Razamatazz. Confetti and glitter. Certificates and celebration. This is the poetry of Pavlovian job gratification. Bells and whistles, hurrah, hurrah, production! The lion, in a capitolistic response to socialist theories, lies down, humpeta dumpeta, with the lamb. Corruption is a sad thing, when you sell your soul for mere perks.

In the mail: “The Name of the Feather” went to Ellery Queen on Tuesday the seventh. Am I happy with it? Hmmm…more happy than I was when I finished the first draft. But it’s the trickiest thing I’ve written so far–and perhaps the best–I’m worried. And I’m not sure if Ellery Queen is the right

Ray. Oh, yeah. And she can sit up by herself now. It took us a long time to actually catch her in the process: you look over at her, she’s on her tummy, you look back, she’s sitting up. Telepathy? No….

snippet: Mysterioso, or, Well, I Ran That into The Ground. Shadows of sharp edges surround me, but my shadow is soft and wavery. Like my mind, it insinuates itself into the odd and random corner without seeming to. I am…Mysterioso. Actually, I’m wondering why I’m writing this. This morning on the way to work, I

Some old news. I gave away some books a while ago. “Strangely affected.” I didn’t want them any more…but I was sad as people went through them…passing some by…where will my books go? Finally, one generous soul offered to take the rest of a bag home with her to let her friends, all readers, go

Forth… Fifth…Sixth…Heh. The big news is that Ray has started crawling. Neck and neck with babyproofing. All sharp objects and poisonous substances are above floor level and locked up. Baby gate protects the furnace room. Outlet covers taped over the cat’s claws, subversive literature (Curious George) prominently displayed, plexiglass covering the computer cordage. She’s not

Back. Life sucks when you don’t have the internet. But Lee and Ray and I are back. Ahhhh…. Everybody is OK. Call it a series of happy events. It’s been too busy at work even to sneak peeks…