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.

Rounding the corner, heading for home.

Slowly, and sometimes even surely, I've finally reached the home stretch in my first draft of my next book, A Sister to Butterflies. One more chapter, then an end cap that's already all but written, and then I can ... start all over again.

Not before finding out the preliminary word count, though; that's my usual reward to myself for finishing a piece. And not before indulging in a drink or two with a friend or three.

Lemme know if you're not busy.

The warrior lives.

I just found out that my dear friend and mentor, author Joel Rosenberg, has died.

I'm a bit stunned right now, a lot sad, and thus at the moment more than lacking in the way of offering any sort of memorial. So for right now, I'll simply rely on what Joel himself used to advise: Just say "thank you."

Thank you, Joel.