Saturday) I'll be off to Phoenix again for a
few days.  If I'm very lucky, I won't forget to call my
Charming Daughters and wish them a happy birthday.

Just got off the phone with Patrick at Tor, and we agreed,
for various reasons, that the title of Volume II of _The
Viscount of Adrilankha_ will be _Sethra Lavode_.

I'm back from a wonderful family reunion, and get to stay
home for a whole month.  Hot damn.

Did some reading on the trip.  My Uncle Ken Tilsen wrote a
book called _Judging the Judges_ which is very good, though I
had been hoping for something more autobiographical--a
fascinating man and brilliant constitutional atourney.

I also read Nikki Pill's book, _Singing, And Then_ or else
_Singing And Then_ depending on whether you believe the cover
or the spine.  A good book, full of angels and shit.  I liked
it.  There was a wonderful moment where a character explains
that a certain angels doesn't know his Of.  This is
explained a few lines later, and I thought, what a brilliant and
elegant way to deal with a potentially clumsy situation.

Now, I think I'm going to rest.

Ho, hum.  Another boring week gone by.

Last monday I brought my car--a '92 Mazda with 165,000 miles
on it--in for a new radiator.  Got it back on Wednesday, and
took it in for the smog test so I can get my new
registration, and found out the mechanic had failed to connect the fan,
so the thing was in danger of overheating any time the car
wasn't moving.  Well, no prob...I could just take care of it
the next day...

Meanwhile, a stripper friend of mine called in a panic; she
is having some sort of nasty custody battle, and needs a
permanent address, not to mention a place to stay since her motel
is kicking her out.  Okay, fine, I have a spare room.  No
problem.

So she moved in.

(And no, we're not bumping uglies--unfortunately)

Then another friend calls.  Her son is having what might be
called a medical problem.  Said son, age 14, was on a flight
to Denver when he nearly went into a diabetic coma.  The
flight made an emergency landing in St. Louis, and my friend
needed to get to St. Louis *Right now*

So...1 hour to pack and give other friends instructions on
surviving in the house while I'm gone, and I'm on the road in
a car with a marginal cooling system.

Partway to St. Louis, we learn that son has been discharged
from the hospital, so quick about, and it's off to Denver (I
knew I shoulda toined left at Albaquici).

Saw a couple old friends there while she reassured herself
that son was okay.

As my Charming Offspring might be reading this, we'll leave
out the whole Slavegirl incident.  But I did have the chance
to play part of a game of Harley-Davidson Monopoly.

Except for a few interesting moments in heavy trffic in
Denver, the car did fine.  It now has about 170,000 miles on it. 
Dropped off friend, and back home in the wee hours or
Wednesday.  Thursday is a family reunion back in Minneapolis.

So, if I haven't replied to your email, now you know why.

"...and I hope you understand why Paddy's not at work
today."

   My Girlfriend is a Pagan
  (Works to "The Yellow Rose of Texas")

My girlfriend is a Pagan, she don't believe in Christ.
Theologically suspect, but in practice rather nice.
She's been teaching me her favorite fertility rites.
And every time I learn one, I yell out, "Jesus Christ!"

My girlfriend is a Pagan, I truly have been blessed.
I don't mind the pentagrams, or the lack of rest.
We've been doing all we can to see the crops don't fail;
If when I die I meet with Pan I'll shake him by the tail.

My girlfriend is a Pagan, I guess she is a witch.
She prays to her Goddess while wearing not a stich.
She says incense and crystals give her mystic energy,
And she has to use it somewhere, which works out best for
me.

My girlfriend is a Pagan, who could ask for more?
At the altar she's a heathan, in the bedroom she's just
fine.
I'm happy as a pig in shit, what more can I say?
My girlfriend is a Pagan, and I'm learning how to pray.


(c) 2002 by Steven Brust

The term "conspiracy theories" has been thrown out a great
deal in political conversations I've been overhearing.  I think
the first time the phrase struck me as especially odd was
during the Gulf War.  There was a report that a certain U.S.
diplomat had said things to Hussein that triggered the invasion
of Kuwait, followed by speculation that this was deliberate,
and counter-accusations of conspiracy theories.

Since then, I've been hearing it more frequently.  The most
recent presidential election, the attacks on September 11th,
and so on.

Here's what I've been thinking:

To believe that human history is controlled by a secret
cabal who are the real power behind all governments is, to use
precise scientific terminology, to be a whacko nut case.

Okay, fine.  But turn it around for a moment: Is there
anyone so naive as to believe that a government is going to tell
the whole truth to the population at all times?  I don't think
so.  Are deals and arrangements, affecting the lives of many
people, made by powerful individuals?  Obviously.  Every
time the board of directors of a corporation has a meeting that
results in a factory closing this happens.  And certainly
government does it--modern government could not do its job
otherwise.

It does not take a belief in conspiracies to observe that
groups of people have common interests, and will thus tend to
favor similar things.  To believe that some of these groups
are powerful and have greater influence than others requires no
stretch.  To imagine some elements of them getting together
and making plans from time to time doesn't strike me as
absurd.  Take it a step at time.  At some point, you reach the
ridiculous; but exactly where you get there is open to debate.

Where ought one to draw the line between whacko conspiracy
theories and considering  the possibility that certain
decisions were made by powerful individuals who did not choose to
let it be known they made them?  I don't know the answer; I
suspect one ought to take it on a case-by-case basis.

Did JFK die by a large conspiracy of the CIA and the Mafia? 
Hell, I don't know.  I think the most significant thing
about that is that such a huge proportion of the population of
the United States feels that such a conspiracy is
possible--that fact tells us a great deal about how Americans feel toward
their government, which information is, to me, more
fascinating that even knowing what the answer would be.

But here is what bothers me: throwing out the phrase,
"conspiracy theory" is to dismiss an idea without giving it
consideration.  This has been done in cases where it is obviously
inappropriate, and the kindest thing one can say about this is
that it is intellectually sloppy.  Perhaps it is a conspiracy
to conceal the truth--no, forget I said that.  :-)

I sometimes think that if the Watergate scandal were to
break today, it would immediately be labeled a "conspiracy
theory" and dismissed out of hand, instead of investigated.

There are people who believe the moon landing was faked. 
These people ought to be answered.  The absurdity of this
notion should be made clear.  The counter-arguments should be
presented.  The passive voice should be avoided.  (Sorry).  But
it is terrible mistake to just say, "conspiracy theory" and
then believe the answer has been given.

Did elements of the U.S. Government have advance knowledge
about the attacks on September 11?  Which elements?  How high
did this information go, and how much detail did they have? 
These are rhetorical questions--please lets not get into
that.  My point is, these are *reasonable* questions, and to
simply say, "conspiracy theory" and toss them aside is
unscientific, and does a disservice to anyone whose interest is in
discovering truth.

Well, I'm off to Indianapolis, for Inconjunction.  Back on
Monday.

Thanks to a tip by Beth Meacham, I now have SETI at home
working.  When I'm not busy with something, my computer is
crunching away looking for extra-terrestrial intelligence.  This is
all science-fictiony and shit.  I loveit.

If this were a good example of the subjunctive, I'd be
pleased.

No, wait.  Uh...condition *not* contrary to fact.  Doesn't
work.

If this was a good example of the subjunctive, I'd be
pleased.

No, wait...

The more I history I learn, the more I discover how
inter-connected it all is.  I realized a while ago that I couldn't
hope to understand the American Cvil War without knowing at
least something about the American Revolution; now it seems that
it is impossible to understand the American Revolution
without some understanding of the English Civil War.  That is, a
great deal of the outrage on the part of the colonists toward
the mother country was that they were being denied rights as
Englshmen, and many of these rights were established by the
interactions between king and parliament that followed the
beheading of Charles I.

But I think I'll spend a bit more time with Redcaots and
Minutemen before I venture off to Cavaliers and Roundheads.  I
wonder where *that* study will lead?  The Magna Carta?

I've finished Charles Beard's _An Economic Interpretation of
the Constitution of the United States._  I decided to read it
because I figured any book that has that many historians
frothing at the mouth (including the guy who wrote the
introduction to my edition) must be interesting.  I was right.  And he
seems a lot sharper than any of those I've read who blasted
him.

I'm now starting a biography of Benjemin Franklin, whom I
have decided was officially a Cool Dude.

Off to Phoenix to visit my favorite bird store, and then to
Tucson to visit Beth Meacham and Tappan King, and maybe even
see Terri Windling.  When I get back, probably Monday, I will
probably not do a trip report because I suck at those.  But
then, I might.  You never know.

I skimmed through Neil Gaiman's weblog.  For anyone who
hasn't read it, do (the same applies to his stories, but that goes
without saying).  Interesting stuff, but my over-all
reaction was gratitude for what I have--or, rather, what I don't
have.

I don't have so many fans that I'm liable to run into nut
cases, that I have to worry about the organization of book
signings, that I have take extraordinary measures to get some
peace to work, that I have to keep my address a secret.

I mean, knowing that many people take pleasure in one's work
must be a joy.  But I don't think I could take all the stuff
that goes along with it.

Well, I now have most of the outline for my new poker book:

Chapter 1. How to slowplay until you're beat and then check
raise.
Chapter 2. Drawing dead and getting there.
Chapter 3. How to bluff the nuts into the guy who has them.
Chapter 4. How to prevent bad beats by always going in with
the worst hand.
Chapter 5. How to put your opponent on a hand you can beat
so you can call.
Chapter 6. Chasing with overcards and other loss leaders.
Chapter 7: Bad call justifications:
   A) I was in the blind, so I was already half in.
   B) They were suited
   C) My good hands are getting beat, so I have to play this
stuff.
   D) In a game like this, you can't win playing just the
good cards.

Appendix: Lecturing your opponents on how you would have won
if they'd played right.

Finished another pass of revisions on volume one, and, thanks
to Corwin, sent it in electronicly.  I'm gonna take a bit of
a break before starting in on volume 2, which promises to be
bear to revise.

Yesterday I was sitting next to a drunk in the 4-8 Hold'em
game at the Palms.
"What do you do?"
(Q6--muck)
"I'm a writer."
"What do you write?"
(KT offsuit--muck)
"Novels"
"What kind of novels?"
(J7--muck)
"Science fiction/fantasy."
"Oh.  Uh...I know it's kind of personal, but how much do you
make per book?"
(93--muck)
"Enough to make a living, not enough to date a cocktail
waitress."

The Scribblies heroically went over my whole bloody
three-volume book over the last few days, so I'm ready to tackle
revisions.

"A person should not laugh so much in the presence of
someone trying to read Kierkegaard." -- Pamela Dean Dyer-Bennet

"A little bit of coughing blood goes a long way." -- Will
Shetterly

Brust's first law of history: Military historians are at
their best when giving the names of field officers killed in
battle, and at their worst when trying to assign motives for the
decisions of general officers.

Brust's second law of history: If you think an entire social
class did something stupid, you're being stupid.

I wrote a set of song lyrics for the first time in a few
years; I don't know where they came from, or if they're any good,
but it's interesting that it happened.  Usually, I don't
tend to have ideas for songs unless they have some outlet. I
sent them off to Adam.

Other than that, I've been shooting down a lot of German
airplines, and playing the best poker of my life.  The poker has
felt awfully good.  Alas, it has mostly expressed itself in
maintaining my emotional balance in the face of some apalling
bad luck, and so there hasn't been any profit in it.  But
the really strange thing is that, even though losing over the
last week or so, I've been very much enjoying playing.  Of
course, if the bad run continues it will probably stop being
fun, but then, of course, I have the option to lay off playing
for as long as I feel like it.

A few months ago, while this web log was down, I had one of
those experiences I've heard about ever since I started
writing, but had never had.

I was about halfway through Viscount and I knew something
major had to happen that would set up the whole second half of
the story, but I didn't know what it was.  I went to bed that
night, and woke knowing what had to happen.  It was an
amazing experience.  I was sitting at the machine writing before
the coffee was done, which is a first.

Anyway, Viscount is done now.

Things seem to be working again.  Thanks Corwin.  Thanks
David.

More anon.

Well, hoo-hah!

After a few weeks of irritation with my ancient DOS word
processessing program, I actually looked at it, and, wonder of
wonders, fixed it.  Somehow the file sp.ovl had been set to
"read only."  So I changed it, and everthing works now.  Of
course, some unkind persons might suggest that after repeatedly
getting the error message, "sp.ovl -- access denied" I could
have thought of this several weeks ago.  Feh on them.  I can
print again.  And chapter 42 is done.  We're on a roll.  I
wonder how long it will last.

The big news is my dishwasher broke, and I had to buy a new
one.

In the life of the writer, this is called, "glamour."

Getting a bit more work done, though.  I'm about halfway
through chapter 42.

In the life of the writer, this is called, "progress."

The good news is I finished chapter 40, the bad news is I
fear the sprint has finally, alas, died the big death.  Access
denied on sp.ovl.  I don't know what it means, but none of the
obvious fixes (renaming sp.ovl, hard and soft reboots,
closing unnecessary buffers) did anything.  It's hardly a
catastrophe, but might mean I'll have to get a new printer (for
reasons too complex to explain).

That old, crotchety piece of ms-dos software, combined with
emacs in various forms and versions, got me through more than
ten books; I'm sorry to see it go.

On January 1st, 1988, I resolved that I would never again
make a New Year's resolution.  So far, I have held to this vow
prodigiously.

At about 11:50 I climbed into my hot tub.  I had a bottle of
Mumm's champagne and a box of Godiva chocolates.  It was
quite pleasant.  At midnight fireworks began from the
Stratoshere, or somewhere in that direction.  I watched for five
mimnutes or so, then got out.  Turned out there were a bunch of
neighbors watching the fireworks from the house next door.  I
have no doubt the fireworks were a bigger thrill for them.

I don't believe in omens and such things, but I figured what
the hell and wrote the beginning of chapter 40.  Then I
noticed the champagne kicking in and stopped.

There was a message on my machine from Mark and Guin.  It
must have come in while I was out earlier, and I just noticed
it.  I guess it's too late to call them now.  That's too bad. 
I'll call them tomorrow.

It would be nice to have someone to share the evening with,
but it really was fairly pleasant, and I got some work done.

I feel pretty good, all in all.

Happy New Year.

Finally finished Christmas shopping.  Everything should
arrive on time, though I'm a bit worried about Carolyn's present
being late.

Finished the draft of 38.  I *think* the thing may be
starting to pick up steam.  I'd hold that opinion more strongly if
I had any idea what was going to happen in 39.  But why
should this chapter be any different?

I am starting to feel those hold tinglings, though--that
sense of knowing what the shape is, and getting excited to find
out how it all works out.  It's just starting, but, for the
size of this bloody thing, I guess that makes sense.

Anyway, back to work.

My son just discovered that, in order to burn a CD rom from
my removable drive, I have to first copy the data to my
regular hard drive, then massage it, and then make the CD rom.

In other words, as the Huns learned centuries ago: rape,
pillage, THEN burn.

There are two things in life I will never pay for: sex, and
Microsoft products.

Well, okay, maybe someday I'll pay for sex.

If I were to stop doing email first thing when I wake up, my
email would be more coherent.

This is today's revelation.
Chapter 37 is done, and seems to have come out okay. 
Corwin's friend Angelo is here, so the last several days have
involved a lot of poker, a great deal of re-wiring the house
(ethernet, a failed effort at x-t10 video, some speaker plates,
some co-ax) and no writing at all.  I should be getting back to
work tomorrow, however.

Had a fine old time at Exoticon.  New Orleans--excuse me,
"Nawlines" is not a city to take lightly.  Vegas wants your
money, but New Orleans won't be happy with anything less than
your soul.  On the other hand, they give good value for it, so
it might be worth considering.

Nipped out a couple of lines today, should do more tomorrow,
though it'll be slow for a week or so because my sister is
visiting.  I'm in a bit of a funk for reasons not worth
mentioning, but I'll get over it. 

All in all, I had a splendid time at Exoticon.  It's always
a blast to do panels with Neil, and I found a lot of people
who asked serious questions.  That's a big plus.

Off to a convention in New Orleans tomorrow.  I'm quite
looking forward to it.  I seem to be getting about 1-2 pages a day
done, which is, I think, okay for this stage of the book;
especially because I'm pretty happy with it.

The convention managed to book me 7AM flight.  I'm not sure
how that happened.  I need a personal assistant.  The instant
Spielberg calls and offers me uncounted millions for movie
rights, I'm going to hire one.  In the meantime, I guess I get
stuck on 7AM flights from time to time.

But Neil is going to be there, which makes up for a
multitude of sins.  I see on the schedule that they will be having a
"slave auction."  Maybe I can buy a personal assistant.

Maybe it's the prospect of seeing Neil again, but for some
reason I've been missing Roger Zelazny a lot these last few
weeks.  I really want to sit down and talk to him about
writing, and about Stuff. 

Neil and I, along with Walter Jon Williams, have been called
Roger's bastard children, literarily, and it's a title I
wear with pride.  I wonder what would happen if the three of us
tried to write a book together?  Given how differently we
approach things, it would almost certainly be a catastrophe, and
not very much fun either.  Kind of cool to think about,
though.  The big problem is that I write in 6/8 time, whereas
Neil, like Roger, often writes in 2/4, and Walterjon writes in
complex East African polyrhythms--when we got done, *no* one
could dance to it.

Meanwhile, the good-but-unreliable fellows doing the complex
rewiring job didn't show up again today.   They are supposed
to be done, or nearly done, when I get back from NO, but I'm
not putting any money on it.  It would be nice
though--co-ax,  speaker lines, and cat 5 running all through the house. 
That'll be fun.  If and when.

The book is going good at the moment, I think I finished the
draft of Chapter 36 today, but I'll have to go over it a few
more times to be sure.  It feels pretty good--some Morrolan
stuff I like a lot.

It's pretty cool having Corwin living with me.  And, hey, he
keeps the machine running.  This is good.

Got a page written so far and paid a bunch of bills.  Now I'm
going to go run to the bank.  God, the glamorous life of a
writer.

Found a minor problem in the fix of emacs: we forgot to turn
on word-wrap, so I have to hit the command each time I
finish a paragraph.  Not a big pain, and easily fixed.

I'm doing the required precis of Volume 1 that begins Volume
2.  Paarfi, of course, is being Paarfi.  The sonofabitch is
completely out of control.

I dreamt that I was windows free
And data flowed in streams
From you to me, my ISP
All flawless in my dreams.

All the work I chose to do
To know was but to ask;
Handshake and smile, and all the while
Ran on each Linux task

I awoke to truth with throaty scream
Of frustrations, pains, and hates;
Once more to earth I soundly cursed
All windows, doors, and Gates.

It's a Wednesday, and I'm about to go see the Smothers
Brothers, playing the Orleans here in Vegas.  Corwin, the Fruit of
my Looms, has my computer working again, and I've actually
gotten some work done.  I now have a draft of the first third
of THE VISCOUNT OF ADRILANKHA.  I would really like to finish
a draft of the whole thing before sending any of it in, but
I'm not sure if this will be practical.

What the hell.  So far, I'm having fun with it.

I think I'm going to be pretty much abandoning Sprint, my
old (unsupported) word processor except for everything but
printing, and just do the work in emacs.  I like emacs.  I
especially like emacs with all the grovvy shit DDB has put into it
to make it friendly for writers.

Not much news other than that, except that Corwin has me
doing a web log.  I don't know what a web log is.  I don't know
how to do a web log.  I suspect I never will.  It is all too
confusing for me.

It is all true,
It is not true.
    The more I tell you,
    The more I shall lie.
What is story but jesting Pilot's cry?
I am not paid to tell you the truth.

          From, "The Storyteller"
          By Jane Yolen