I spent the holidays sipping Nyquil, having fever dreams and bellyaches, which was relatively entertaining but I’m ready to get back to typing. Fevers are one of the few things that disable the writing chip in my brain. They are also the only time I ever dream, and my strangest one this virus had to do with a baby being introduced to another baby, which resulted in fervent kissing and a dance number complete with assisted pirouettes. I have no idea what kind of twisted symbology this signifies but it was more entertaining than many things.
Today’s email brought a notice from the Hugo awards, informing me it was time to nominate. Holy crap! Has it been a whole year already? I haven't read hardly anything except for the 80 books I admitted to Goodreads that I read last year. I swung by the Hugo nominees wiki to see what was there, and now The Devourers and Lovecraft Country are on my to-read list. I also noticed The Raven and the Reindeer there, which I read and liked.
As far as short stories, the only thing that has rocked my socks lately is Liquid Muse by Cora Buhlert, a fellow Filer who has commented here. I grabbed her new story because I am an unabashed celebrator of Filer nepotism and I really liked her take on gentrification, speaking as a San Franciscan since the '80s but I can't really talk about it, don't want to jinx it. Maybe sometime I'll write a story about the old days when there were more weird creative people here, before the Liquid Muse thing happened. I'm not sure this work is eligible but I enjoyed it.
Meanwhile, in other news, Scientific American is talking about 3D ocean maps, like the one Sonny learns how to navigate through megalodon-infested waters in One Sunny Night. Oops, spoilers. Yeah, yeah, I know, I should be reading some more fiction, but sometimes I'm hungry for facts.