Feb. 20th, 2016

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There was a guy singing Cohen's Hallelujah down at the farmers' market this morning, so now of course I am earwormed beyond recovery - but then I don't really care for music, do I?

I see that the Nebula awards shortlist is out, and that I am once again not quite good enough. It is ... ongoingly depressing, I find, to lack the affirmation of one's peers. But this has been the story of my life, and I am used to it - and to write well is the best ... let's say recovery. If I miss both the glittering prizes and the fat purses, at least I can leave some bloody good stories behind me.

In pursuit of which, the Housman-on-Mars story is now definitively titled "Home is the Hunter, Home from Sea, and the Sailor Home from the Hill". The only question is quite how that should be capitalised; titles are awkward sometimes.

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desperance

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