December 21st, 2010


[links] Link salad couldn't see the moon for the clouds

Apparently in the French edition, my novel Green is Jade

Yesterday's post on the worst writing advice I ever got has generated some interesting comments: [ | LiveJournal | Facebook ] — As is so often the case, the ones disagreeing with me are especially intriguing. If you're interested in the topic, all three threads are worth the read. (And in the next day or two, I'll make a parallel post about the best writing advice I ever got.)

My new, post-cancer hair: [ | LiveJournal ] — Someday it shall be long again.

The ghost towns of China: Amazing satellite images show cities meant to be home to millions lying deserted — I've actually passed through one of these cities by train, Erenhot in Inner Mongolia.

Breakthrough in TB DiagnosticsA rapid genetic test for tuberculosis could have a huge impact on global health. Speaking as someone who once had tuberculosis (at age 16, detected by chest x-ray before it had fully expressed) this is good.

The Problem with SpeedCentauri Dreams on interstellar mission profiles. In space, no one can hear you airbrake.

Progress — Ta-Nehisi Coates on the causes of Confederate secession. Ah, the glorious revisionism of Southern conservatives.

?otD: Ever seen a lunar eclipse? How about a solar eclipse?

Writing time yesterday: 1.0 hours (revisions, WRPA)
Body movement: 30 minute stationary bike ride
Hours slept: 5.5 hours (interrupted, couldn't see the eclipse)
Weight: n/a (forgot)
Currently reading: Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban


[fiction] "Elf Shit" - Christmas fiction for your reading pleasure

In the spirit of the season, I bring you fictive tidings of, well, if not comfort and joy, at least Santa and his elves.

Elf Shit

by Jay Lake

"I love the smell of elf shit in the morning!"

Big Red's voice roared like an ice sheet giving way. The fat man was unnaturally cheerful. But then, damned near everything about him was unnatural. I'd known him since our boarding school days, when he'd been a fat boy of strange appetites and stranger passions. None of us from the old days were surprised at the man he had become.

The elves keened in their cages, enclosures too small for them to stand upright or turn around. Their broken voices wailed in a minor key harmonic that in another time and place might have heralded the rising of an omen-drenched comet, or the bloody harvest moon towering over the Wild Hunt. Their elegant, predatory beauty had been whittled away under Big Red's none-too-gentle care until they had become cankered horrors with only a stray goose feather or amethyst to recall the beauty they had once been part of Under the Hill.

"It'll never work," I told him. PR was my job in this whole deal, making sure the folks at home bought into the Santa trip.

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© 2010, Joseph E. Lake Jr.

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