In early March, I learned that my science fiction novel Collaborators had been named as a Finalist for the Lambda Literary Award. Much celebration ensued. (Feel free to do so yourselves at this point – a little celebration is good for everyone. Ready to go on? Okay!) Once the initial giddy high had subsided somewhat, the Big Question arose: whether to go to New York City to attend the awards ceremony. Many reasons to do so presented themselves. OMG how could I NOT? topped the list, followed by how many friends and relations I could visit and how long it had been since I’d had a face to face confab with my agent and my New York publisher. The reasons not to go began with I won’t win (I was right) and devolved into how can I possibly afford it? and my loathing for travel across time zones, the hideousness of the resulting jet lag, and that I always get sick when I do. I kid you not. The reason I didn’t run for a second term as SFWA Secretary was that I’d come down with bronchitis whenever I traveled beyond the West Coast. In the end, the reason that clinched my decision was the pterodactyl exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. I adore living in the redwoods, but museums are not exactly plentiful and anything paleontological generates a noticeable surge in endorphins.
Airline tickets, check. Phone calls to relatives, check. Place to stay in Manhattan with dear college friend, check! Dates with publisher, agent, and local friends, you bet. Although I typically live and work in old comfy jeans and T-shirts, I had the perfect dress to wear to the ceremony itself – a flowing silk caftan, tie-dyed in brilliant rainbow colors, a discovery from the UNICEF store in Pasadena in the early 1970s (silk endures – it’s worth the investment). As for the rest of the events – ack! I am so not a person who enjoys shopping (see above wardrobe). My neighbor surprised me with a late birthday gift, three colorful tops, all with pretty details at the neckline.
I loaded up the first-generation Kindle bestowed upon me by my early-tech-adopter daughter with Book View Café offerings, packed clothes and gifts and netbook, and hied myself hence to the airport. About the only good thing I can say about airports is that I am usually paranoid enough to arrive really early because you never know what problems may arise with security. The gods laugh at this, and cause me to be randomly selected for express passage or whatever it’s called. I didn’t even have to take off my shoes. The result was that I had plenty of time to write while awaiting my flight/s, this being the best way to screen out the sights and sounds of the airport. I still cannot understand why the seats in the waiting areas are designed to create back problems even in people with healthy spines, but they are. Maybe the interior designers are in the pay of chiropractors’ associations. I arrived in New York City with seven additional pages on my work-in-progress and figured that no matter what else happened, the trip was a success.
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I finally sat down and read the first of D. B. Jackson's "Thieftaker" novels - a warlock in pre-Revolutionary Boston. (I enjoyed it immensely - review will follow.) Here he discusses the historical background and challenges of weaving together a fantastical story with real events. Even if you haven't read the book/s, the article is worth taking a look at, if only for the richness of detail and context that any historical fantasy -- or fiction of any kind -- merits.
