Happy or Content? Happy

Man, I'm so bad at this. I need to make an effort to get words on this page everyday. It's not like I have anything else to do with my time. Sheesh.

I'm settling into that old pattern of discontent. This most frequently expresses as a desire to move, usually in radical ways. I've casually priced homes in four different states this week. Nothing will come of it.

In the mean time, I'm learning a lot about the publishing industry. Not really, but I'm being exposed to a lot of information about the industry, and some of it is sticking. Well, it's sticky at least. I've become convinced that the prize giving bodies of the industry are not functioning in the best interests of readers. If you were to take all of the stories in a given magazine for a year, and make me read them, and then ask me to select the one I hated the most, I can almost guarantee that's the one getting nominated for the Hugo. At the least, it's getting pulled into "Year's Best" anthologies and getting nods for the various lesser awards.

I'll just appeal to my readers. Selling books will be my prize, and a career of doing what I love will just have to serve as consolation.