Writer and Editor C.B. Calsing/ G.G. Royale

The week started with several rejections, which -- when added to the whole going-back-to-work-at-the-end-of-summer thing -- sort of made me a smidge moody. But later in the week, I got two notifications that some stories of mine are being held for further consideration. That sort of eases things over. I just wish I wasn't so brain dead from the day job that I could get some more writing done too. Of course, the other reason this time of year is difficult is because of the anniversary or Katrina. Last night, my husband and I walked a few blocks to pick up some barbecue at The Joint on Poland Avenue. It's right next to the Naval Support Activities building. It had rained all the day -- dreary and steady, more suitable to the Northwest than here -- and to the west, the sky was a sliver of brilliant blue, and clouds just above that golden and pink, and then gray covering the rest of the heavens. A breeze blew down Royal Street, and the temperature was just such that I considered ...

Elson heard his Minder ping and refocused. He saw the ball arcing toward him and managed to snatch the pop fly out of the air. He grinned into his leatherette mitt. He heard his coach shout, “Nice work!” from the dugout, and Elson hustled in from the outfield with the rest of his team. After a few pats on the back, he picked up his gear and headed home. His thoughts raced. Here it was okay; he didn’t have to focus unless a car came, so the Minder let his mind run in laps like an excited dog. Elson took in everything, but remembered nothing. His eyes darted from a blade of grass to a butterfly to a parked SUV then down to the toes of his shoes. He thought about microwave popcorn and multiplication and his latest X-Box Infinity game. His thoughts moved like a moth batting against one bulb, then the next, in a string of Christmas lights But when his hand touched the front door of his house, his minder pinged. Elson’s racing thoughts stilled, and he ran through the list that had been co...

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I love writing sci fi, and I feel even better about it when it get's accepted. "Tangwen's Last Heist," a space pirate story about a captain tangled up in the intricacies of interstellar war, is in Zero Gravity , so I hope you'll pick it up. In other news, I've been commissioned to write a screenplay. This will take up my time for the next, oh, six months. I'm thrilled to have been included in a project like this, and can't wait to see the finished product. I've not written a serious screenplay. I wrote a short a few years ago, just to sort of prove to myself that I could do it, but this situation is completely different. I mean, I have someone who will actually make this film in the end, if I don't totally fuck up the story. That's a lot of pressure.

Steampunk, rave, and paintball enthusiasts will be the ones to survive the nuclear holocaust. This is so because they are the ones who own the goggles now, and everyone in the future seems to have goggles. Some skiers and welders may also survive. Also people that buy scarves at Urban Outfitters and the Gap because people in nuclear holocaust films wear those scarves with their goggles. People will always resort to eating other people. No. Matter. What. Men will always resort to raping women. No. Matter. What. Despite fact four, women will still dress in really skimpy, really sexy clothes -- like leather bras, miniskirts, high-heeled leather boots, torn fishnets, etc -- rather than trying to disguise themselves behind goggles and scarves to avoid getting raped. People will wear leather pants, even though they chafe and stink really bad when you don't shower often enough. Doc Martens, army boots, and motorcycle/ engineer boots stop lasting ten or fifteen years after the holoca...

Well, first off my taro and beans are doing quite well despite the oppressive heat here in the South lately. It's been just awful. The bees too are getting comfortable. They'd built some comb in the wrong place, and haven't moved out of the cardboard box their temporary hive was in and out into the top bar hive, but I put a hole in the back of the box so they can be all "Oh man! Look at all this real estate back here!" rather than thinking the box inside the hive was all the space they had. This week marked two milestones for me. First, I've earned a grand as a writer. Yes, when you add everything up over the last few years, I finally cleared $1000. So I could live, oh, about a week and a half on that. If only I'd saved it all... Second, I received the token advance for All Along the Pacific.  That means the contract's in, the artwork's in, and I've been paid. I guess a book will happen! I still can't believe it, really. Perhaps I shoul...