I know, I know, I need to update my blog with some news. And there is a lot of news: my new story in Strange Horizons, the World Fantasy Award, my decision to take a break from short fiction …
I’m just too busy with this translation project right now and with actual day job. When things quiet down a bit, I will definitely update this with more news.
Thank you for thinking of me :)
2011 was a really good year for me. I broke into some great markets, published one story I’m really proud of, translated a few good Chinese stories, and got to know some wonderful writers who I now consider friends.
I just about doubled my submissions, and more than doubled my acceptances. So that’s an improvement.
2012 will be about finishing the novel(s) and getting started on that novel I really want to write. I hope it will be even better than 2011.
And I hope the same is true for you.
I’ve only carved a jack-o’-lantern once before. But I figured I’d make a fool of myself for Esther’s sake this year.
Of course, as those of you who are parents could have predicted, she was more fascinated by the newspapers we spread out on the floor to catch the mess than the pumpkin-carving process itself.
Still, I like the result.
It’s more important to feel free than to be wealthy.
This is the sort of wisdom that most teenagers understand, and that many adults have forgotten.
It’s good to be reminded of it.
When I was in high school, I used to keep a journal, a handwritten one. I put all kinds of stuff into it, most of which would embarrass me now.
Then I stopped.
This post by Alex Payne reminded me of why journaling was important:
The difference between journaling and blogging or Twittering isn’t simply that a journal is private, it’s stylistic. Good blogging is not journaling. Good Twittering is not journaling. Good journaling may have elements of both media, but journaling entails a distinct voice shared within a well-considered context.
(hat tip: Day One App.)
So I’m going to try to journal again.
Jhumpa Lahiri says what I feel, but did not know how to express:
My parents’ refusal to let go or to belong fully to either place is at the heart of what I, in a less literal way, try to accomplish in writing. Born of my inability to belong, it is my refusal to let go.
I heard her read once in Cambridge. I’m so glad I went.
The moment when you can see your grandparents’ features in your child’s face is amazing.
The human race endures.