The best to those who dream and work.

Yesterday I received my author's copy of Sky-Tinted Waters, the latest anthology from MinnSpec in which my yarn, "The Milkshake Story," appears. Nice looking book; Sam's Dot Publishing did a great job. But don't just take my word for it. Order a copy and see for yourself.

My thanks to the MinnSpec folks for not minding my tenuous-at-best Minnesota ties and letting me into the club. And to Michael Merriam, for his mercifully minor yet incisively agile editing job — the few finishing touches the story needed to make it that much better.

Hey, look! A blog entry!

Yes, I know, keeping my blog up to date isn't going to be the thing on my tombstone for which others remember me most. And speaking of tombstones, part of the reason for my absence as of late has been a lingering and particularly depleting bout of pneumonia, from which I finally seem to be on the upswing. Truthfully, though, I have to admit that sometimes posting here feels a bit redundant given how quick and easy it is to update folks via other venues, such as Facebook — especially since this blog gets reposted there as well. As with most things, though, I'm sure there's a balance to be struck someplace, somewhere.

The weekend before last had me at MidSouthCon, kinda. My illness kept me away from most of the panels for which I was scheduled, though I was able to attend the banquet Saturday night, where I'm proud to say my novella, Path of an Arrow, received the 2012 Darrell Award for Best Novella. On top of that, as is usually the case with such events, I got to see some friends I hadn't seen in a while and make a few new ones. In particular, a disgustingly, obnoxiously accomplished Marine and fellow writer, Janine Spendlove, and who is now an official hero of mine.

Meanwhile, combing through A Sister to Butterflies continues. Plus, I'm gearing up for an appearance this summer at FandomFest in Louisville, as well as their shindig down in Birmingham this November.

More soon. And not, like, four months soon.

There is but one art, to omit.

This past Saturday evening I met with the second of the two reading groups I'd snookered into taking the rough draft of my novel, A Sister to Butterflies, out for a spin. Unlike the first gathering of folks, who by design leaned a bit more toward a preference for fantasy and science fiction, this second group was comprised pretty much of straight and narrow mainstream readers — also by design, thinking as I do that the book has potential for a wider readership than the relatively niche audience of my first, A Mage of None Magic. And, I'm happy to post that I wasn't disappointed. The book seems to have been very well received, even unpolished as it is for the moment. The discussion was thoughtful, honest and in the end very encouraging. While everyone had different parts they liked more than others, everyone pretty much agreed on what needed fixing — thankfully, the same things both I and previous group had decided needed fixing as well — and that overall I'd concocted a really nice story. So, bolstered and buoyed, it's time to crack open the red felt tips and set myself to lopping. And afterward, hopefully, to fling this one out into the world.

It would be so nice if you weren't here.

Come take part in an experiment in terror called Virtual Con! November 11-13 will see an online gathering of writers and artists of all sorts and shades unlike the world has ever known!

Well, at least unlike any I've ever seen before, so check out the website and register to attend. I'll be taking part in a round table discussion on Saturday, November 12 at around 9:00 a.m., and then at 11:30 the next morning I'll be reading from an exciting piece of mine that … I've yet to select.

So come by, explore — in your jammies and slippers if you want — and help get this first Virtual Con off to a terrifical start.

Give before a sleeping giant.

Fantasy fans! The Fall of Dorkhun, the third book in D.A. Adam's terrific The Brotherhood of Dwarves series, is available for preorder from Seventh Star Press! Support small press and order your copy (or the whole series!) today.

Happily in the dent.

Steve Jobs died a little more than an hour ago.

I can't tell you the number of Windows vs. Macintosh arguments I had between 1990 and 1995, the years when what platform you preferred placed you fervently in one camp or the other — on this side or that of a chasm that could not be easily bridged. The debate was even a good-natured point of contention between my father and me, who was for all his wonderfulness nonetheless a staunch disciple of Bill Gates.

Though my entire professional life has been defined by the inventiveness of Steve Jobs and his brilliant minions, I admit there were times — especially during Apple's lean and lowly days — when I wondered whether folks on the other side might know something I didn't. And then I came across this picture, which not only told me everything about Steve Jobs I would never actually know, but also laid to rest any and all doubts about in which camp I belonged.

Thank you, Steve, for everything. I am insanely grateful.

An instinct for sketching.

Not five minutes ago I signed the contract that will place my short story, "The Milkshake Story," in the forthcoming anthology, Sky-Tinted Waters. The book is being collected and edited by the Minnesota Speculative Fiction Writers, and is slated to be published by Sam's Dot Publishing in March 2012.

A very satisfying notch on the belt.

Stay away from the brown acid.

I'll be appearing at Bookstock, the Memphis Area Authors Fair on Saturday, October 1, from 10:30 a.m. to 1 p.m at the Benjamin L. Hooks Central Library. Come by, say hello, let me sign for you a book or three, then stick around for a live taping of the Booktalk radio show with Mark Greaney, author of the bestseller, The Gray Man and, as it happens, brother of Trey Greaney, a high school classmate of mine — if you'll pardon the shameless namedroppy attempt at association building.

See you there!

An undesired symmetry.

In my novel, A Mage of None Magic, there's a scene where the main character, Niel, receives a spellbook as a gift from another character, Arwin. The book once belonged to a dear friend of Arwin's and Niel is profoundly touched by the gesture.

In a few lines of dialogue that fell to the editor's axe, upon realizing the significance of the gift, Niel stands, folds his hands as he bows his head, and says:

"That which belonged to my predecessor I take as my own. I shall endeavor that it might do service to both our names."

In my story, that was the traditional oath when an apprentice magician accepted the property or status of his teacher, and it seemed to Niel the appropriate thing to say.

Last June, my friend, mentor, and fellow writer, Joel Rosenberg, unexpectedly died. Joel authored more than twenty books, and his work was the driving force behind my wanting to try my own hand at storytelling. In fact, Joel did me the honor of providing the cover quote for Mage.

A few days ago, I received a box in the mail from Joel's wife, Felicia. Inside were books from Joel's personal research library — obscure, musty, wonderful volumes on blacksmithing, military tactics, knighthood, fairy tales, and so forth. I couldn't help smiling as I thumbed through the treasure trove, fascinated to recognize the obvious sources for assorted key elements in some of Joel's stories — a peek behind the curtain, as it were. At the same time, my heart filled with heaviness, because there's little I wouldn't have given not to have had the opportunity to take that peek.

I cannot convey how honored I am to have been deemed worthy of such a bequest, nor the humility and inadequacy I feel to have received it. In many ways it's not unlike trying on your father's shoes and marveling at their impossible giganticness.

I can't even say for certain that the significance of the gift has really sunk in for me, perhaps as it might have been for Niel. But I can say for certain the sentiment is very much same:

That which belonged to my predecessor I take as my own. I shall endeavor that it might do service to both our names.

And … scene.

So, yesterday, I finally finished the first draft of my second novel, A Sister to Butterflies. And, if I do say so myself, I think it's in pretty good shape as far as first drafts go.

When I set out to write it, I decided on an approach similar to how Dickens published many of his works — as newspaper serials, printed one chapter at a time; my goal being to make each chapter as tight as possible before going onto the next, with each chapter moving the story along in an equally significant manner. I've yet to read through the entire book, so the thing may very well turn out to be chock-full of massive plot holes and one wreck of a sentence after another. But I gotta tell you, I'm enjoying the solidity of the sense of completion I have in this, the immediate afterglow.

What was strange, though, was to go to bed last night and for the first time in years not have to think about how in the world whatever needed to happen next in the story was actually going to happen next. That part's done. The story's been told; it has a beginning, a middle and an end.

Now comes the hard part: Taking a story I wanted to tell and sprucing into a story you'll want to read.