It was on this day in 2003 that Marja Sergina, the last known speaker of the Akkala Sami language, died. Akkala Sami was spoken in villages on Russia's Kola Peninsula inhabited by the Sami (sometimes referred to as Laplanders), an ethnic group from Northern Europe who are best known as reindeer herders.

There are more than 6,000 languages spoken in the world, and on average, one goes extinct about every two weeks. Researchers estimate that from 50 to 90 percent of those languages will be extinct in 100 years.


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It boggles the mind to think of so many languages out there. Every two weeks! How are they not being continued? Is it just from not being passed on?

• 12:11 Waiting to get my tires rotated. Good thing I've got a book. :/ #
• 12:19 Back in November, I'd mentioned the NY-VT bridge that had been found with defects. That bridge was imploded this morning and will be rebuilt #
• 20:14 Scrabble club at the diner. I've got an off round this round, so I'm having dinner! #

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Well, I've taken the paltry leverage that Teddy Bears and Tea Parties's Nebula votes have afforded me and converted it into a few introductions and approaches to more established writers that I already knew vaguely in passing.

Instead of taking what seems to be the traditional tack and asking for their vote, I asked them about the Nebula award: what are the social pitfalls, how to pursue it without burning bridges, if there's any way at all to help my chances, what help there is out there, etc. Basically an unofficial and very unscientific survey of opinions about the Nebula. And people answered. I am grateful to all of them for corresponding with me, and I appreciate every bit of their advice.

Short summary of the results: I'm a bit disillusioned with the Nebula, and so are a lot of others.

Answers ranged the gamut: from getting my hand bit once for daring to ask, all the way to a suggestion that the Nebula is hopelessly corrupt and that I should consider turning down the nomination if I got it. Most opinions were somewhere in between.

The only common thread was that everyone disliked the Nebula and believed that the only way to win it "fairly" was to not campaign.

So now I find myself in a strange Catch 22. I am new -- with no "platform", no "following", precious little "political capital", and almost ZERO "name recognition". Even in a powerful, well-circulated magazine my story is likely to be skipped or quickly dismissed. So, without campaigning (the sin beyond sins!), how do I increase my visibility?

This feels like one of my Taiji teacher's riddles. How do you campaign without campaigning?

Perhaps, like the sound of one hand clapping, there is no answer. But I will continue to smile and think positively. Because there's no harm in dreaming the big dream.

Tags: business, theory, writing

Well, I've returned from the family gathering for the holidays, a few pounds heavier. I'll do an update on the festivities (with pics) in the next few days. But for now, HELP OTHERS! Patrick Rothfuss is holding a fundraiser for a worth cause and has a bunch of DAW books up for grabs, signed by the author and such. Go check them out and then donate something to cause! I haven't researched how the bidding works or anything else yet, but I thought I'd pass the word along.

Just threw down my registration for Fourth Street Fantasy.  I had forgotten that membership rises from $60 to $75 on Jan 1, but thanks to a kind reminder of a livejournal post, now I remember. 

It's as good a time as any to save $15 for something I'm going to do anyway. 

Ben's in Moab with the goblins. And, go:

"Do not lose consciousness. That would be…unfortunate."

"Disastrous," the one at his head rumbled.

"Stay awake during the massive panic attack and through the pain. Gotcha."

The knife went deeper this time, and fire grasped his bones and twisted as the goblins chanted something in their language. He couldn't even get enough air to scream. No need for them to hold him down; he was paralyzed. The goblin carved intricate patterns into his chest while he ran an internal monologue of Don't pass out, don't pass out, this will be so much worse if I pass out, but he wasn't sure he could stay awake through this because his brain had other ideas.

Name, rank, social. That served to ground him. The goblins were helping, not hurting, although it hurt like a motherfucker. He'd been through worse. He had. He made a list of things that were worse…

And then discovered that he was wrong. The goblin with the knife ground its fingers together, and fine powder sifted into the wounds. Ben's shadow-self sank into him, and he could feel its malevolence seeping through his marrow. Darkness filled him, suffusing into his very being, out to his fingertips. "No," he gasped. That wasn't him. He didn't want it to be him. He couldn't face Janni ever again if that was him.

You know I ♥ your comments.

Tags: he's going to kill me in my sleep, new!ben&jannistory, snippets
Current Mood: bitchy

I've started mapping out some of the bigger changes for Clarkesworld Magazine's 2010 year:

• In 2009, we experimented with publishing longer stories. In 2010, we're making the change official. Our new upper word limit is 8000 words. Pay is 10 cents per word for the first 4000 and 5 cents per word after. Our preferred length is still around 4000 words, but we no longer feel the need to tie our hands with that limitation.
• For the last 18 months, Clarkesworld has been podcasting short fiction on a monthly schedule. Starting in January, we will change our podcast publication schedule to twice a month. Stories will be podcast on the 1st and 15th of each month. You can subscribe (for free) to our podcast at iTunes and Podcast Alley.
• Starting in the 2nd quarter, we will add a reprint fiction track to the magazine. Stories will be serialized from a trade paperback anthology to be published by Wyrm sometime in late 2010. Details to follow.

And that's just the first few months...

Tags: 2010, clarkesworld magazine, itunes, podcast, podcast alley, reprints, submission guidelines, wordcount

This is two weeks' worth, because we weren't here last Monday. Yay?

Last time's word count: 132,044
This week's word count: 137,324
Word count for two weeks: 5,280

Hey, look, a mile's worth. Hee.

I think this is going to be my last Weekly Word Count post for awhile. I've done well on the year (I guess) as far as the count goes, although as far as the Story goes, the thing is all over the place and I have my doubts that it will ever see publication.

I may or may not do a "year in review" type thing. It's been kind of a dismal year, writing-wise, for me. I don't really feel as though I got a lot accomplished. I may change my mind after I look at the raw numbers. Maybe.

Tags: emo posturing, weekly word count
Current Mood: cranky

I drove home at the crack of dawn on Christmas day. The real joy of Christmas is that no one is traveling at that hour--they're at home opening presents and having family breakfasts. The roads were so empty that I was able to do almost the entire trip with cruise control on, which has never happened before.

(Please note that I make the trip on the busiest stretch of highway in the USA: I-95 between Philadelphia and New York. When the driving consists of sitting in the right lane with the cruise control set at 84mph, and occasionally making an easy pass to the left, it is a rare day indeed. Normally I hate cruise control, because it is useless on highways that have more than a few cars on them.)

I got home around 9am and parked in front of the house next door. Let me note that the residential streets of New York city are mostly all tree-lined. In my mother's neighborhood, there's a strip of grass along the curb with trees in it, then the sidewalk, then the front yards of everyone's property. On December 25th, of course, the trees are all bare of leaves. The tree under which I parked is not a variety I'm familiar with--it had a few berry-like fruits of some sort clinging to it, but not many, and I figured a couple of berries wouldn't do my car any harm if they happened to drop. I have parked under this same tree many times without incident.

I go inside, greet my mom, and go to take a nap. (Tradition when I drive up so early, since I don't get to bed before 1am.) Around 1pm we are ready to head into Manhattan to my sister's apartment.

I go out to prep the car. And I discover that in the mere 4 hours since I arrived, that despite the freezing temperatures, every bird in the tri-state area has apparently come to a giant frat party in the berry tree. My car is absolutely covered in bird shit.

And not ordinary bird shit! This is technicolor bird shit. That flock of birds had tasted the rainbow, my friends, and shat it back out on my car. Blue, purple, neon green, red, orange, acid yellow, and a little bit of brown and black. Practically none of the "standard" white bird poop.

This must have been some summit meeting of birds, because nothing was consistent. Flat splats, lumpy drips, long squirts that looked as if they'd been laid under pressure... It was a thorough catalogue of things that can come out of a bird's ass.

And the amount of it... The car was covered. This was a Jackson Pollack painting of bird poop.

It was so overwhelming, so much like a joke out of a movie, that I could only laugh. Sure, I was horrified at the thought that bird poop was hardening on my car, doubtless starting to etch its way into the finish of the paint. But the sheer volume of poop was just...I don't know what prompted a convention of incontinent birds in that tree, but laughter was the only reasonable response. It's poop. It washes off. It would amuse and challenge the guys at the car wash.

Then I remembered that it was Christmas and no car wash was open.

Fortunately, it was due to rain that evening, and fortunately I was able to find street parking in Manhattan instead of having to put the car in a garage. That evening I scrubbed at the loosened poop with a broom. It rained heavy buckets of rain for the next 24 hours.

Nature gives and nature takes.

Tags: life

• 11:22 The Raritan River is up really high in Manville. There's a flood warning out - be careful. #
• 18:01 Gotta love the "whisper quiet" operation of this really noisy pasta maker. #

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