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Because he sends me shit like this. That is just frickin hilarious.

Two hours in, while working on a short story I was going to submit to an anthology, I got the Blue Screen of Death. It told me to restart. So I did. And got the Gateway logo and then… dark screen. Nothing. And an odd clicking noise. I restarted it again. And again. And again.

Oh my sweet computer, how do I love you, let me count the ways! Nice turnaround time from Gateway, of all places…

What my mom sent me to cheer me up: and: My mom is awesome.

Had a story of mine make it past the first cut over at Intergalactic Medicine Show. Card makes the final cut. That would be so ironic on so many levels. But then, I thought this was ironic, too, when I sold it. See, I do have some stories where there’s very little violence and no

No, no, the other kind. NancyP asked a number of posts back about how to increase the weight in her free-weight routine without getting an injury or creaking joints and muscles. For the real deal from somebody more experienced than me, I refer everyone to Mistress Krista. But here’s what my experience has been: When

Dude. Fucking awesome. (thanks, Jenn)

Natalie over at Philobiblion answers the question: “Is it possible to be a single woman in one’s fifties with a full life and a lot of joy?” Her answer: “Well, of course…” (via Alas)

I reserve comment.

I wonder, you know, if fantasy – big, chunky fantasy with the politics and beliefs of naive teenagers – is not just another form of sedation. Another form of over the counter sedation. Shit, maybe literature and film and music has just become it, in a general way. Do we read/watch/listen for escapism? Our art