Neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat

Weather remains cold and breezy and dry -- sunshine, so you look out the window and think you should be out and doing things, but then windchill intrudes, and the lack of snow. Can't bike, can't ski, can't even veg out in front of the TV because the Boob Tube offers a choice of basketball, golf, or paid programming -- infomercials, I think they're called. I guess I'm stuck with reading a good book. Or trying to write one.

Printed off the draft of Chapter XVIII, bringing SIGNATURES over the approximate 60K mark in words. Time was, that would be a novel complete and of itself. Under current standards, I'm not even 2/3 done, and I write _short_ novels. No 200K tree-killers yet. I may not reach 100K on this one -- detective genre tends to be shorter than fantasy, and maybe the mix should split the difference?

Power tends to corrupt

Good thing I'm so strong-hearted and virtuous.

I hold this thing called "2005 Final Nebula Ballot." The fate of nations, nay, whole races and peoples, rests in my hands. And looking over the candidates for this prestigious peer award from the SFWA, I find that I've only read two of the novel finalists. None of the works in any other category. Nor have I seen the candidates for screenplay scripts.

Do I hear any bids?