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Thursday, May 19, 2005

This Week at the Palace

I revised "The Angel with the Broken Face" for Mars Hill Review; it was too long for them and was a bit overstuffed anyway. The editing comments were interesting.

So far I've seen one review of my story that's up at SCIFICTION. I find it curious that the reviewer never thought that the vision of the girl might point both to Lyle's wife as a girl and to the young woman at the opening of the story--it works in a double way as prophecy, but if one doesn't "get it," the story is diminished. I don't quite see why that would need to be explained... And I always find plot summaries of fiction to be disturbing; if I'd wanted to write a story in 200 words, I would have done so. However, it's enlightening to have paid a visit to the genre world, where there seems to be a lot of lively talk about magazines and stories.

On Saturday I'm doing a yack-and-read at a Barnes & Noble in the hinterlands. I hope that last week's remark, "sometimes we get two librarians," doesn't turn out to cover my event!

Tussle of the week: The initial explosion has set off interesting small fires elsewhere.

My favorite response to "Chickens at the Palace": "Can't match Mike the Headless Chicken -- which, as Dave Barry would say, sounds like a terrific name for a rock band -- but Whiteville, N.C., has its Fire Ant Festival coming up."

The rest is reticence.


  1. Why did the chicken get a jaywalking ticket? She was trying to get to Barnes and Noble for a copy of INGLEDOVE!
    Actually, a chicken up in Kern County CA did get such a ticket, though I don't think it's much of a fiction fan.
    I'd like a copy of INGLEDOVE, though I'm not too good at laying eggs... .

  2. Overheard at the Capitol during the filibuster, "Let there be a chicken in every pot and a copy of INGLEDOVE on every shelf! Better yet, bring me a copy and I'll read it to you."

  3. More on Mike the Headless Chicken: His late owner, L. A. Olsen, called him "a robust chicken - a fine specimen of a chicken except for not having a head."


Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.