Steven D. BREWER

Today I believe I performed my last professional duty as a faculty member by attending a Faculty Senate Rules Committee meeting with the Administration. The Rules Committee, which sets the agenda for the Faculty Senate, meets monthly with the Chancellor, Provost, and the Campus Leadership Council. I made a few small contributions at the meeting and, with that, I don’t believe I have any more official duties until I formally retire at the end of the August.

I first got involved with the Faculty Senate shortly after I was hired in 1996. I began by serving on one of the committees: the Faculty Senate University Computing and Electronic Communications Committee. In 2004, I became Chair of the Committee. I also served on several other councils and committees over the years. I’m not sure when I became a Faculty Senator, but in 2013 I joined the Rules Committee for the first time.

In the early years I was more focused on union service and there was a strong bias against the union among the leadership of the Faculty Senate at that time. Although the union had been voted in 20 years before, it had been a divisive vote and a number of the anti-union people bore a grudge for the rest of their careers. Several of them were among the leadership of the Faculty Senate.

A big part of why I pursued Faculty Senate leadership when I did was because the administration began trying to centralize and outsource all of the IT functions. After a lengthy selection process, with good faculty participation, the campus had selected a Learning Management System. Just after all of the faculty had migrated their content to the new system, a Dean wanted to chuck it and force everyone to use a different (worse) system that was supported at the system level. We fought that off. Similarly, a misguided Chancellor wanted to force all of the faculty into Exchange, even though the students were all in Gmail. This was a spectacular flameout because the Chancellor hadn’t bothered to check how much it would cost and the campus couldn’t even afford the costs. We slowed down the adoption long enough that the Chancellor left and, afterward, leveler heads prevailed.

After I rotated off the Rules Committee as an at-large member (term-limited), I next served on the union bargaining team for several years. As that ended, I allowed myself to be recruited as Presiding Officer of the Faculty Senate, which I began in 2020. And I served for the last six years of my career.

I began during the depths of the COVID response when the Senate meetings were being held remotely via Zoom. When the campus returned to face-to-face meetings, I continued to preside remotely, since I had by then been diagnosed with a chronic lung condition and wanted to avoid the poorly-ventilated, densely-packed room. It was a little strange to have the auditorium directed by “big brother” on a screen, but people were generally supportive and made allowances for the things I could not easily do.

In point of fact, I pushed for us to continue to hold Faculty Senate meetings remotely. I was unable to persuade the Secretary to actually share the data, but I’m pretty sure we had better attendance, better participation, and more discussion when we were using Zoom. But he (and others) felt it was very important to bring people together in a room.

As Presiding Officer, I was also called upon to preside over an extraordinary meeting of the Faculty Senate and two General Faculty meetings. When the Chancellor called police to haul away student and faculty protestors, there was outrage. The Faculty Senate called an extraordinary meeting to give the Chancellor the opportunity to explain and for the faculty to ask questions. When many faculty were dissatisfied with the Chancellor’s response, they called fora General Meeting of the Faculty to vote no confidence. It was a giant hybrid meeting in one of the largest spaces on campus with overflow via Zoom. In the end, the faculty did vote no confidence in the Chancellor. The second General Faculty meeting was to have the faculty adopt a resolution calling for solidarity in higher education in response to the attacks being brought by the federal government.

Serving on the Rules Committee gave me a perspective and insight into the University — and its governance — that many faculty never see. I remember meeting with a Board of Trustees member that really summarized how they see the University. I don’t recall the specific issue he was talking about anymore, but I summarized for people by explaining that they would look at parameters — like the number of light poles per square mile — and the compare us with our peers, then say things like, “Well, Stanford has 15 light poles per square mile, but we have 19 — therefore we need to cut down four light poles per square mile.”

As my wife was on the Select Board, I frequently was invited to attend soirees at the Chancellor’s House as part of a town-gown initiative. I suspect I attended events at the Chancellor’s House more than any other faculty member in history. I remember I had been telling my wife about a particularly prickly chancellor and she said, “Oh, you must be exaggerating!” We arrived at the event and the Chancellor was greeting people at the entrance. I said, “Hi, Chancellor. We missed you at Faculty Senate on Thursday!” He drew himself and said, “I’ll have you know I was on Beacon Hill advocating for the funding for this campus. PEOPLE HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH TIME I HAVE TO SPEND TRYING TO SECURE FUNDING FOR THIS CAMPUS!” I plastered a smile on my face and nodded. Afterward, my wife said, “Okay. I get it. You were not exaggerating at all.”

Perhaps the most discouraging experience I had was when this chancellor presented their “Framework for Excellence” to the Faculty Senate. It was like a presentation to that Board of Trustees member. He had constructed a value-function graph for every parameter on the US News and World Report rating system to estimate the slope of the line where we stood as compared with our peers and proposed to spend money every place where the slope was steep, hoping to jump us up in the ratings. I was scathing. My proposal would have been to identify problems on the campus and try to address them. But, when that chancellor was forced out and the next chancellor came in, the campus unexpectedly jumped up several places in the US New and World Report ranking. The new chancellor crowed about how his policies had resulted in this historic rise, but I knew better.

I was not great as Presiding Officer. But I like to think I did okay. I was able to stay calm, mostly keep track of what was going on, and use Robert’s Rules to keep the meetings on track. I was pleased to find a role that I could perform usefully. And the experiences were all useful for my writing, But I don’t mind letting it go.

This month, I have started to query for a literary agent to publish my next book. It is an odious process which is qualitatively worse than submitting manuscripts for publication. Most “markets” that you submit a manuscript to at least pretend that they will respond to let you know if they’re going to reject your manuscript. But agents — universally as far as I can tell — say that you can expect your query to vanish into a black hole, and that if you haven’t heard from them in two or three months, you should assume that you never will.

Don’t call us, we’ll call you. —All Literary Agents

Last fall, at WriteAngles, I attended a panel of agents that talked about their role in the publishing process. Agents are fundamentally a kind of parasite that act as gatekeepers for the publishing industry. Basically none of the traditional publishers accept unsolicited manuscripts, so you need an agent to even have your work considered. Agents see themselves as indispensable, of course. The agents on the panel suggested that you should query for at least six months before considering alternate routes to publication (i.e. small press or self publishing). Since I’ve already done those routes, I thought I would investigate finding an agent this time around. To find an agent, you need to engage in this activity called “querying”.

Querying requires a vast amount of research. I’ve attended several workshops to learn about the process. To begin, you need to draft a query letter, identify “comp titles,” and provide a preview of your manuscript. Of course, there’s no consensus about what any of these things represent, so you also have to study the submission guidelines for each agency. Some agencies also require other things (like a logline). Others put varying and unspecified arbitrary constraints (length of query letter, length of preview, etc).

One Straw Dog Writers Guild workshop I attended, provided a very nice overview of the query letter. A few takeaways: Address agent by name and be sure to not misgender. Indicate your reason for querying this agent: have you met before? Do you have something in common? Introduce your title. Identify the genre and wordcount. Craft a three paragraph pitch: The protagonist, the obstacle, and the stakes. Identify recent comp titles. Provide a short bio that focuses on your writing accomplishments. Finally, wrap up with a closing. Of course, as I said, some agencies want something different, so you still have to check the submission guidelines.

Perhaps the most difficult challenge for me was to identify “comp titles.” These are books with similar themes that have sold in the past few years. Before the workshop I had tried looking various places (e.g. Amazon and Goodreads) with little luck identifying good choices. But the workshop introduced me to NoveList a search engine that lets you search for recent books and find related titles. Luckily, my local library provides free access for library card holders. Using that, I was able to identify some recent books with similar themes.

Once I had the pieces mostly in hand, I started the most difficult part: trying to identify agents that my book might appeal to. There is a nagware website, querytracker, that many agents use for query submissions. The “free” version is intentionally crippled in a bunch of ways so that they can try to get you to pay for a higher tier. The website purports to have information about agents, but I’ve found that it has basically nothing and, what it has, is out of date. But it does have a bunch of agent listings so it’s not a bad place to start. Starting there, I investigate the literary agency’s website and study the page about the agent there to learn what kinds of things they are looking for. After exhausting querytracker, I will start studying Locus, which lists which agents sold speculative fiction books each month. That may well be more a profitable course of action, but querytracker — though not very useful — is easy and seems like a good place to start to practice, as I polish my letter and my pitch.

Lady Cecelia’s Journey is a sapphic, romantasy, road story. It is written as a series of six novelettes (that can serve as chapters in a collected edition) that, including a seventh “omake” story, totals 74,000 words. It is set in the same universe as my debut novel Revin’s Heart, but at an earlier point in time. That said, this is is a fully independent story.

Lady Cecelia is an aristocratic young woman attending the Westland Finishing School in a conservative part of the island of Belleriand. She has begun to realize she has feelings for women, but grew up in a sheltered environment with no opportunity to explore her sexual orientation. Her wealthy parents, who unbeknownst to her are the leaders of an organized crime syndicate, intend to place her in an arranged marriage to benefit the family politically.

Cecelia falls in love with Kasseh, a commoner who is attending the finishing school due to the patronage of the Baron. After they are are expelled for “conduct unbecoming a lady,” they flee together toward the capital, where — with the Baron’s support — they hope to be able to live together openly. Her mother takes a dim view of her rebellion against her authority and aggressively pursues her.

I’m aiming to send out at least one query per day. Recently someone at SFWA said they had submitted 150 queries before finding an agent. So that at least gives me some ball park figure to think about as I pursue this path. It’s a journey of my own that I’m undertaking one query at a time.

Oh. And if you’re an agent, I was kidding about the whole “parasite” thing. Really. Ha-ha-ha.

I saw a thin book at the library by Werner Hertzog, The Future of Truth, that caught my eye and spent a few hours today reading it. It’s not really a coherent book: it’s a series of reflections an anecdotes, often interesting and occasionally provocative, that are loosely about “truth” as we move into the age of AI. I enjoyed reading it and found it time well spent.

It reminded me a bit of the first class in philosophy I ever took. (Note that Werner very specifically denies his is a book of philosophy). The professor of my undergraduate philosophy class asked us to write similar undirected essays, however. I really struggled with the class during the first half of the semester. I had no idea what to write. I was used to writing to achieve some purpose and with no direction I wasn’t sure what to write. I definitely failing the class at that point. But then I discovered what to do: I could just write bullshit. I started writing a torrent of bullshit and turning it in. The professor was ecstatic. In the end, I think I got a C in the class. It probably was as useful as any class I took as an undergraduate, though I can’t point to any other really specific thing I learned in the class.

Actually, that’s not true. He also clued me into the importance of feelings. As a child of a scientist, I had a tendency to think of empirical science as the best source of truth about the world. My father, when he was teaching introductory biology would ask his students about to undertake the dissection of a cat to determine the sex of their specimen. When they asked how to do that, he put the questions back to them, “How should we decide? Should we vote? Why don’t you have everyone in your group vote.” Then he would direct them to dissect the cat and inspect whether it had testes or ovaries, as a lesson in empirically finding things out, rather than other means. But, of course, as a society we do use voting — for example, on juries — to determine truth. And feelings, as broad integrators of how we weigh up all of the evidence, end up being key.

When I was a doctoral student, I took another philosophy class. I was really ready for it then and immersed myself in the history of philosophy of science. It was taught by a young woman who had been a practicing, tenured biochemist. She decided to leave it all behind and went back and got another PhD in philosophy and was starting over to get tenure again. (Tragically, she passed away from breast cancer scant years later). Her office was at the other end of the hall from my office, so I would walk down frequently to chat with her. One day, I told her about my brother’s friend who liked to read the bible. He said it was important because it contained the true words of Jesus as well as a bunch of other nonsense. But that he could tell which were the things that Jesus actually said. She applauded my use of this rhetorical device. But I assured her that, no, this person actually existed.

The book is a bit uneven. One chapter is a single page about a pig that got stuck in drain. Another chapter is a single paragraph of two sentences. It meanders through history and personal experience, from opera to film, from America to Europe, from Rome to Potempkin Villages. From fraud to ChatGPT.

A lot is about people’s intentions and goals. He describes many instances of people using small lies to reveal a greater truth, which he distinguishes from people deceiving themselves or seeking to deceive others.

I had an undergraduate student once who couldn’t understand students not knowing what they wanted to do. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and had been striving toward it for his whole university career. I pointed out that it required a lot of courage to really pursue your dreams. Some students might know what they wanted to do, but be too afraid to actually try because, if they failed, they would have lost their dream. If they never really tried, they could go through their life telling themselves they really could have been an astronaut or whatever, if they’d really tried. He thought that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. In the end, rather than doing the thing he’d always wanted to do, he found a completely different kind of profession and seemed very happy.

Toward the end, Werner looks at the implications of generative AI and deepfakes on our growing inability to distinguish truth from falsehood. He tries to balance the amazing things that AI can do in specialized domains with it’s undermining our ability to distinguish fact from fiction.

In the end, his main conclusion is that truth ultimately isn’t something that can be apprehended by people. But the striving for it is essential. He advocates spending more time walking on foot, out in the world. And reading books — like his no doubt. No lie there.

I’m closing in on retirement. Although I’m still nominally employed until August 31, I’ve been effectively retired since the end of May when my “period of irresponsibility” began. In spite of that, I’ve felt busier than ever — and somewhat resentful of it. Today, I had an insight that helped me explain why.

For thirty years, my time has not been my own. In return for a modest wage and benefits, I accepted responsibilities to conduct various programs for my employer. As a faculty member, I was effectively never on the clock. (I have worked jobs where I needed to punch a clock, so I’m intimately familiar with what that’s like.) Instead, I agreed to take responsibility for various projects (like set up and manage a computer center, provide software resources to faculty, teach classes, coordinate committees, etc). Throughout my career, this often meant checking email and messages beginning in early morning (indeed, around the clock) and being willing to work very long hours when necessary. Even my normal working hours represented a substantial commitment of time.

I generally aimed for around 50 hours per week. It was hard to count exactly. And a lot of what I did overlapped with my personal interests, so it wasn’t clear how much of my research, about technology say, was solely for work and not something I might have done on my own anyway. But it was generally a lot more than 40 hours a week and I tried to not let it grow to 60 hours a week. (A lot of faculty report working 60-65 hours per week). And, even though I wasn’t being paid during the summer, I was usually extremely busy then working on updating computer lab hardware and software, supporting curriculum development, or even conducting tropical field biology.

Over the past several years, I have needed to devote more and more hours to elder and family care needs. Of course, when my kids were little, I spent a huge amount of time on parental care. While I was finishing my dissertation, I was also caring for an infant. Those days were long indeed. But, between the time my kids started school and quite recently, my non-work time was my own. Recently, however, that’s changed.

Now, I find that I’m spending something upwards of three or four hours per day devoted to family care issues, doing things for other people: fixing meals, taking walks, washing dishes, doing laundry, going on doctor’s visits, etc. I was already doing this before I effectively retired, too. But I noticed recently, I felt like I was resenting it more. I think I’ve now realized what it is: I think, even before retirement, I’ve been taking this time from my “work” time. Since my job responsibilities changed and since I went to half time, I was spending less and less time on work anyway. And that was the time I was mentally redirecting to these other activities. But now that I’m no longer employed, that time feels like MY time that I’m having to give up.

Mental accounting is funny.

Now that I know what’s going on, I think it will help me move on and begin enjoying my retirement more — even if it’s not just my time.

Most of the giant corporations have gotten the memo that their oligarchic overlords want them to shove AI into everything, whether people want it or not. I’ve written previously about my position vis-à-vis AI and how I avoid using AI for anything. The net result is that I have to spend a fair amount of time trying to figure out how to turn AI off in things.

It’s a constant battle. Last year, at least twice, I had to go into the settings of Zoom to turn off every single AI setting so that Zoom would not constantly try to beg participants in any meeting I hosted to turn on their spybot. And that happened yet again when they added some new chatbot and a note taking service. I’ve discovered that some people have no idea how dangerous these things can be. There was a local story about a school committee that went into executive session to candidly discuss litigation where one of these tools was running. It helpfully mailed the transcript to everyone, including members of the public. People treat Zoom sessions as an informal discussion — not a place where every word will be recorded and shared publicly. (After I succeeded in turning it off, I noticed a page that suggested they were going to start charging $10/month for it. I wonder how many people will use it if they have to pay for it…)

Some companies have gotten the memo. I was pleased when DuckDuckGo created a NO-AI search landing page. I have set my default engine everywhere to it. It’s nowhere near as good as search engines used to be, but at least it doesn’t have AI summaries. Last year, DuckDuckGo ran a survey to ask whether people wanted AI in search results or not. They gave away pins to some people who responded and boosted the survey in social media, and I got one! It’s pictured above. I wear it proudly.

Unfortunately, there is a lot of AI junk that’s hard to avoid or turn off directly. That’s why I was so pleased to discover the Disable AI WordPress plugin. When I first discovered it, it was still in a very early version with hardly any installs. I did my due diligence to inspect the source to figure out what it was doing (and make it sure didn’t appear to do anything nefarious.) It basically uses CSS to set the visibility of AI buttons and interfaces to false, so they don’t show up in the interface. It’s awesome! It’s unfortunate we have to depend on adversarial coding, but thank goodness for Free Software that makes that possible!

To be clear, there are many domains where various kinds of machine learning have already been effective and will continue to be transformative. But that doesn’t mean I want to be forced to ever use it. So I’ll keep doing whatever it takes to push back.

On September 27, 2021, I submitted a new story, The Silver Tongue, for publication. And on September 28, I received a rejection. I submitted it several more times in 2021 and it got rejected as well.

My brother Philip was surprised. He said that if Gardner Dozois were still around, he would have accepted it instantly. Having never met Gardner, I couldn’t say. But it is kind of weird story and probably needed a weird editor to appreciate its merits.

I generally try to avoid editing manuscript after I’ve written them. I try to use whatever energy I have for writing new stuff. But at some point, I went back to look at it to see if there were obvious defects or changes I might make. I was kind of shocked to find that it really felt like a pretty tight story to me, without much additional cruft. It was good!

After a while, I gave up trying to keep it out to markets. A lot of the the top markets turn manuscripts around pretty fast and notify you when they reject stuff. Others take a long time and/or never get back to you. Every so often, I’d remember it and send it out. I submitted it twice in 2022, twice in 2023, twice in 2024, once in 2025. Then I saw The Freak!

“Huh,” I thought. “The Freak! They might like it.” And I sent it off.

It got accepted!

You can now read The Silver Tongue in Issue 4 of The Freak! Enjoy!

Most mornings, I write a brief story fragment for Wandering Shop Stories as a warm-up for my day’s creative activities. Sometimes, I use these directly as a rough draft or outlining tool for my current works-in-progress. Often, they’re just one-offs or fan fiction/literary canon of my existing work.

Since January, however, I’ve been struggling. I really haven’t hit my stride writing since my son was hospitalized. We’ve had a lot of stuff going on and my head just wasn’t in the right place. Some days, I couldn’t post anything at all. When I could, it often wasn’t until late at night. And I was frequently dissatisfied with the quality of what I was writing.

Things have been getting better. And just recently, I’ve finally felt like I’m starting to hit what I’m aiming at.

Last fall, before things went south, I wrote a few story fragments about the Hero and the Demon Lord. Here is the first series:

“What’s even the point of this?” the Demon Lord said.
“Ssh,” said the Hero as he cast his line out again.
They sat together at the shore of the lake. There was a quiet plunk as the bobber landed in the water. Ripples radiated out and then settled down.
“You know I can just cast death on the fish and…”
“You shall do no such thing.”
A ripple appeared around the bobber. Once. Twice. Then it dove under the water.
The Hero pulled back on the rod. The bobber and hook popped up, bait gone. The Hero pulled another worm out of the bait can.
“At this rate, we’ll never get lunch,” the Demon Lord said.
“Look in the basket under your seat,” the Hero said.
The Demon Lord pulled out the basket and opened it.
“Sandwiches?”
“And beer. Isn’t this better than fighting to the death?”

“What kind of sandwich is this?” the Demon Lord asked.
“It’s a tasty sandwich,” the Hero explained helpfully
The Demon Lord unwrapped it and inspected it skeptically.
“Try it!” the Hero encouraged.
The Demon Lord took a small bite. And then a larger one.
“An interesting flavor…” he said, as he chewed.
“Right?”
“So what is it?”
“It’s bang bang chicken.”
“You made this yourself?”
“Oh, no. My mother made it.”
“Your mother!?”
“Only the best for my friends.” The Hero smiled. “At least I hope we’ll soon be friends.”
The Demon Lord scowled.

“Well,” the Demon Lord said, getting to his feet. “It’s been fun, I guess…”
“You’re not going to eat and bolt, are you?” the Hero said, pained.
The Demon Lord settled back into his seat, grumbling.
“Look!” he growled. “Maybe you don’t have anything better to do all day, but I…”
“Pish posh,” the Hero said, casting the line again. “Your minions can run things just fine without you for an afternoon. When was the last time you took a day for yourself?”
“But…”
“Besides, you haven’t had dessert yet.”
“Dessert?”
The hero gestured and a group of people approached.
Carrying a cake with candles, they began to sing Happy Birthday.
“It’s not my birthday!” the Demon Lord barked.
“Do you even have a birthday?”
“Well, no…”
“So, today is as good as any.”
“What kind of cake is it?” he said, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Why, devil’s food. Of course!”

“Blow out the candles! Blow out the candles!” everyone called.
The Demon Lord scowled, but then blew out the candles and everyone clapped.
“Are you really sure that’s sanitary?” he mumbled, as they produced a stack of paper plates and plastic forks.
“Well?” asked the Hero.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to cut the cake?”
“With what?”
“Ah! I thought you’d never ask!” the Hero laughed. “Here!”
The Hero offered the Demon Lord an elaborate knife. It seemed to glow blue with an inner light.
The Demon Lord eyed it suspiciously.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s Cakecrist,” the Hero said. “The Frosting Cleaver — Made by the elves, you know.”
The Demon Lord extended a finger and tentatively touched the knife. There was a spark and a curl of smoke rose up. He jerked his hand back.
“I think I’ll let you cut the cake,” the Demon Lord said.

The Hero stood on the dock and watched while the firemen worked to contain the raging inferno where the lake cabin had once stood.
“I’m afraid it’s a complete loss,” the Captain said.
“It’s not a complete loss,” the Hero clarified. “We learned a lot.”
“What did we learn?”
“Well… We learned he doesn’t like fishing and he likes cake. Oh! And that he hates surprises.”
The Captain stared at the Hero for a moment, then sighed and looked away.
“It was bound to end this way,” he said.
“What do you mean?” the Hero said “End? We’ve got another date next week!”

The Hero and Demon Lord are tropes from Japanese manga. They appear constantly in all sorts of different forms. I’m by no means the first to “ship” the Hero and Demon Lord. In Gachi Koi Maou-Sama, for example, the Demon Lord is a cute girl that has a crush on the Hero. There are undoubtedly dozens — or hundreds — of manga that have the Hero and Demon Lord as characters. Sometimes they act according to their stereotypical nature but, just as often, they’re used to subvert the standard paradigm and do something unexpected.

Just recently, I decided to pick them up again and I’ve been pleased with some of the results — as pleased as with anything I’ve written for a long time.

After vanquishing the dread Spectre of Despair, the hero was feted with a parade through the town. As he passed by, a boy called out from the crowd.
“Hero! Hero! What’s the name of your sword?”
The hero paused a moment, then replied, “It doesn’t have a name. It’s just my sword.”
“Awww!” the boy said, disappointed.
“I’ll tell you what,” the hero said. “If you think of a cool name, I’ll name my sword that in your honor.”
The boy’s face lit up with excitement.
The hero waited while the boy wracked his brain for a cool name. The crowd grew silent with anticipation.
“I’ve got it!” the boy crowed. “Swordy McSwordface!”
“Swordy McSwordface! Swordy McSwordface!” the crowd chanted.
The hero drew Swordy McSwordface and broke the blade over his knee.
“I’ll get a new sword,” he said.

The Hero arrived to visit the Demon Lord for coffee. He was ushered into the Demon Lord’s breakfast nook. The Demon Lord looked up from his paper and warmly greeted the Hero.
“How would you like your coffee?” asked the maid. She was a charming lass of 16 or 17 with rosy cheeks.
“I’ll take it with a little cream,” said the Hero.
“And would you care for some coffee cake?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She made a bob, backed away from the table with her eyes downcast, then turned and left the room.
“So…” the Demon Lord asked. “What do you think of my new monster?”
“Monster?” The Hero regarded him quizzically. “What monster?”
The Demon Lord pointed after the maid.
“Her? But she’s just a girl!”
“Exactly,” the Demon Lord exulted.

“What!?” The Captain of the Holy Order of Knights was incredulous. He stared disbelievingly at the knight who had just delivered the report. “Did I hear you correctly? You’d better repeat that.”
“I said,” the knight reiterated, “that the Hero is having breakfast with the Demon Lord.”
The Captain rubbed his hand all over his face as he tried to digest this.
“Who told you this?” he asked finally.
“The Hero told me.”
“The Hero told you? Himself?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say, exactly.”
“To the best of my recollection, he said, ‘I’m having breakfast with the Demon Lord.'”
“Hmm. No chance of a misunderstanding? He didn’t say, for example, ‘I’m having breakfast with the semen gourd’?”
“No. I also saw him go into the Demon Lord’s castle.”
The Captain sighed.
Just then the Hero entered.
“Did you really have breakfast with the Demon Lord?” the Captain asked.
“Yes,” the Hero replied. “He showed me his new monster.”
“Oh! You were collecting intelligence! How scary was the monster?”
The Hero caught sight of his reflection in a mirror and wiped a bit of lipstick off his cheek.
“Terrifying!” he answered, in a low voice.

The Demon Lord chuckled, rubbing his hands together. The Maid touched up her lipstick using the mirror in a compact.
“Did something good happen?” asked Jaygor.
“Everything is going according to plan!”
The Demon Lord clenched his fist. “Soon the Hero will be on his knees, nothing more than a quivering mass of gelatinous slime!”
“Pardon me, Demon Lord,” the Maid said. “I think your plan will have a better chance of success if I can make a few purchases.”
“Oh?” he said, interested.
“Yes. Just a few details, really — to enhance the effect.”
“How much will all this cost?” asked Jaygor.
The Maid batted her eyes. “Hardly anything!” she said.
The Demon Lord got out his billfold and began to extract some bills, but the Maid reached over and pulled out his credit card.
“I’ll be back later,” she said, and blew him a kiss. She slipped out the door toward town.
The Demon Lord replaced his wallet. “This is going to be great!” he said as she left.
Jaygor just rolled his eyes.

“Hello?” the Hero called. His voiced echoed through dark, empty corridors.
“This way,” said Jaygor, unexpectedly from the side.
The Hero jumped, but then followed Jaygor through the twisting passages of the dungeon.
“Say…” he said, after a short time. “So why are you all down here?”
“I’ll leave that to the Demon Lord to explain,” said Jaygor. The Hero detected a note of bitterness in his tone.
They arrived in a dimly-lit chamber carved out of the living rock. The Demon Lord was seated, uncharacteristically, at a small wooden table.
“Would you like some coffee?” asked the Maid.
“Yes, please,” the Hero said.
There was silence for several moments, as the Hero struggled to articulate the question.
“I had to rent out the Black Castle,” the Demon Lord said.
“Oh?” said the Hero.
“I became over-extended on my credit card,” the Demon Lord said.
Jaygor stared daggers at the Maid.
“How was I supposed to know that magic beans were so expensive?” the Maid said, pouring the coffee.

The Demon Lord came to his breakfast table in the dungeon. The Maid poured coffee while Jaygor brought him his morning paper. He unfolded the paper, then squinted, trying to read the indistinct print in the dim light.
“Why do you still read a paper, Lord?” asked Jaygor. “Why not use a magic scrying glass or something?”
The Demon Lord smiled.
“It’s something you young people can’t understand,” he mused. “The sound of the rustling paper… The feel of newsprint… The smell of the ink…”
He unfolded the paper the rest of the way, then scowled. Inside, there had been a print registration error and the text was unreadably blurry.
“Jaygor!” he barked.
“Yes, Lord!”
“Bring me my scrying glass!”
“At once, Lord!”

Just recently, I introduced a new character: the Saintess. The Saintess is also a tropey character from manga.

The Hero and Saintess were deep in the Forbidden Forest.
The Saintess pulled out the map and studied it for a minute, then finally threw her hands up.
“This is hopeless!” she said. “Admit it! We’re lost!”
“What do you mean?” asked the Hero.
“We have no idea where we are!”
“We’re right here!” the Hero said, pointing down.
“But where is ‘here’?” she pressed.
“The Forbidden Forest?”
“Argh!” She gnashed her teeth.
“Look!” the Hero said. Up ahead, they could see a sign.
The Saintess made a glad cry and ran forward to see what it said.
The Hero strolled up to the sign. It said “Forbidden Forest.”
“See?” he said. “I was right!”
“I hate you,” she said.

The Hero and the Saintess followed a dark, winding path under a canopy of immense trees draped with moss and vines.
“Why do they call it the ‘Forbidden Forest?'” asked the Hero.
“The Forest is a queer place,” the Saintess said. “Everything in it is very much more alive, more aware of what is going on, so to speak.”*
“So it’s ‘woke,’ is what you’re saying?”
The Saintess started.
“Well… That’s not really…”
The Hero stretched his arms. “It sounds like my kind of place!”

*Note: The statement by the Saintess about the Forest is a direct quote from Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring, when Merry and Pippin are talking about the Old Forest.

“Do you even know what direction we’re going?” the Saintess asked.
“Sure,” the Hero replied. “We’re going this way!”
“No!” she said. “Which of the cardinal directions? Are we going north? Or east?”
“I know how we can tell,” the Hero said. “Moss grows on the north side of trees.” He pointed at a nearby tree.
“There is moss on every side!” she snapped.
“Ooh! So that means that every direction is north. Now we know exactly where we are: We’re at the South Pole!”
“I hate you,” she said.

I was particularly pleased with these last two. They’re short and punchy with a clear sense of story: a clear problem with a satisfying resolution — though perhaps not so satisfying for the Saintess.

I’m finally starting to feel like I can be productive writing fiction again. As I said at LOSCon, I’ve always found that my creative output is extremely uneven. But maybe it’s time — time to get serious about getting some new work done.

Last year, I did both the Queer Artisan Market and Amherst Pride but, this year, I decided to just do Pride. Doing two days in a row is harder for me to handle now. In any event, the weather was perfect and, thanks to my experience last year, I knew where to site my vendor tent to be in the shade. I don’t think I sold quite as much as last year, but it wasn’t too bad.

Fewer people are buying books. Partly, I think that people feel poorer than they did, so they just aren’t buying as many books. I’ve always noticed that most people simply don’t see books at all as they walk around. There are a few people who spot the books from a mile away and make a beeline to the table. But the ratio is shifting. There seem to be fewer and fewer people interested in books at all.

It was my first chance to hone my pitch for A Familiar Problem. I got better at it. A lot of people like the premise. But I didn’t sell many copies. I did still some Revin’s Heart and Better Angels: Tour de Force. And a copy of Premitaj Floroj.

I tried really hard to sell M.D. Neu’s book Hawaiian Sun. This seemed like a perfect book for Pride! It was a bit hard to pitch because it has a such weird premise. “So, there’s this guy on the Hindenberg who’s come to New Jersey to see his boyfriend, but then it catches fire and he’s like isekaied into the future where he goes on an airship over the Pacific Ocean to do some Pride stuff.” I pitched it over and over, but I don’t think I sold a single copy. Oh, well. Fail.

Now, I’m exhausted and sunburned. But it was fun. Maybe I’ll do it again next year.

I recently read The CIA Book Club: The secret mission to win the cold war with forbidden literature by Charlie English. It describes a covert program to fund underground publishers and cladestine efforts to provide access to information from the West to people behind the Iron Curtain. But is primarily focused on Poland.

I had become aware of the CIA covert support for sending books behind the Iron Curtain years ago. A number of Esperanto books were published and shipped to Eastern Europe with money from the CIA. I picked up this book to learn more about the program, but I was a little disappointed when it turned out that the book is almost entirely about the effort in Poland in the 1980s.

The events in Poland, from the coup in 1981 until the collapse of the communist regime in 1989, were at least minimally known to me. I graduated from high school in 1981 and I remember seeing reports on the television news about Poland. At that time, however — as a callow youth — I was not particularly paying attention to international or political events.

The book focuses on the events principally following Mirosław Chojecki, an independent publisher. He had been publishing an anti-government newsletter and was imprisoned shortly after the coup. After engaging in a hunger strike, he was released and subsequently went into exile in the West. In the United States, he became aware of the CIA efforts, met a number of important political figures, and was brought into contact with the agent who was running the largest part of the operation with respect to Poland.

The contributions of many of the other members of the underground publishing movement are also recognized: Helena Łucywos and the other women who published Wazovia Weekly, Jerzy Giedroyc — who ran the CIA front in Paris — and many many others. The book ends with the fall of the Berlin Wall and the dismantling of the CIA book operation. But it never really talks about any of the other parts of the operation, since it’s really just about Poland.

It was an interesting read for me. Since I was only vaguely aware of these important events, it was nice to have a primer that provided a lot of the back story. But I would still like to know more about the CIA book program in general — and not just the parts related to Poland.

Palace of Deception by Darrin Lunde describes the lives of three men, Henry Fairfield Osborn, Roy Chapman Andrews, and William Akeley, who were instrumental in the creation of the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH). The book seeks to marry and intertwine what are really four separate stories into a coherent narrative. Each of the stories was interesting: but I felt the whole didn’t quite do justice to any of the stories.

I’ve always been a fan of Roy Chapman Andrews. I first learned of him as a graduate student when I attending a workshop at Beloit College. Chapman grew up in Beloit, graduated from Beloit College, and became an adventurer who was, in many ways, the inspiration for Indiana Jones. When I saw this book that aimed to describe his amazing stories of adventure, I was hooked.

The AMNH was actually founded by Albert Bickmore, who had trained with Louis Agassiz, with money raised from wealthy New York robber barons. But it was under Osborn that the AMNH grew and took shape as an institution.

Osborn was a follower of Francis Galton, the cousin of Charles Darwin. Galton was a statistician who extended the thinking of Darwin to create eugenics and social Darwinism. Osborn — not unlike racists today — became convinced that immigrants were endangering the “superior” race, and he began to use the museum to propagandize this theory. He was also suspicious of laboratory science, and preferred the term “naturalist” for people who were studying the natural world. He hired both Roy Chapman Andrews and William Akeley as part of his plan to develop the museum.

Roy Chapman Andrews, unlike Indiana Jones, was primarily a field biologist. He wanted to document and collect specimens of animals in regions of the world that had not yet been studied by Western science. He was successful at raising money for long expeditions to Asia (Japan, Korea, China, and Mongolia) that collected animals, and later fossils, to bring back to the AMNH. His exploits were extraordinary and the book touches on a number of them.

William Akeley was a taxidermist. He developed a number of innovative techniques to create elaborate dioramas that showed animals in their natural setting and also went on long expeditions, principally to Africa, to collect big game (elephants, lions, and gorillas). Many people believed that Africa would be settled by white people, much as North America had been, and that all of the large animals would be driven to extinction.

Each of the four stories, about the museum and these three men, is interesting in itself. There is a lot of fascinating detail, and the book does a good job of showing the complexity of the history around the subject. The book is also timely, given the current fascist push toward expelling immigrants and promulgating a racist “great replacement” theory.

At the same time, the whole doesn’t quite hang together as a coherent story. The individual stories have the feeling of being incomplete as each has been subordinated to the overarching narrative. It’s still a good read, however.

The 2026 Nebula Awards Conference was fantastic. I attended with my brother Phil. I had driven in a few days ago and spent several days with him before we traveled together to the conference. At the conference, I had only minimal obligations so I could spend most of my time attending the programming and hanging out with Phil. It was equal parts relaxing, interesting, and inspiring. It makes me want to get home so I can start spending more time writing.

The conference was held in the O’hare Crowne Plaza in Rosemont, near Chicago. The hotel was comfortable. There were a lot of stairs, but ramps had been constructed to allow bypassing them in a number of places. There wasn’t really any comfortable place to hang out outdoors at the hotel, which was a little annoying to me since I need to take my meals outdoors to unmask to eat. Phil and I found a “garden patio” which, although it didn’t have any seating, did have a small section of halfwall where we could sit to eat. There was also an “entertainment district” only 0.3 miles away with a bunch of restaurants with outdoor seating. We visited several times. Crust Brewing, a brewpub had really good thin crust pizza and Fat Rosies served excellent margaritas. There were several other places that looked amazing too. But it was a little too far away to get there and back between program events, so we could only go there a few times.

On Wednesday, I spent the entire day attending a SFWA Board Retreat and Meeting. I spent the entire day taking careful notes of the meeting. I never fail to be impressed by the insight and varied perspectives that our board members bring to the issues. I can confidently say that it’s the best board I’ve ever served on.

On Thursday, the conference proper began and I attended two panels and served on a third. Historical Perspective: the Evolving world in SFF brought Joe Haldeman and Jonathan Brazee, moderated by Dean Wells to discuss the phases of development of speculative fiction. Anthony Eichenlaub moderated a panel with Greg Kasavin, a Nebula finalist to discuss the role of worldbuilding and story in creating engaging games. Finally, I served on an Ask the SFWA Board panel where we introduced ourselves to the membership and let people ask us questions.

On Thursday evening, we attended a reception to recognize volunteers. The president called up each volunteer to receive a surferticket and gave people an opportunity to make a brief statement. She asked me to say something that people didn’t know about me, so I said, “Mi parolas Esperanton.” A guy heard me and found me after the reception to talk about Esperanto. He’d started learning and was excited to hear I had some books of Esperanto haiku in the book service.

On Friday, I attended three panels. The first was about diverse sexuality in worldbuilding for speculative romance with Cecilia Tan and Somto Ihezue, moderated by Jennifer R. Povey. Then Ben Francisco, Michael Solis, Charlie Jane Anders and Gabrielle Byrne talked about creating characters that are outsiders. An interesting distinction that they made was between characters that are new outsiders: still trying to understand how and why they don’t fit in, versus old outsiders, who are only too aware of the rules and made have developed strategies to conceal themselves or pass. A particular treat was a reading of speculative short plays with Alex Kingsley, Mary Robinette Kowal, Russell Davis, Jordan Kurella, Curtis Chen, and David Levine. These were amazing and a lot of fun.

The Grandmaster this year was NK Jemisin who had an hour and a half slot to offer a crash course in creating compelling characters. Instead of presenting, she simply used the entire period for Q&A. I’ll admit was a little disappointed at first to not have a presentation, but SFWA members ask great questions and her responses were insightful and interesting.

In the evening, I got to help with a reception for the Nebula finalists. Each finalist was invited to walk down a purple carpet to receive a certificate, get photographed, and then receive a pin from one of the Board members. In this way, everyone could recognize who the finalists were for the rest of the event.

After the Nebula finalist reception, there was an autographing event with a few VIPs and a bunch of the rest of us. I was seated between Anthony Eichenlaub and Somto Ihezue. I brought some giveaways and a few people took zines, ribbons, and stickers. One brave person ran the Makasete DNA Analysis Tool to fill out their percent human DNA for a ribbon.

A few people even brought me books to sign! Philip bought a copy of A Familiar Problem and the guy who’d expressed interest in Esperanto the day earlier brought copies of Premitaj Floroj and senokulvitre. A bunch of people also brought their programs around and had everyone sign them. Jonathan Brazee, who was a Nebula finalist, brought his surferticket around for people to sign. My fountain pen got a good workout and I didn’t even squirt ink all over anyone.

The next morning, Phil and I attended a presentation by Anthea Sharp about how to be successful on Kickstarter. A lot of authors (and even some of the pro markets) are using Kickstarter to raise funds for projects. She had a bunch of guidelines for how to run your first, small kickstarter. How much to ask for, how long to run it, setting reasonable targets. I took a lot of notes. I might consider using it for a small project just as a test run.

We also attended a panel on speculative screenwriting for plays, comics, and audiodramas. I asked a question in this one: perhaps very basic, about how to structure scenes. I’ve never had any education about writing fiction: I’ve just read a lot of stuff. When I working to intersperse two timelines for The Ground Never Lies, I realized that I really wasn’t writing in scenes at all. I realized then that it was an obvious way I could probably punch up my writing a lot. Daryll Gregory answered my question and recommended a memo by David Mamet about how to heighten drama in scenes, which he shares on his website.

Once again, I was scheduled to play a small role in the Nebula Ceremony as a “floor escort” to lead people to the stage at the appropriate moment for their speaking roles. They called this role a “runner” last year, which I commented that I was willing to try as long as hobbling around with my stick was close enough to running. So they changed the name this year. They ran a rehearsal that gave every speaker and finalist the opportunity to practice making their entrance and exit from the stage. Cat Rambo, a former SFWA president, commented that the team was really nailing down the details to make sure the show would come off smoothly.

In the last evening, Philip and I dressed in our finery to attend nebula awards reception, banquet, and ceremony. At the reception, we mingled a little. Charlie Jane Anders noticed my airship pirate ribbon and, with unconcealed excitement, said she wanted one. I had left a few on the giveaways table, so I grabbed one and a sticker for her.

Phil and I separated when we entered the banquet and I was seated with members of the board. The servers were running a bit late with the food and I had only just been given my plate when I was summoned to start acting as a floor escort. I stuffed a couple of bites of food in my mouth and then was up hobbling around with my stick escorting people to the stage.

The ceremony was fantastic. Tananarive Due did a fabulous job as Toastmaster to warm up the crowd and serve as the master of ceremonies. NK Jemisin’s speech was really outstanding. I encourage everyone to watch it. It starts about 30 minutes in. Many of the other presentations are also excellent. SFWA people can write really well — as one might expect. People are generally overwhelmed when they win, which is charming to see. The ceremony ran for three hours. By the end, I was exhausted and went went straight to bed.

Phil and I departed early the next morning. We’d had a rough time with traffic driving in, so we slipped away right after breakfast to beat the rush. I’ll spend another day here with him and then start my long drive back to Massachusetts.

It was great to see everyone and I look forward to next year in Seattle. But I don’t think I’ll be driving to that one.

Since January, I’ve a lot of extra Tanuki Time, but I haven’t had the focus to work on my longer fiction. I have several projects that are essentially completed, but it’s beginning to look like I’ll need to find a different outlet for publishing them. While I’ve had less focus, I’ve been working more on shorter fiction.

What’s For Breakfast, Toasterella is about a wizard who patented a method for contracting with sprites to compel them to work for you, but he discovers a limitation when he needs to change the contract. It’s been rejected twice.

A Persistent Curse is about a dog caught between his owner and his witch grandmother regarding a particularly nasty curse. It’s also been rejected twice.

Exit Interview is my newest complete short story. It’s what happens when the entities that are running the simulation your universe is in decide to shut it down. It’s been rejected once.

Jimmy and Coral is a work in progress that’s not actually speculative fiction. It began as a series of vignettes posted to Wandering Shop Stories but, now that I’ve figured out the rest of the story, I’m just writing the rest in a document. It’s about a young woman whose mother is kidnapped and has to turn to her estranged father to try to get her back.

Now that the semester is over — and once I’m through the Nebulas — I’m hoping I’ll have time to get back to the business of writing. I plan to start querying to look for a new publisher — or maybe self-publish my current book projects. I also have made arrangements to use a recording studio to try to create an audio book for Revin’s Heart. I’ve had a lot of interest in have an audio book available, so I’ll see whether I can do a good enough job myself. It will be fun to try.

As May ends, I am enroute to the Nebula Awards Conference in Chicago. I am currently rusticating with my brother for a few days before we head up to Chicago on Tuesday. It should be a fun time.

I had originally planned to travel with my son too, by driving. Trapping him in a car to drive is a nice way to have long conversations, which we rarely seem to be able to do under normal circumstances. But this year, he had plans to attend another event and it didn’t work for us to travel together.

I like driving. I just wrote a post about taking the bus to avoid driving, but — in fact — being out on the open road is a pleasure for me. I really enjoy the feeling of flow: of having just enough engagement to keep me occupied, but not so much that I can’t let my mind wander and think about stuff.

It takes two pretty long days to drive here, but it’s a drive I’ve made many times before and it’s interesting to see the changes that have taken place over thirty years. Each time is a little different. This year, I took the northern route along the New York Thruway.

Gas prices were not as high as I might have feared. The highest prices I saw (in New York) were $4.78. The most I paid was $4.57. Prices were generally around $4.50, except in Indiana, where they have suspended the gasoline tax and the sales tax. I saw it for $3.82 at one place, and it was generally around $4.00. But it went right back up once I crossed the state line into Illinois.

Speaking of Indiana, I drove through the largest construction area I’ve ever seen in my life near Lebanon. It was an area that almost defies comprehension: 10,000 acres, or 16 square miles. It was immense. Evidently, Indiana has created a special regulatory/tax district called LEAP (Limitless Exploration/Advanced Pace) that is basically a scheme to enrich the extremely wealthy. The wealthy are incredibly happy to be enriched, so they’ve taken advantage of this opportunity and they seem to be building at least two gigantic projects, a $4.5 billion project for an Eli Lily “Medicine Foundry” and $10 Billion for a Meta data center.

I saw a lot of other interesting stuff on the way. There’s a place near Erie, Pennsylvania that has billboards for Big Woodie’s Fireworks. They sell not only fireworks but pepper spray, tasers, and swords. Nothing like enjoying fireworks with a nice squirt of pepper spray! Hoof Hearted Brewing sounded like place worth visiting: weird brews and weird artwork. I saw a car that had a bumper sticker that said “Serene Transportation” that was zipping frenetically in-and-out of traffic. And no trip would be complete without a stop at the Uranus Fudge Factory, which has to be the best name for a confectioner ever. “The best fudge comes from Uranus!”

Anyway, for two days, I can rest and visit with my brother in Champaign. We don’t have any particular plans, other than to write, take walks, and maybe drink some beer. It’s nice to visit with family.

Today, I started riding public transportation again. Amherst has a great bus system provided by the Pioneer Valley Transit Authority (PVTA). When we first moved to the Pioneer Valley, I lived for two years in Pelham — one of the “hill towns” that surround the valley. During those two years, I had to purchase an expensive parking sticker and drive to work. As a newcomer, the only parking stickers I could get were a long way from my office. I initially selected the closest lot I could find but when I asked my colleague he said, “Do you want to die? That’s on top of Orchard Hill. In the winter, you will slip, fall, and die trying to get down the hill.” So, I picked a lot that was essentially as far as you could get from my office and still be on campus.

When we purchased our house, it was about the same distance as that parking lot had been. But, even better, there was a bus stop at the corner of our property. It took about 15 minutes to walk to my office but, if I timed it just right, I could take the bus and get from my front door to my office door in under three minutes. It was so efficient, it made it kind of hard to walk. If I did walk, two or three buses would go past. Eventually, when I did want to walk for some reason, I started walking a slightly longer route that took me along a different street where I didn’t have to have it rubbed in my face that I could have ridden the bus.

During the pandemic, I pretty much quit riding the bus. Even before the pandemic, I had started my Professional Improvement Fellowship and was going to the Makerspace, instead of my office. The Makerspace was even closer than my office and not on a bus route, so I just walked to that. And once the pandemic started, I wasn’t going to my office anyway. And then I was hospitalized and needed to avoid respiratory infections, so I started working remotely.

Looking back, I also realize now that, even before I was hospitalized, I was already showing symptom of chronic lung disease. It became harder and harder to walk any distance. It was a very gradual process that I explained to myself by saying I was “out of shape” or that I’d gained some weight. In fact, my lungs just weren’t working very well and I was constantly suffering from hypoxia. Doctors would ask me if I suffered from “shortness of breath” but I literally didn’t understand what that meant. Since I had been suffering from shortness of breath for so long, it just seemed like my natural state. A respiratory therapist I worked with in the hospital said, “Wow. That must have been really hard.” I felt seen.

Although I didn’t need to go to an office anymore, I did take daily trips to visit and check on my son. This was particularly true after his hospitalization this winter. Since then, I’ve visited often twice a day to support him and take care of his boxer dog. While the students are in town, the buses tend to be very crowded through campus, so I decided to drive. And I didn’t think much of these trips until gas prices began to spike after our mad king’s unconstitutional war against Iran. Today, with the students gone for the summer, I decided to mask up and start taking the bus again.

It was fun to refamiliarize myself with the practices of riding the bus. The bus tracker website, that you can use to see when buses will arrive at the stop. The various bus routes and their vagaries. The unwritten conventions, like the fact that you don’t have to signal for stops at some places, like the middle of campus or Cowles Lane (my destination). And that you do have to signal for the stop nearest my house, but that you should wait to signal until you get past the previous intersection. (Over the quarter century I rode the bus, I learned that if you signaled too soon, the bus driver would occasionally forget and blow right through the stop. I saw that happen a handful of times when people signaled too soon, but never if you waited to signal.)

I was also reminded of the slower, more relaxed, pace of life the bus imposes. When you drive, you can stay busy right up until you leave. Then you’re busy driving. Then you arrive right at your destination. With the bus, you have a short walk to the bus stop, a brief wait until the bus arrives, a relaxing ride, and then you arrive at a short remove from your destination and have to walk a few steps to get there. It’s relaxing — and it fits well with my new-found freedom as a retired person.

Next fall, when the students come back, I might start driving again. But, for now, I’m having fun.

The History of Money by David McWilliams (2024) is subtitled “A story of humanity.” It skims over a vast landscape, dipping in now and again for a deeper dive into moments when innovations in how societies created and managed money (or failed to do so) contributed to world-changing events. The complexity of our current world economy has grown up guided and constrained by the cautionary lessons of history, but ever spurred on by people’s greed and prurient interests. This book provides an enjoyable and useful introduction with a lot of fascinating details along the way.

He begins with the earliest known examples of commercial tallies, records of values, and transactions, going back to the stone age. The theme of money shifting between measures of commodities (e.g. grain or precious metals) or value (as anchored by fiat and monetary policy) plays out over and over throughout the book.

Many important historical figures are introduced with the roles they played in advancing innovations in monetary practice and policy. I’ve always lamented that, as someone in the sciences, I had little flexibility to study history and classic literature. McWilliams has prompted me to consider reading at least two important books out of history: Xenophon’s Oeconomicus, the foundational text of economics and Liber Abaci by Fibonacci.

The books ends with a pretty harsh dismissal of cryptocurrencies:

Over the years we have seen that money is a technology designed to solve a problem. I’m scratching my head as to what problem Bitcoin in particular and crypto in general actually solve. Despite the small foothold Bitcoin has gained in the mainstream US investment market, crypto looks set to remain on the fringes, a source of obsession for its supporters and aficionados, but not very useful or practical in reality. Bitcoin is to money what Esperanto is to language.

Other than the slur against Esperanto, I am in complete agreement. I mean, he’s not actually wrong about Esperanto either, but I would have preferred he slander Volapük rather than Esperanto to make his point.

If you’re curious about understanding how money works in practice and how it came to be the way it is, this book is a great place to start.

Two years ago, I began a phased retirement. Last Thursday, I conducted a University class meeting for the last time, presided over my final Faculty Senate meeting, and (by coincidence) also celebrated my 38th wedding anniversary. And today — Tuesday — is special because, on my Tuesday/Thursday teaching schedule, I would have been teaching today. (I mean, I wouldn’t have because it’s finals week so class wouldn’t have met anyway, but you get the idea).

My brother, who retired fifteen years ago, recently had a piece of advice for me.

The weeks leading up to retirement, and the weeks after retirement, are particularly nice. Do savor them. Don’t just let them slip by as if they were ordinary weeks.

I’ve been trying to take this to heart.

Although we agree about many things, we sometimes actually come at things from quite different perspectives. He never really wanted to work and pursued a career with the goal of retiring early. I, on the other hand, aimed to find a career that gave meaning to my life and represented what I would have wanted to be doing anyway. I tried to embody the aphorism, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” I am not a spiritual person, but I believe in the sanctity of work.

I decided to dedicate myself to science education. As an edutainer, I had visited hundreds of elementary-school classrooms and had seen how few teachers understood what science really was: Not merely a collection of facts, but a way of knowing and apprehending the world. I believed that improving science education was a potential way to help people make better, more-informed choices about the environment.

When the Internet happened, I was given a front-row seat to helping faculty transform education using technology. For a brief moment, I was in a position to show people how technology could be used, not merely to reproduce the existing paradigm, but to create new environments to foster learning.

The work felt important to me. It seemed like work worth doing. I could make a case to myself that it was worth dedicating my life to the task.

In part, I was motivated by Journey to Ixtlan. It’s a rather silly book. But I read it as a young man and certain themes appealed to me. In particular, the notion that, since death may arrive unpredictably, you should aim to use what time you have intentionally.

This was reinforced for me when I had a cancer scare in graduate school. A barber spotted a questionable mole on my ear and recommended I get it looked at. I made an appointment with the campus health service and a physician’s assistant inspected it. She studied it, pulled out an illustrated guide, studied it some more, paged through the guide, and then finally announced, “I think you’re OK because it looks like this one.”

I said, “You’re pointing at a picture that’s labeled ‘Deadly Melanoma.'” It was. It was literally labeled “Deadly Melanoma.”

She paled. “Oh. Oh! Oh… Let me me go get the dermatologist.”

They took a biopsy and, a week later, the results came back. It was not malignant. They still recommended getting it removed, so I scheduled the surgery. But a week of having that in the back of my mind was rather… focusing.

Similarly, my decision to retire was significantly influenced by my hospitalization when I was diagnosed with a chronic lung condition. This made working and teaching seem a lot less fun. And got me thinking that I had better things to do than keep beating my head against a wall.

As I’ve approached the end of my phased retirement, I’ve attended several workshops where people talk about retirement. One person suggested that, rather than “retiring from” one should aim to “retire to”. For a lot of people, this is perhaps a useful distinction, although it was never really in question for me. If I wasn’t doing work, I would be doing something else creative. I have no shortage of interesting projects I intend to work on in retirement.

I have plenty of things to work on. I have several fiction writing projects. I have several books in progress and a lot of short fiction that I should be shopping around to publishers. I have wanted to make a new book of haiku for a couple of years and just thought of an idea for an accompanying art project that might be fun to work on. There are also some gardening projects that might be fun to try. I would also have fun doing some technology projects again as well. And, of course, there are also my service commitments to SFWA and Straw Dog. There is plenty to keep me busy.

After my two years of phased retirement, I still have several months to savor as I approach full retirement. This week, I’ll get the grading completed for my last class. Since I’m on a nine-month appointment, the summer is a period of “non-responsibility” (or irresponsibility, as my brother likes to joke.) So, although I’ll still be formally employed, I won’t have any more official duties. I can attend a few Rules Committee meetings and join them to meet with the Campus Leadership Council. And August 31 will be my last day. I will have been a faculty member for 30 years and one month.

It’s enough.

Today, I was scheduled to attend the Watch City Steampunk Festival to sell books. But it wasn’t to be. After several days uneasily watching the forecast, this morning I checked the radar and made the final decision to cancel my appearance. It was a “perfect storm” due not only to the rain, but also a shortened festival and higher travel costs.

I was planning to bring a small selection of new books. I was ready with copies of A Familiar Problem, M.D. Neu’s Hawaiian Sun, and Lawrence Rafael Brother’s The Shadow Minister. I was also planning to bring Brightstar’s The Working (which had been released last year, but was out-of-stock during Watch City) and, finally, my own backlist including Revin’s Heart and Better Angels: Tour de Force.

Rain means death for book sales. Books themselves are particularly vulnerable to rain. Perhaps the only thing worse to try to sell in the rain would be cotton candy. Or maybe owls. Any books you put out for display are likely to get water damaged and become unsellable: nobody wants to buy books that have gotten wet. Moreover, the wet ground also makes it difficult to even protect the stock you don’t put out. And, of course, it suppresses attendance which also reduces sales. Furthermore, rain also often brings wind, which knocks over books, scatters promotional giveaways, and can even blow over the tent.

Last year it also rained. But last year, the rain was predicted to wrap up around the start of the festival. Although we got wet during setup, the festival itself was mostly dry (though cold and pretty miserable). This year, the rain is just getting started and it looks like it will only get heavier as the day wears on. There’s even a chance of thunderstorms during load-out.

In addition, this year the organizers were compelled to shorten the length of the festival. The town passed a new ordinance that events on the Common may only run for four hours. I suspect a lot of vendors were already planning to skip the event due to the difficulty of justifying the costs of attendance with the shortened time frame of the festival.

Finally, of course, gasoline prices are a lot higher this year. The trip represents about four hours of highway driving, which costs almost twice as much due to the mad king’s unconstitutional war against Iran.

As I wrote in my bookselling post at Planetside and on my blog, even in the best of circumstances, you’re doing well if you make back your table fee at these kinds of promotional festival events. It’s rare you actually come out in the black when you consider travel and other costs — to say nothing of labor. It wasn’t going to happen this year. As my mother says, “There are times when you just have to give up on things.” But at least I’m warm and dry.

On April 25, 2026, the leadership of the Straw Dog Writers Guild gathered at the WOW Creative Arts Center in Westfield for a day-long retreat to discuss the organization. Fifteen people — the entire Steering Committee plus a handful of others — spent the day getting to know each other and the organization a bit better. By the end of the day, all of the world’s problems had been solved. Well, maybe not all of them. But we did have a productive conversation.

Due to my chronic health condition, I wore a mask for the event. It appears to me that respiratory illness is not particularly high right now, but I normally avoid spending long periods of time indoors with groups of unmasked people. I really don’t want to end up in the hospital again. The last time I attended an indoor Straw Dog retreat, I had persuaded the participants to mask for my benefit. But it was controversial and unpopular with some people, so I didn’t try to do that this time.

In the interests of full disclosure, I should point out that the post that follows is not a comprehensive report of what happened at the meeting. I did not take sufficiently detailed notes to represent everything that everyone said. This over-represents what I said and offers reactions primarily from my own perspective.

We began with an ice breaker. Becky Jones called on each of us to identify some symbol or metaphor to define ourselves. I broke the ice by saying what I typically say in such circumstances. Other people had similarly whimsical perspectives about themselves.

Ellie Meeropol provided a sheet with a summary of Straw Dog Writers Guild accomplishments from 2025 and 2026. For 2025, there were around ten on-going regular activities (Writer’s Night Out, Straw Dog Writes, Second Sunday readings, etc.) and around twenty one-time events (workshops on the craft and business of writing, Author’s Showcase, etc.) and this looks on track to be similar. It was impressive to see all of our work represented.

Jacquelyn Sheehan and Bill Mailer led a discussion to flesh out a diagram (click to see full size) listing all of the on-going activities. We began with just trying to catalog everything then show how they map into committees and standing bodies. Finally, participants were invited to initial the parts they are involved with. I’m listed for Straw Dog Writes, the Program Committee, and website. I’m currently scheduled to chair a committee to coordinate with Christopher J. Sparks and Electropoetics, that will start redesigning the Straw Dog website in the coming months.

Don Lesser brought forward a question of whether Straw Dog should charge non-members to participate in workshops. This generated a lot of discussion that included a consideration of Straw Dog’s mission and the history of this topic, which was tried before and rejected. Making non-members pay a nominal fee to attend both has the potential to get people to see more value in the workshops and actually show up, if they’ve registered. It also might give members an increased sense of value for their membership. It also could suppress participation and raised concerns about its alignment with Straw Dog’s mission. My primary contribution to the discussion was about practical concerns: It sounds simple, but would require a fair amount of staff support to build out the infrastructure to collect the money, track which registrations were by members, check attendees for payment, integrate with online registration systems, etc.

During the potluck lunch, I stayed inside without eating because I avoid unmasking indoors. The last time I attended a Straw Dog retreat, I took my lunch outside and ate by myself. But I found that rather stigmatizing because everyone else was having conversations that I was excluded from. (I had persuaded people to mask that time, but they all necessarily unmasked during lunch and I didn’t feel safe staying indoors.) So this time, I just didn’t eat and talked with people while they ate. This was also stigmatizing (as if being the only person wearing a mask wasn’t stigmatizing in itself). But it was OK and I had some nice side conversations with people.

After lunch, we did another community building activity where we interviewed another person and then reported a summary of the conversation to the group. I met a young woman named Emily whom I hadn’t met before. At least I don’t think I’d met her before. I summarized the blog post I was writing about work and she talked about how her conception of location or place had evolved as she transitioned from childhood to adulthood. It was charming to get to know her a little better —and to learn a bit more about all of the other participants from their reported conversations.

Julie Schlack and Mary Ann Scognamiglio led the final activity of the day, to brainstorm ideas to aid recruitment and retention of new members. There were a lot ideas about building and sustaining community. I had been spending the day making notes of ideas that I had, which I then shared with the group. My ideas were:

• Recruit member representatives for local organizations in the communities we serve to facilitate communication and ensure our activities are made visible on event schedules, bulletin boards, etc.
• Develop a recruitment presentation that members could use to describe Straw Dog to other audiences.
• Bring some focus to a national recruitment campaign (as our workshops are increasingly available via zoom, we’ve already picked up a substantial number of members across the country, which we could grow.)
• Offer support and coordination for book launches to members. (We have a virtual book launch coming up that we’re hoping to use as a template.)
• More committees or advisory boards for program elements, to provide increased opportunities to members to grow into leadership positions in the organization. (We have only a small number of actual committees currently, but it was pointed out that the WriteAngles conference could always use more volunteers.)
• Set up book vending machines to sell books for members. This is an idea I’ve seen be successful in other areas. It would require some capital, but I think a lot of authors would jump at the chance to have their books available via vending machines it the machines would serve as advertising for Straw Dog and its authors.
• Offer more articles via the website and coordinate with the newsletter. Offer posts about writing, about members, about events, and maybe book reviews. Have teasers in the Newsletter and use it to drive more traffic to the website.
• Use communication software more effectively. Currently most Straw Dog communications occur via email which has a lot of downsides. Committees mostly communicate by people just using “reply-all” to the last message sent to the group, which has the potential to miss some people, propagate typos in email address, or include the wrong people (if someone was copied into a previous message). We could use Discord or a threaded-discussion system (or someone recommended Slack) to communicate more effectively. This would ensure the history of groups remains accessible so that interested members or newcomers could lurk and more easily get up to speed..
• Use our CRM more effectively. We have a new CRM, but it could track more information about members and our previous contacts with them, so that we can target subpopulations and follow up with people better.

There were a number of other ideas as well, but those are the ones that I brought forward.

At the end, Bob Plasse, the President of the Board of Directors of WOW was given an opportunity to comment on our retreat and tell us more about the WOW Center. He had a lot of insight into a community organization like ours and described what WOW was doing that we could consider replicating or articulating with.

The retreat was time well spent and I’m hopeful that we can implement a number of the ideas in the coming year.

After reading Riva’s Escape (a side story of Revin’s Heart), one of my beta readers commented about how they appreciated the way my writing recognized the value and significance of work. In the scene, Revin (who has just transitioned) is pressed into service working in the kitchen of a restaurant washing dishes. This got me thinking about how my own experience with work has impacted how I write about it.

I started working on a farm before I was legally old enough to work. At age 15, a friend and I were hired to bale straw. We rode on a wagon behind a tractor grabbing bales of straw that emerged from the baler — a complicated machine that was powered by a shaft from the tractor. We would take turns carrying the bales back and stacking them up until the wagon was full. It was hot, dirty, and dusty. Looking back, my current lung condition probably wasn’t helped by breathing all the dust. We would often work until it was starting to get dark. I remember coming home in the gathering dark, taking a shower with the sluicing off me, closing my eyes, and feeling like I was still bumping along on the wagon. Years later, I tried bailing hay. As an adult, I was hired to work by myself on the wagon (ie, working twice as hard) and lifting bales that weighed twice as much. I lasted one day.

I spent two summers as a high school student working as an animal caretaker in a toxicology laboratory. It was a bleak, proletarian existence. You were required to punch a time clock within seven minutes (five minutes before the hour or two minutes after) to punch in, then punch out before legally required breaks and lunch, punch back in afterwards, and then punch out at the end of the day. I was on the “large animal” team that cared primarily for beagles. Other teams did mice, rats, rabbits, and monkeys. The entire windowless facility had tan walls, gray floors, and unfinished ceilings with black-painted duct-work, pipes, and wiring. The animal rooms had two banks of stacked cages with a big floor sink at the end. I would go into a room, clean and fill all the water dishes, then pull the trays under the cages one after another, wash them in the sink, then replace them. Finally, I would recheck the water dishes and clean/refill any that were empty. (Some dogs, desperate for stimulation, would dig in their water dish as soon as you filled it.) It became so routine that I could daydream during the process to the extent that, when I got my schedule out after leaving a room, I sometimes had to check to see if I had just finished a room or just arrived.

I worked for a year as a busboy at chain seafood restaurant. There, I had perhaps the worst boss I ever had as an employee. In the restaurant, there was a lounge attached to the restaurant with an entrance for patrons and a passage containing the busboy station near the ice and soft drink dispensers for waitstaff. The boss would walk through those entrances in a big circle and every time she came around, I was doing the wrong thing. “Why are you bussing tables! The floor is dirty! Sweep the floor!” So I’d carry my tub to the dishwasher, get the sweeper and start sweeping the floor and she would return, “Why are you sweeping the floor! There are tables that need to be bussed!” She was pure evil.

I worked for a while as a gas-station attendant. When I was in middle-school, they had kids take the “differential aptitude test” — one of the many standardized tests used for nefarious purposes by educators — that included a component that was supposed to help you identify potential career options. I knew that I wanted to be a field biologist, so I tried to pick options that I thought would be aligned with that goal: Yes, I liked working outside. Yes, I liked working with numbers, etc, etc. Eventually, the computer spat out an answer: it said I should be a gas-station attendant. So, when I actually worked as one years later it was a more than a little ironic. I actually liked it quite a bit, though it was not a particularly good choice as a career, with poor pay and limited options for advancement.

I had a lot of different jobs over the years. I was a dishwasher in a college cafeteria. I worked as an archeological faunal analyst. I was a Spanish-speaking bilingual teacher’s aide for a migrant worker education program. I was a substitute teacher for a time. (That was horrible.) I did scientific field work in many different contexts: catching birds, lizards, mongooses, etc. For several years, I was an “edutainer” traveling to elementary schools to teach about science. I visited hundreds of schools in a dozen different states.

Eventually, I returned to graduate school. I pursued a PhD in Science Education. (I also got a Masters in Earth Science studying wetlands hydrology). While I was doctoral student, I got tasked with setting up a computer lab and then the Internet happened. These experiences led directly to my career as a faculty member serving as the Director of a computer center at an R1 institution. In this role, I performed a vast number of teaching, research, and service activities. (My curriculum vitae is more than 20 pages long.)

These work experiences have all informed my writing in multiple contexts.

I find that “work” is actually a somewhat loaded and conflicted word. On the one hand, it can mean the drudgery you are required to perform. But it can also have the connotation of your calling, your “life’s work,” which for many people becomes nearly their identity. Some people detest work while others strive for the ideal of “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” I have deep respect for the work that people do in all walks of life. And I was pleased that this was reflected in my writing to the extent that someone noticed it.

Relatively soon after I moved to the Pioneer Valley, my father gifted me a membership to the Trustees of Reservations and encouraged me to visit Bartholomew’s Cobble. It’s a bit of drive, in the extreme south-west corner of the state. But it’s an amazing place with the highest plant diversity of any site in New England. This spring, I visited again to see the spring wildflowers.

A friend and I made a road trip out of the adventure. We masked up (due to my health issues) and drove on back roads so we could keep the windows down. We drove first to Westfield and stopped at Skyline Trading Company for lunch. Then we took a new (to me) route through the back roads, criss-crossing over the Connecticut border to get there.

I’ve always been fascinated by plants. As a child, I frequently went with my father to natural areas where he introduced me to plant identification. As an undergraduate, I took a lot of botany classes: plant morphology and structure, spring flora, and plant systematics. And, as a graduate student, I studied wetlands hydrology, for which plant identification was essential.

Bartholomew’s Cobble is a promontory of quartzite and marble situated by a bend of the Housatonic river. This creates four distinct zones: cool dry, cool wet, warm wet, and warm dry. Plus the marble limestone, relatively rare in Massachusetts, creates regions with higher pH which adds to the range of available microhabitats. This produces the high plant diversity at the site.

We arrived in mid afternoon and, after paying the admission fee, set out walking. There are several trails through the reservation, but the one I always take is the half-mile Ledges trail. It simply follows a route around the promontory and takes you through each of the habitats. You start at the cool-dry quadrant, then pass into the cool-wet segment along the river, then turn west into the warm-wet, then warm-dry, and then finally return to the parking area.

The progression of spring wildflowers was markedly different between the cool and warm sides. In the cooler areas, spring had only just started to arrive. There weren’t many flowers or fiddleheads. But mosses, lichens, and older growth were apparent. The warmer sides had many of the classic early spring wildflowers: triliums, dutchman’s breeches, trout lilies, spring beauties, etc., etc. It was lovely.

My friend is a molecular biologist who was intrigued by the variety of plants. Like me, he teaches the writing class at the University. He was fascinated by the number and variety of plants and began thinking about adapting his version of the course to have students look at plant diversity in the fall. It’s a lot easier than it used to be.

I spent years and years studying plant identification. Nowadays, I find that although I can still recognize a lot of familiar plants, there are vastly more I never learned. I even wrote a haiku (published in Ideoj Ĝermas) about the experience of seeing the plants that bloom after your spring flora class is over.

Also identifications have changed. A lot of the nomenclature I learned has been replaced, as molecular systematics has reorganized the phylogeny of plants.

Nowadays, you don’t need to learn plant identification at all. People can use apps to identify plants. I’ve used LeafSnap and, more recently, iNaturalist, that also keeps a record of plants you’ve observed and has experts that help confirm identifications. This can allow students — even with little experience with plant diversity — to make observations about plant species and distribution.

I’ve visited Bartholomew’s Cobble perhaps five times over the past thirty years. Maybe someday, I’ll walk some of the other trails.

After Donald Trump was elected for a second time, he began to systematically destroy the “rules-based order” that the US had painstaking constructed after World War II. It’s elements included having an independent bureaucracy and judiciary, floating the dollar as the reserve currency of the world, keeping the world’s communications networks centered here, maintaining an enormous military to be the world’s policemen, etc. Although somewhat expensive, this arrangement provided enormous benefits.

In little more than a year, these are all in tatters. The US is now the largest and most powerful corrupt mafia state in the world, run entirely at the whim of a single dictator who maintains a masked paramilitary force to terrorize cities, who arbitrarily attacks dairy farms and fishing boats, who abducts the leaders of other countries, and who unilaterally begins wars.

People argue whether he is the cause or the symptom of an electorate that is too stupid and provincial to understand what immense harm he’s doing to the standing of the country. But I would like to argue that the moment that the US actually jumped the shark and began on the path that led inevitably to this moment was when Ronald Reagan was elected.

I think this graph pretty much sums it up:

Post by @Lightfighter@infosec.exchange

View on Mastodon

Ronald Reagan had a handful of bad ideas and pursued them vigorously. He began the process of undermining confidence in the ability of government to be a force for good. He began the Republican practice of appointing cronies to govern incompetently and cynically, so that people would see government negatively.

Critically, he presided over the decoupling of productivity gains from wages for workers. The voodoo economics of “trickle down” began under Reagan. Prior to his administration, as productivity increases, wages for workers increased commensurately. After Reagan, productivity continued to increase, but wages were flat. And basically have been flat until today. The rich got richer, but everyone else got poorer and poorer.

These two factors are what we see playing out today. People no longer believe that government or expertise are forces for good. Even though they enjoy the fruits of science, technology, and medicine, they have been impoverished economically, and they blame government.

To be fair, the Democrats have not distinguished themselves. Under Bill Clinton, the Democratic party became a kind of Republican-lite. He creating the Democratic Leadership Council that began pursuing funding from the wealthiest in the country. Democrats pushed back against the worst excesses of the Republicans, seeking at least to govern competently, but remained in the pockets of the wealthy and failed to effectively advocate for working people.

I could see these things happening when Reagan was President. I kept waiting for the country to realize the enormous damage had done. But they kept naming things after him, as if he had done anything other than preside over the destruction of the American dream. Now, finally, people seem to be realizing the enormity of the injury he inflicted on the country. But the damage is done and things are likely to get worse for a long time to come at this point.

Donald Trump has made the United States an international pariah. The rules-based order isn’t coming back. The rest of the world is never going to trust the United States again. So the country is likely to get poorer for for the foreseeable future. Sorry. I mean the population of the United States. The billionaires will probably keep getting richer.

Donald Trump is the one who actually took an axe to the world order that had been so painstaking constructed to benefit us. But the seeds its destruction were sown by Ronald Reagan. And we are left to reap the bitter harvest of his cynical crop.

On March 29, I was spotlighted by J. Scott Coatsworth. Scott is the creator of Liminal Fiction and QueerSciFi. On his blog, he runs a series of articles that let authors respond to a range of potential questions to highlight their recent work. I answered questions about my first published work, weird things I’ve done for research, secondary characters in A Familiar Problem, my favorite character to write, fonts, writing without dialog, what I wanted to be when I grew up, pets, what I like to drink, whether I’m afraid of snakes or spiders, and what I’m working on now. I also provided a synopsis of A Familiar Problem a brief excerpt.

I’m never sure how useful it is to do these kinds of things. I don’t know how often they lead to sales or get people to learn more about me as an author. But I’m not really sure that’s the point. It was fun to answer the questions and give me an excuse to link to Scott’s blog.

I took a trans flag to the March 28, 2026 No Kings protest in Amherst. There are many things to protest about Trump and the MAGA movement: the misguided war in Iran, the destruction of our global alliances, the endless grifting and profiteering. To me their persecution of the trans community has been among their most odious acts. During the first Trump administration, I recognized that the Republicans were organizing to use trans people as a wedge to divide the country. And this was a motivating force behind my fiction writing.

My debut work was Revin’s Heart, a steampunky fantasy adventure with pirates and airships and a trans protagonist. Part of my goal in writing about trans people was because I was moved by their struggle. It’s monstrous that the Republicans have identified a small minority of people to demonize in order to foster division in our society. Letting trans people live their best lives costs them nothing. Yet, they attack and demonize them in a sadistic and self-serving effort to pander to the worst instincts of hateful people. We must stand united in the face of this hatred.

In point of fact, Revin’s Heart is barely about trans issues at all. It’s just a young man’s adventure story, where the young man happens to be trans. He has some experiences that are unique to his identity as a trans person, but — for the most part — it’s just a young man making friends, finding mentors, confronting challenges, and living his best life.

Where Revin’s Heart becomes a critique of our society, is when it talks about feudalism. During the first Trump administration, I was horrified as he anointed his children with government roles — exactly as a monarch would do — and the Republicans did not revolt. This kind of behavior would never have been accepted in the country I grew up in. Neither would the constant mendacity, self-dealing, or corruption. I saw that there was a striving on the Right for someone to be a king and for people to want to be vassals. So I wrote about a society corrupted by these principals and tried to identify both the strengths and weaknesses — and show someone trying to look beyond to what might be possible instead.

I have written three novella-length sequels to Revin’s Heart that continue this conversation. In the first, Revin must confront a revanchist movement that has taken hold on his home island of Devishire. In the second, he works to quell a populist uprising in the town of Campshire that threatens to provoke the worst impulses of the aristocracy. The third, takes place on a foreign island, Ecorozire, that has been devastated by civil war and social collapse. I hope to be able to share these stories with the public soon.

Back in Amherst, I had considered making a sign for the protest, but decided that carrying the flag was the most eloquent statement I could make. I saw a few other rainbow flags and signs advocating for trans issues. A few people didn’t know what the flag represented and asked me. Several trans people approached me to thank me for bringing the flag and a few asked if they could be photographed holding one side of the flag. It made me feel good to help them feel represented.

I wore one other small symbol at the protest: a pin that was gifted to me by Oliver Jensen. Among the flurry of executive orders that the Trump administration issued at the very beginning of his term were a number that were targeted at persecuting trans people. Oliver designed this pin and had several produced which he gifted to people on Mastodon. I requested two: one for myself and one for a trans colleague.

When I first got the pin, I wore it on a daily basis for months. I was proud to wear it again for the protest. Oliver has since moved to Germany, but he said that he was honored and grateful that I wore it to the protest to represent him.

The energy at the protest was generally positive. People are angry and horrified by the terrible actions the administration is taking, but they take encouragement from one another. Awful things are happening, but we can support one another and have faith that things can get better. Amherst is a blue, blue drop in a blue lake. We here are largely sheltered from the worst of what is happening in the country. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts is standing up to the worst excesses of the Trump administration. We have not been invaded and assaulted by the masked Brownshirts of the Trump administration. We can protest without fear of being clubbed and beaten by jackbooted thugs. For now. Let us hope for better days for all.

I use a text editor for pretty much all of my draft writing. I can date this pretty much to 1993, when Microsoft Word 6.0 was released. It really sucked and, after many years of using a word processor, I quit using one for writing.

I did most of my early writing by hand or using a typewriter. I took “secretarial typing” in high school — they changed the name that year to “business typing” which was perceived as less sexist. I was the only boy in the class. There was a “personal typing” class that required students to learn to type 45 words per minute. But in secretarial typing, you needed to learn touch typing (to not look at the keyboard) and type 60 words per minute. It was perhaps the single most useful class I ever took in my life.

I also learned to use DEC computers with a paper terminal in high school. Mostly, I was programming in BASIC. There was rather crude text editing, but I could see the potential for writing text. There was a text formatting program called RUNOFF that I experimented with a little bit, but it was too complicated for my purposes and so I never actually used it for anything. But I could see the potential.

When I went to college, my family purchased a Smith Corona electric typewriter for me as a gift for going to college.

As an undergraduate, I learned to use a word processing system — maybe ALL-IN_1 — on the VAX computer at Alma College. It used a “gold key” to access formatting commands and you could do a lot of amazing things. I had been using my typewriter to write papers, but quickly switched to writing everything using the word processor.

Around that time, a friend kept asking to borrow my typewriter. I didn’t mind since it wasn’t like I used it anymore: once you got used to using the word processor, the idea of going back to using a typewriter was a monstrous impossibility. I kept suggesting that he learn to use the word processor, but he always claimed to not have time. So I finally said I would type his paper for him using the word processor.

There was a central terminal room, but we went to a small computer lab in the life science building. I logged in and quickly typed his paper. Then I printed it using the dot-matrix printer in the lab. He looked at it skeptically, then said, “Yeah. OK. But it has a widow.”

“Let’s fix that,” I said. I typed a few keystrokes and printed again. When I handed him the output, his eyes got bigger and bigger and bigger.

“You can print it again?” he breathed.

He got an account the next morning.

I had other computers along the way (including the odd typewriter/wordprocessor hybrid pictured above) but when I started graduate school, I bought a Powerbook 100 and a copy of Microsoft Word 5.1. It was amazing. It was perhaps the best word processing system I ever used. I used it to write all my papers as a graduate student, including my gigantic 200 page dissertation that had 88 figures and 15 tables.

Then Word 6.0 came out and it was garbage. It was clunky and unstable. It frequently crashed and you lost what you’d been working on. Its documents frequently became corrupted and were unrecoverable. I kept using my old copy of Word for a while, but it was clear its days were numbered. So I switched to doing all of my draft writing using a text editor — so at least I wouldn’t lose my writing.

On a Mac, the best GUI text editor for a long time was BBEdit. I used that for a number of years, then (when it quit being shareware) I switched to TextWrangler.

Note: I’m leaving out the whole chapter where I learned Unix and the vi editor. I used vi a lot for programming, but there wasn’t a native vi for classic MacOS, so it wasn’t something that was convenient to use for local files until MacOS X came out. So, although I use vi a lot, I never used it much for writing.

When I began teaching the writing class, at first I chose different packages for Macs and PCs. Then I started using Linux myself and started looking for applications that would work identically on all three platforms. Eventually, I settled on Atom, which was released in 2015 and I started using that.

Atom was an adequate text editor. It was built on Electron, which made it a bit bloated and clunky. But it worked exactly the same on all three platforms. It was also highly configurable and had a lot of community add-ons to provide additional functionality.

In 2018, Microslop purchased Github, and in 2022 killed off development of Atom — probably to force people to use their proprietary development environment. But, because Atom was Free Software, the developers promptly forked it and renamed it Pulsar. It works exactly like Atom did and I still use it today.

I had very little success persuading students to use a text editor to write. And I didn’t see many other people using text editors either until this year. Suddenly EVERYONE seems to be using text editors to write. Weird. I guess everything old is new again.

A bunch of people seem to be using Obsidian. Tobias Buckell described building a whole writing environment based on Obsidian. Other people are using Notion and NotebookLM and there are a bunch of others.

I’ll keep using Pulsar, at least until I finish teaching the writing class. Then, maybe, I’ll look at others to see if I can find something I like better. But I’ll still want something that is Free Software and cross platform.

When I was the Director of the Biology Computer Resource Center, Spring Break was just a chance to get caught up with software and hardware updates. Since then, I’ve used it to accomplish significant bits of writing. This year, however, I really needed the break. And I took full advantage.

I used my time for self-care. I slept a lot. I got in a lot of walking. I hung out a friend on the patio. It took some time, but I finally started to feel like myself again.

For the first time since December, I felt like I could write some fiction. I wrote a short story, A Persistent Curse, and submitted it for publication.

With his paws on the back of the sofa, Makul poked his nose through the curtains and looked out. A misty drizzle was falling — it always rained when the curse was bad. The raindrops passed through an assemblage of shadowy spirits clustered just outside the window trying to get in. 

Makul waited, watching, until she came around the corner: a short, wizened crone with a dowager’s hump who shuffled along with a stick to hold her up. She gathered her black shawl around her shoulders as she hobbled around the corner and into the shade from the lone cloud that hovered over the apartment building. Her mouth made a hard line when she looked at the building and saw the swarm of spirits jostling around the first-floor apartment of her grandson.

“Tiom da fantomoj!” she muttered. “The curse is bad this morning.”

It was rejected. But at least I feel like I have some creative energy again. It was a long dry spell.

I’m still getting some extra Tanuki time. But little by little, things are returning to baseline.

I remind myself that it’s my last Spring Break. This is my last semester as an active faculty member. I’m trying to be particularly cognizant of the milestones and rhythm of academic life as I experience them for the last time.

In any event, today is the last day. Tomorrow, the students come back and on Tuesday I’ll start teaching again. I have a fair amount of grading I’ve been putting off — and my regular service commitments this week: Faculty Senate and Rules Committee.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends!