It’s awards campaign season again. I dunno. I’ve done work that I’m very proud of, but that’s pretty much true every year. Award worthy? I don’t get to decide that, so I feel pretty justified in just staying out of it. That’s not a “morally superior” position, by the way. I don’t ding anyone for campaigning. I have friends who are good and natural at doing that sort of thing, and all I can do is watch in amazement and, yes, a little envy. If I were someone else I’d probably be doing it too, but I’ve never had the knack for being someone else. Which is a shame in a way–it’s hard enough to get noticed in the crowd as it is and if you don’t stand up for your own work, who will? I do what I can but I recongize that, compared to many, what I can ain’t much. A failure in me, probably, but that’s how I roll.
Darling du Jour:
“War chopped Pestilence’s head off and kicked it like a soccer ball. It was a good kick. Three hundred yards across the blighted landscape, easily. By the time Pestilence’s headless body managed, scrabbling across the dust and debris, to feel its way to where the head had rolled, we were pretty sure he wouldn’t try that again. A pity, really. I hadn’t laughed so hard since the Apocalypse.”