So very sure his father was always, of the right and the wrong

This time last year, I was on a plane returning from D.C., enthusiastically underslept and thinking about Sherlock. This year, my god-daughter's birthday was Arisia Saturday and one of us needs to cross state lines in the near future. She is three years old now; I am informed there was a pirate party. I should just have recorded myself singing "Captain Kidd" or something.

Desktop note! This one dates from April 2010, when it looks as though I promised it to asakiyume as an expansion on comments ("By the same token, a few months ago I re-read The Grey King for the first time in literally I don't know how many years and realized that while I could have reconstructed the basic plotline, numerous visual and mythological details, and even quoted some of the text from memory, I had not at all remembered a major supporting character past his plot function and I was flabbergasted, because he was precisely the sort of character I would have expected to imprint on") and then failed to follow through, the usual. I was prompted to dig it up again by something genarti said at the YA panel "Strong Stories with Strong Parents" on Sunday. We were both talking about Owen Davies.

( When I found you here in this place, I should have known such things were happening. )

My story "The Boy Who Learned How to Shudder" is in this anthology. I am greatly looking forward.