Day 10. 65 pages, 31,823 words.
Well, I didn’t make the short-list for the Hugo Awards, not that I really had any sort of realistic hope of doing so with my tiny readership and the tiny fraction thereof who are attending Worldcon, much less signing up to nominate.
I do, however, sincerely and with misty eyes salute and thank anyone and everyone who did put one or more of the four novels I wrote in 2016 up for consideration. Thank you. My readers are the best readers. It’s just that simple. I don’t care how many of you there are, it’s quality that counts, not quantity. And that more or less sums up why I’m not upset about the Hugos, actually.
Still, anything I say about the Awards at this point will be seen (and quite rightly so!) as the sour-grapes grumbling of a sore loser, so I won’t bother myself further. Everyone likes a game when they’re in with a shot at winning. I will limit myself to repeating my enormous appreciation for everyone who cast votes for me (thank you!), giving a little jump of glee at seeing The Expanse got a well-earned spot on the final ballot (good stuff!), performing a nerdy fist-pump that the Deadpool screenplay made it into the Best Dramatic Presentation (Long Form) finalists (shoop shoop shoop!) and shaking my head in contempt at the almost complete lack of independent artists on that list (fuck you, publishing house hegemony!).
Now, I just hope Chuck Tingle gets the Hugo so he can fuck someone from behind with it in his next seven or eight kilograms of writing.
And … purge.
Oh well. Now that’s over with, I can get back to writing books.