May 22nd, 2009

hangin out with the dream king

Doing Where I Write has never seemed like work, but right now it feels like whatever the opposite of work is.

Neil Freaking Gaiman is a gift to the Earth and we're all lucky to have him here. Me especially so.



(This is not, in case you were wondering, where Neil Gaiman writes. For that, you're going to have to wait for the Worldcom program guide.)

so tired ... so ... compelled

I spent much of the afternoon with the wonderful Lois McMaster Bujold who is very awesome. Her Nebula's and Hugo's are scattered about the house in basements and guest bedrooms. "My first Nebula I got when living in a very small apartment. I didn't have a dish washer, so I put it in front of the sink so that I could look at it while I was doing dishes."

I was up late last night watching inexplicable British TV with NFG and drinking scotch made before I was born. My body wants to go to sleep right now, but my mind is telling me that the light is really good. There's a woodpecker outside my window. This place is magic. It really is, it's like a city block that got lifted up out of the Earth and hung in some fairy land in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

I've met all the cats but one who is awol in the attic. Princess slept in my bed all night last night and I made it around her this morning. She didn't move -- just looked up and said "oh, making the bed eh? I'll take care of this part in the middle."



dd_b posted these photos of me photographing Pamela Dean (honestly I was doing a bit more drinking than photographing). You can see them here.
  • Current Music
    a woodpecker chopping down a tree