I’ve always loved flying, especially take-offs. There’s something about being pressed back into your seat, watching the buildings slide past you faster and faster and then you’re in the air! The airplane hums around you as the world drops away. It’s even more spectacular at night, with the buildings becoming geometric patterns of light. I watch the cars drive along the roads, tiny twin cones of light, and imagine where they’re going.

Growing up I flew very rarely, so each one was an event. I would look around at all of the people ignoring the sights out the window and think, what’s wrong with everyone? Why aren’t they enjoying this? These days I take several business trips a year. A while back I was taking them so often that I got to where I shuffled into the plane, began reading, and didn’t look up again until we were on the ground. One day I considered what young Stephen would have thought of business Stephen. Since then I’ve looked out the window on every takeoff and landing.

On last night’s trip, as I watched the lights of Huntsville grow closer, I thought about flying in for my interview years ago, and how I had no idea I’d someday live here. As we banked over Madison I thought of a boy curled into a little ball underneath his rocket blanket, of a baby girl wrapped tight in a blanket, of a woman listening for our garage door to open. I pressed my hand against the window and watched the runway come closer and closer.

With a squeal of tires, I was home.

Michael, thanks for coming. I wanted to give you a chance to see a number of our students before they know you are their new principal and have their guard up. You’re in luck: since it’s lunchtime, nearly all of our students are in the cafeteria.

Right through here, please. Sorry about the color scheme. I suspect the orange walls with blue hexagons looked very futuristic in the 1970s. Perhaps next year will be the year the school board decides we can afford new paint.

I suppose it is very loud. Our students certainly like to talk, though I don’t know how many of them truly listen to each other.

Yes, they do tend to divide themselves up like this. Lunchtime is an especially good time to see the cliques as the students congregate into groups.

Of course. I’d be happy to discuss the students’ groupings with you. Let’s start with the fellows in the camouflage. They’re very interested in military science fiction. It’s all guns and dropships and the like with them. The student who’s holding forth very loudly is John Ringo, and that’s David Weber next to him. The quieter fellow holding the Bob Heinlein mask is John Scalzi. He’s one of our newer students. I’m not sure he’s going to stay at that table, to be honest. The MilSF crowd has been asking to stage mock battles during the lunch break, complete with imitation guns and blood packs. You can imagine how that request has gone over given the political climate. They’ll be in your office the first day you’re principal, mark my words.

Besides, if we let them bring imitation guns to school, the multi-book series fantasy students would want peace-bonded swords and rapiers. Just the other day Robert Jordan was telling me that we catered too much to the MilSF students. I reminded him that these days the only history classes we offer are on medieval Europe, but he was not mollified. They’re on the opposite side of the cafeteria from the MilSF students — look for the students wearing cloaks and carrying staves. I see Steven Erikson over there, and the nervous-looking girl standing near their table is Jacqueline Carey. The other high fantasy students aren’t sure what to make of her yet, I don’t think. One of our teachers, Mr. Tolkien, is of the opinion that she is far too interested in sexual matters for a proper high fantasist.

Ah, Mr. Martin. Your teacher says that you’re late on your term paper again, and that your last draft was above the allowed page count. Mmm? Yes, I see that Mr. Erickson is waiting for you at your usual table. Do try to be more prompt on finishing your assignments, George.

Michael, duck! Mr. Egan! Be careful where you clank! I apologize. Greg Egan’s robot body is a little hard to get used to, but either we let him wear it to school or he will simply upload a copy of himself into the school’s computer network. If we let him get away with that, that entire set of tables would be mostly empty, especially with the large number of Singularity students at that table. Kim Stanley Robinson would still show up in person, I expect, as would Robert Charles Wilson. Not planning on spinning up the school again, are you, Mr. Wilson? Once he accidentally encased our school in a bubble for two seconds and we missed most of the 1990s.

Oh, you’re unfamiliar with the Singularity? It’s all the rage among some students. It’s all computronium and s-curves that never turn over and uploading minds into silicon. Young Charlie Stross is the one with the interface glasses and all of that computer equipment, though his friend Ken Macleod runs a close second in terms of number of gadgets. The boy in the red cape and goggles is Cory Doctorow. He’s something of a Singularity student, though he uses more tag clouds than is usual. And Vernor Vinge is next to him. He could be sitting at the seniors’ table, but he stays at this one instead.

That’s the seniors’ table over there. They’re done with their exams. Many, though not all, of them are just marking time until they graduate. Generally they stay quiet, though you’ll have to watch Harlan Ellison. Mr. Ellison! I see you preparing to throw that food. We’ve had enough of that this year, thank you.

The mostly-empty table next to the hard SF students is where the cyberpunk students used to eat lunch in their leather dusters and mirrorshades. We haven’t had many new students join that group since Richard K. Morgan.

Mr. Ryman, I’ve asked you and the other Mundane SF students not to linger by the lockers during lunch. You can sit at a table like the other students. Yes, I know you have leaflets you want to hand out. That doesn’t permit or excuse your behavior.

I have to admit being puzzled by Geoff Ryman and the other Mundane SF students. Rumor has it they own no rocketpants underwear, which is unusual among our students.

Ms. Bujold, Ms. Asaro, good morning. I see you chose the chili. Brave of you both.

Lois McMaster Bujold and Catherine Asaro are among the students who are interested in science fiction that approaches romance novels. Some of the other students give them grief over that interest, though I enjoy seeing students who are interested in non-mainstream subjects. When you are principal, you may want to investigate an exchange program with a more romance-oriented high school.

Mr. Miéville! Mr. VanderMeer! That is enough! If you want to argue about what is and isn’t New Weird, you can do it after school. Thank you. And you as well, Mr. Duncan; all three of you can move along.

Do you have a handkerchief, Michael? I appear to have nicked my hand on China Miéville’s remade body.

Ah, yes, the urban fantasists. They’ve complained about our history classes focusing on the Middle Ages, and I expect them to bring those complaints to you. Neil Gaiman’s recent term paper on American legends was quite good. Across the table from him is Robin Hobb, and next to her is Jim Butcher, though I see Jim is going back to the high fantasy table to talk to the students there.

I saw that, Mr. Ringo! No, it does not matter that the gun fires Nerf bullets. You’ll turn it in to me right this instant. Thank you.

That very large group of students near the middle of the cafeteria are the short fiction students. They look so underfed because they are. This group contains our poorest students. One of our teachers has called them the “government cheese brigade,” though I discourage such language from our staff. Ted Chiang is the best-fed among them. Also at that table are Yoon Ha Lee, and Eugie Foster off to one side, and I see K. Tempest Bradford and Nisi Shawl as well.

My apologies, Mr. Chiang. I did not mean to point this Nerf gun in your direction.

Mmm? Yes, it’s true that the nec-romance students’ clothing skirts near the line of propriety, but they’re careful not to exceed the bounds of our school dress policy. Laurell K. Hamilton is the de facto leader of that group these days, though Kelley Armstrong has her followers among the group.

Sorry about the glare. The space opera students’ sliver jumpsuits and bubble helmets have an unfortunate tendency to reflect the sun into your eyes. Here, I’ve been carrying this extra pair of mirrorshades around for years and not worn them. Perhaps you will get more use out of them. We’ve spoken to students like Alistair Reynolds, Karl Schroeder and Wil McCarthy about their jumpsuits, but they too are within the bounds of our dress code.

That nearly empty table is where our minority students often sit. I remember when Octavia Butler and Samuel R. Delany attended this school and sat at that very table. Of course, Butler has graduated, and Chip Delany transfered to another school. What? Who are our current minority students? I mentioned Butler and Delany, did I not? Well, there is Nalo Hopkinson and Steven Barnes. Really, a lot of our minority students these days sit at the short fiction table.

The other nearly empty table is for exchange students. Ms. Atwood, I see you are eating by yourself again, and that you chose the pizza for lunch.

No, I’ve never seen her speak to any of the other students, either.

Mr. Turtledove, Ms. Novik, I see you two are holding forth on historical matters again. Yes, I’m aware of your complaints regarding our history department. I trust you are aware that your teachers are tired of essays and term papers about historical events that did not happen and that include bibliographies filled with books that are not in our school library?

Some of our students are interested in fiction for younger audiences. You can see them over near the food line. Philip Pullman is on the side next to the wall, and Diane Duane is opposite him. Jane Yolen is the one carrying the tiny stuffed dinosaur dressed in pajamas. It’s dark because of the shadow cast by you-know-who — unavoidable in this case.

The new freshmen tend to stay together when they first arrive, no matter what group they might better fit with. Toby Buckell, Elizabeth Bear, and Jay Lake are among our freshman crowd, as is the aforementioned John Scalzi.

Ah, so you’ve heard about a number of our students transfering to other schools. I hear good things from other school administrators about William Gibson and Neal Stephenson, and of course Jonathan Lethem, one of our most recent students to transfer from here, is making quite the name for himself.

Don’t concern yourself about the students surreptitiously smoking under the bleachers and setting off firecrackers. Those are the infernokrusher students. They’ll either tire of blowing things up really good or take off some fingers, after which they’ll no longer be our problem.

Now, you should not think that these are set in stone. Many of our students wander from group to group as the mood strikes them and the groups will have them. Why, Charles Stross is so peripatetic that he’s lunched with the space opera students, the mundane SF students, and even hosted a lunch with the urban fantasists and the high fantasists.

Thank you again for coming, Michael, and I hope this has been instructive. If you have time before you go, I’d like you to stop by our writing classes. Our writing-in-longhand instructors are among the best in the school system.

[tags]science fiction, fantasy, sff, writing, authors as schoolchildren, longhand instruction[/tags]

Those of you who are from the southern part of the US or have visited here have probably tried to choose a barbeque restaurant. It can be a daunting task, especially when you consider how many varieties of barbeque there are and locals’ near-religious fervor about which variety is best and which restaurant is supreme. If you have a local twisting your arm and dragging you to a restaurant, it’s best to go along. Nod and smile when they tell you how wonderful the restaurant is. Keep quiet if you disagree with them after eating there.

But what if you don’t have a local guiding you? In that case, you’ll have to choose a restaurant by its exterior. Lucky for you that there are several indicators of a good restaurant.

Let’s start with the sign. What style is it in? If the sign has the restaurant’s name painted above a Coca-Cola or Pepsi logo, you’re in luck. If the sign is faded or has letters outlined with wan neon, that’s good as well. Be cautious of modern shiny signs.

Does the sign include an illustration or mascot? Drawings of plates of food or ribs are okay, though not great. Pig mascots are good; smiling anthropomorphic pigs are even better. Is the pig surrounded by flames? If so, it should look happy about the situation. Best of all is an anthropomorphic pig eating ribs. Such a sign says, “Our food is so good that pigs will commit cannibalism to enjoy it.”

Look at the building. It should be run-down. If it looks like it’s moments away from being torched by angry health inspectors, you’ve probably chosen well.

Roll down your window. A good barbeque place will smell of cooking meat from a block away. Would your vegetarian friends take one breath and fall over dead?

How busy is it? A run-down shack with a hundred cars parked around it, many of which are pickup trucks, is likely a local favorite. Is the line out the door? If the restaurant has gotten a write-up in some magazine, you may be fooled by the presence of tourist cars. To guard against that, look for cop cars. County cops know where the best restaurants are.

Finally, before you commit, go in and look at the restaurant. A menu with few choices is ideal. If they have a lot of items on their menu, they’d better be catfish and chicken and perhaps meatloaf. Vegetables had better include bacon or other meat squeezins.

None of these guarantee your choice of restaurant, but in the absence of other information, they’re good indicators.

Having finished “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” I was a little surprised at the ending.

Continue reading It’s Especially Impressive Given How Long it Takes to Get a Book In Print →

“Mom, Mom! Get the camera!”

“Okay.”

“Mom, Mom! This is Waffle Fingers!”

“Mom, Mom! This is what you do with Waffle Fingers!”

“Did’ja get it?!?!”

Yes, Eli I got the photo of you and your Waffle Fingers for all of the internet to gaze upon.

109:23:38 Armstrong: I’m at the foot of the ladder. The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about 1 or 2 inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine grained, as you get close to it. It’s almost like a powder. (The) ground mass is very fine.

109:24:13 Armstrong: I’m going to step off the LM now.

109:24:48 Armstrong: That’s one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.

109:25:08 Armstrong: Yes, the surface is fine and powdery. I can kick it up loosely with my toe. It does adhere in fine layers, like powdered charcoal, to the sole and sides of my boots. I only go in a small fraction of an inch, maybe an eighth of an inch, but I can see the footprints of my boots and the treads in the fine, sandy particles.

109:25:30 McCandless: Neil, this is Houston. We’re copying.

Armstrong and Aldrin. Conrad and Bean. Shepard and Mitchell. Scott and Irwin. Young and Duke. Cernan and Schmitt.

And in memory of Virgil “Gus” Grissom, Edward White, and Roger Chaffee.

(Transcript courtesy of the Apollo Lunar Surface Journal.)

When Eli came home from the hospital, he slept in a portable crib in our room for the first night or two. After that he moved to the crib in his room, with one of us sleeping in the rocking chair next to it. We took shifts in case he burst into flames and we had to put him out.

It’s obvious that Liza is a second child. She’s never slept in our room. We’ve never spent the entire night sleeping in her room. The first time she slept nearly through the night, we weren’t up at 1 AM making sure she wasn’t dead. In that respect we’re much more laid-back than we were before.

That doesn’t mean we’re completely relaxed. It turns out that you get an additional subscription to Guilt Magazine with each child you have. Perhaps that stops after some number, but for us that number is clearly greater than two. Both Eli’s and Liza’s latest issue have the screaming headline “ARE YOU SPENDING ENOUGH TIME WITH YOUR CHILD?” on the cover. Misty reads Eli’s issue, since she spends a lot of time holding Liza and feeding Liza and burping Liza. I read Liza’s issue, since I play with Eli from when I get home until he goes to bed, and only really see Liza at 3 AM when I’m trying to put her back to sleep.

Eli’s been making me play Katamari Damacy. Perhaps if I combined him and Liza into a big katamari, I could alleviate some of my guilt.

Last night we went to dinner with some friends and by dinner I mean “Kids Eat Free” night at Rooster’s. While we were there my friend asked me how my mom was doing. I did the double-take head wobble because she doesn’t know my mom. And while I was staring at her blankly for a moment, she followed up with, “I read your post about your mom.” It’s not that we mind putting this stuff out there it’s that we’re surprised when any one person has actually read it and then says something about it in person.

In an effort to get Eli potty trained before school starts, we have gone hard core. We started Monday. No diapers or pull ups, only real underwear during the day. And since he was dry this morning, he’s going to bed tonight in undies.

This process has been very hard for me because I’ve not wanted to deal with the mess. I didn’t want it on my floors and I didn’t want to have to clean it up. I know I’ve been cleaning up his diapers all this time but that’s different, I didn’t have to actually touch the pee or poo. My own bodily fluids gross me out, even more so someone else’s. So because of my squeamishness I’ve kept him in pull-ups. But this past weekend I realized that unless I gave up both his pull-ups and my squeamishness he wasn’t going to get trained. The pull-up has been a safety net for all of us.

He gets positive reinforcement for correct behavior (he gets to watch a show of his choice, play on the computer, or save it for playing PS2 games when Dad gets home) and negative reinforcement for incorrect behavior (He has to clean up his own mess, all of it. He goes into the tub with a container of baby wipes and wipes himself down and then takes out his trash and puts his clothes in the washing machine, followed by a time out on his couch and no play time with mom for about 30 minutes). After all the time we’ve messed with M&Ms and treats and trying to go to Chuck E. Cheese’s, his lever was really the tv. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. So yesterday and today he’s watched a lot of tv. But you know what? I don’t care. I’ve seen more progress in the past two days than in the past two months combined.

I bought him a box of Kandoo Wipes this afternoon at Wal-Mart. He only gets to use the flip top box when he goes to the toilet and poos. He promptly sat down and did his business so he could play with the box. Okaaay. Who knew that was all it was going to take?

He still has accidents. One yesterday and one today. He tanked up on water earlier today and I didn’t realize I needed to remind him sooner than usual. He started to pee and called me and said he was leaking. That’s what he says, “Moooommmm! I’m leaking!” I got him into the tub and he had stopped peeing. He started again and I told him to stop and go to the potty. So he did. He can control it! Let me say it again because I never thought this day would get here…

My kid can go to the toilet! Yippeee!!

I really thought that I might have to send this kid to Kindergarten in a diaper. This is a really big deal and the very hardest challenge I’ve faced as a parent. I have yelled at him way too much over this and I’m glad to see the light at the end of what I thought was the never-ending tunnel.

All we have to do now is to be down to zero accidents by August 20. Wish us luck.