This morning somebody showed me this tweet from noted racist, K Tempest Bedford Forrest.
My reaction was: There was something going on this weekend?
Oh yeah, WorldCon. Whoop de friggin’ do.
Alas, poor Tempest, sadly I cried no salty tears of sadness, because a bunch of assholes continued to prove me right by giving awards to their friends.
As much as these mopes keep trying to drag me back in because they really need a villain to rail against, I wrote them off years ago.
So instead let’s see what did I do rather than give a crap about WorldCon.
During the week I wrote a new Grimnoir short story for the upcoming Noir Fatale anthology, edited by me and KC. We’ve got all the stories in now, and they’re great.
Target Rich Environment comes out in a couple weeks. I also got back the 2nd draft of Monster Hunter Guardian. I just received the first few chapters of another collaboration to go over as well. I signed another contract with Baen. Oh yeah, and I got the next Tom Stranger contract to look over too.
For fun, I shot my new custom Grayguns Sig 320. I boxed up my 625 to send off to Apex for a full custom job. I got a Seekins Precision 6.5 Grendel upper as a thank you from RMR Bullets, but I’ve not shot it yet.
On Friday I drove my 18 year old daughter off to college and helped her move in. Ironically, since my teenage daughter has had two pro short fiction sales in the last year, I believe she’s written more than Tempest has in that same time frame. Which is really kind of sad, since Tempest has been a writer longer than I have. Well, nominally a writer, because you know, that would require actually writing fiction and not just angry tweets about how everybody in the world is having fun wrong.
In more time than it has taken me to write 20 novels and 50 short stories and novellas, she has written like a dozen shorts… And some fools still take this dilettante hobbyist’s opinion seriously? Really, she’s just one of those useless parasites who has latched onto publishing, who rarely creates anything, but is all up in fandom and on lots of panels, constantly bitching that people who do create are creating wrong. She interjects herself into every controversy, and if there isn’t a controversy right then, creates one.
But back to my week of not paying attention to people with severe projection issues, on Saturday I went car shopping to replace the one my daughter took with her. I got a low mileage 2017 Murano. I just paid cash (I’ve never made a car payment in my life). This is the second car I’ve bought this year (first one was a 2016 Explorer). As a former accountant, I never buy new. Let somebody else take that big first year depreciation hit.
But anyways, when you are a hack pulp, not a *real* writer, with and irreparably damaged career, you can buy a couple of low mileage, almost new, vehicles, and just write a check for the full amount. Proper award winning authors have to beg on Patreon for rent money.
After that, I had to check on the construction of my new place. They laid the footings last week. This week is forms. Due to the half a mile of mountain driveway, it is a logistical challenge. The issue now is, are we going to be able to frame and button up before the weather turns, or will I just have a big bunch of concrete sitting there for the winter, and then start framing in spring?
Sadly, no tears for that either. Those are simply the challenges you face when you develop a big piece of property up in the mountains and put a gigantic house on it. I suppose life would be simpler if I was just a rich kid bum whose daddy sent me to the most expensive undergrad program in the country, before dropping out to couch surf and mooch off my rich friends, before going into a career of whining about other folk’s “privilege”.
But anyways, yesterday was my birthday. I appreciate the thousands of happy birthday wishes. I took the day off, painted minis, while streaming some low budget horror movies, and gave myself a free day on the carbs to enjoy some cake and ice cream (on that note, I’m now down 51 pounds and 4 pants sizes this year).
So let me think… More work than I can handle, enough contracts that if I don’t have another idea I’m booked up for the next 6 years, my books are doing well, there’s more coming, I love my job, and I have the creative freedom to do whatever I feel like. All that and not a single tear was shed because a bunch of stuck up dipshits had their annual circle jerk, after months of them ripping each other apart for not being sufficiently woke enough?
I didn’t even cry when I dropped my daughter off at school. Because I was proud of her, not worried or sad. I raised a strong, independent, smart, hard working kid, who knows that identity politics is a cancer (plus, she’s majoring in computer science, not social justice studies, so unlike most of my detractors will actually be able to get a real job).
Sorry, Tempest. As much as you guys keep trying to drag me back in to serve as your Emmanuel Goldstein, I’ve washed my hands of your clown show. Enjoy your slow decline into irrelevance. I’m busy.
So in conclusion: