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Dumb horse
Feb. 13th, 2012 08:45 pmExcuse: I felt so cold and uncomfortable by the time I got out of work.
Consequence: I forgot to stop on the way home and get a valentine card as I'd intended.
Probably not a disaster, but it's irritating nonetheless. Guess I have to get into the kitchen early tomorrow and make pink heart-shaped pancakes. ;p Fortunately I've promised him artwork but it won't be done by tomorrow.
It snowed more today, but with little accumulation. Things were nonetheless very slick and slippery for driving home this evening. Felt all afternoon as if I might be getting some bug or other, but now most of that seems to have passed.
Reading William Horwood's Duncton Wood, a long dystopic novel about moles, a bit similar to Watership Down but darker so far. This after having finished Mercedes Lackey's Changes yesterday, the latest in her long Valdemar series. It was OK, but the number of typographical errors and missing or disarranged words was distracting. I've noticed this tendency in her books before. I wonder if she refuses to let an outsider do any copy editing or proofing.
I see the FWA is going ahead with the plan to set up a series of awards in furry literature. While I agree that a juried system will be a good contrast with the Ursa Majors, which are entirely based on popular votes, having watched much of the early discussion I fear that in an attempt to be all inclusive they will make the Coyotl Awards just as ineffectual as the Ursas have become. Porn, porn and more porn does not provide a template for literary growth, any more than a diet of nothing but bacon provides the requirements of healthy nutrition.
Ah well, what I think doesn't matter.
Consequence: I forgot to stop on the way home and get a valentine card as I'd intended.
Probably not a disaster, but it's irritating nonetheless. Guess I have to get into the kitchen early tomorrow and make pink heart-shaped pancakes. ;p Fortunately I've promised him artwork but it won't be done by tomorrow.
It snowed more today, but with little accumulation. Things were nonetheless very slick and slippery for driving home this evening. Felt all afternoon as if I might be getting some bug or other, but now most of that seems to have passed.
Reading William Horwood's Duncton Wood, a long dystopic novel about moles, a bit similar to Watership Down but darker so far. This after having finished Mercedes Lackey's Changes yesterday, the latest in her long Valdemar series. It was OK, but the number of typographical errors and missing or disarranged words was distracting. I've noticed this tendency in her books before. I wonder if she refuses to let an outsider do any copy editing or proofing.
I see the FWA is going ahead with the plan to set up a series of awards in furry literature. While I agree that a juried system will be a good contrast with the Ursa Majors, which are entirely based on popular votes, having watched much of the early discussion I fear that in an attempt to be all inclusive they will make the Coyotl Awards just as ineffectual as the Ursas have become. Porn, porn and more porn does not provide a template for literary growth, any more than a diet of nothing but bacon provides the requirements of healthy nutrition.
Ah well, what I think doesn't matter.
