Day 35. 30 pages, 14,732 words.
Shit, I have no time for anything in-depth now, I’m going to enjoy my weekend as much as possible.
The Hugo finalists are now up for election by Worldcon members. I had a moment of petulance where I was just going to vote for Chuck Tingle and tell every other category and finalist to fuck off because I don’t care about the Hugos, but in the end I gave them a fair go.
I still have my extreme doubts about the “it’s about quality” concept for the Hugos. It still seems that, sure, quality is important but to even get your foot in the finalists’ door you need to have quantity, and by that I mean “quality in terms of your work, quantity in terms of viewers, pluggers, backers, and people talking about you”. And I don’t have that.
Nothing for it but to work on getting it. And forget about the Hugos in the meantime. In terms of importance, they just dropped back to basically zero in relation to my actually writing books. Fuck ‘em.
I also got probably-accepted into some part or other of the Worldcon program. So that’s exciting. Maybe I can drag the enormous chip on my shoulder about independent publishing and popularity contests and all the bullshit that comes with attempting to create something and live while doing it, and take part in a panel on the subject.
Sounds like fun.
I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends.
Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages?
I am Hatboy.
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