Erzähle, Muse, vom Erzähler, dem an den Weltrand verschlagenen
Today, after I finally hauled myself out of bed and finished blinking at my e-mail—fortunately, the professor wants only one serious revision in the entire paper; unfortunately, it's material I put in a footnote specifically so that I would not have to deal with it in the actual text—I checked my mail and was very pleased to discover my contributor's copies of Change, the latest annual not-Not One of Us one-off. It contains two pieces of mine, the flash "Sea-Changes" (dedicated to
erzebet, whose "Fisher's Bride" should illustrate the text) and poem "Bloodlines" (which almost certainly isn't the only vampiric Pesach poem in the history of the world, but I keep hoping), as well as a selection of other strange and changing pieces. I particularly recommend
time_shark's acid-trip epic "Tithonus, on the Shore of Ocean," Kiel Stuart's Prisoner-esque "Memory Isle," and Patricia Russo's soft-spoken and unsettling "She Takes Up Distractions." As soon as it's available from Project Pulp, I'll post a link.
In other news—
lesser_celery tree-wrestles.
kraada free-associates.
elisem songwrites.
And
schreibergasse has one of the more amusing footnotes I've seen lately, and I've seen a lot of footnotes lately.
And now I should go check on my laundry. In order to arrive in Brattleboro before noon tomorrow ("I started on a journey about a year ago . . ."), I'm looking at a six o'clock alarm and an eight o'clock bus. I'm not a morning person. I'm not a morning person. If I want to look at a sunrise, I'll stay up for it, thank you very much. But since tomorrow night I'll need my brain for storytelling and my voice for singing, tonight I must sleep. And on Monday, I return from the granite north and deliver this paper to a class full of students who actually expect intelligence from me. I figure if I can do that, I'll never have a problem with a conference in my life . . .
In other news—
And
And now I should go check on my laundry. In order to arrive in Brattleboro before noon tomorrow ("I started on a journey about a year ago . . ."), I'm looking at a six o'clock alarm and an eight o'clock bus. I'm not a morning person. I'm not a morning person. If I want to look at a sunrise, I'll stay up for it, thank you very much. But since tomorrow night I'll need my brain for storytelling and my voice for singing, tonight I must sleep. And on Monday, I return from the granite north and deliver this paper to a class full of students who actually expect intelligence from me. I figure if I can do that, I'll never have a problem with a conference in my life . . .

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It might be findable used, but I've not seen a copy about in a while--or I could just email you a copy, instead. :-)
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