When I got home from my weekend trip (more on that later), there was an envelope in the mail with my official results from the Writers of the Future content. They said they’re holding on to the story for possible inclusion in their anthology as a “published finalist.” So I guess I won’t be sending it off to Asimov’s just yet.

Not sure how long it will take them to decide; probably a couple of months.

Interesting thing I just noticed about my phone number:

The first three digits add up to nine.
The next two digits add up to nine.
The next one digit adds up to nine. (Technically, it just is nine.)
The next four digits add up to nine.

Of course, that means if you add up all the digits, and then add the digits of that sum, you get nine. (Because the sum of the digits of any multiple of nine is always a multiple of nine, which means if you keep adding the digits of any multiple of nine, no matter how large, together until you finally end up with only one digit, that digit will be nine. Which, by the way, is related to the secret behind this.)

I got an e-mail from Writers of the Future that informed me that my story “In Memory” did not win. Oh, well… I’ll probably send it out to Asimov’s next week.

Bah. Really didn’t feel like writing anything so I just wrote this bit of frippery.

“We have come,” the alien said to Larry King, “to share with you humans the joy that is karawbonka.” It opened one of its mouths wide, revealing an array of writhing pale-blue tentacles in what passed among its people as a friendly grin.

“I’m sorry; How do you pronounce that again? Cowabunga?”

The alien’s chest ruffles puffed out in amusement. “Karawbonka, Larry. Karawbonka.”

“Yes, OK. Well, what exactly is Ka… this joy you’ve come to share? Is it some new technology to improve life her on Earth?”

“No, it is more than that. Karawbonka is, Larry. It really is. And once you have it, well it can be even more.” The alien’s foot-long proboscis pinkened with pleasure.

Larry faced the camera with the red light, and said, “We’ll be back with Ambassador Yittle of the Four-fold Tribe, talking about… what his people have to offer, after these messages.”

I received an e-mail from the Writers of the Future contest, telling me that…

Drumroll, please.

Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum!

…telling me that they had received my entry for the next quarter of the contest.

Still no word on whether I’m a winner for the previous quarter.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

That was because I still haven’t heard from the Phobos contest whether my story wins or loses.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

And that was because I still haven’t heard from Writers of the Future.

I am being eaten alive by suspense. Although I guess it’s not really the suspense about whether I’ll win or lose that is so bad, it’s not knowing when I’ll know. If both contests sent me an e-mail saying that the results would be delayed until June 15, then I could put it all aside until June.

But the Phobos website still says, “The jury is expected to complete its deliberations and select the 12 winning stories by mid-December, 2003.” And the e-mail I got from WOTF said that they doubted they would have the result before the end of last year.

So every time I check my e-mail, every time I get my snail-mail, every time my phone rings, in the back of my mind I wonder if I’m finally going to find out.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Sorry, just had to let that out.

Don’t really know where this is going, so it’s unlikely to become a short story any time soon, but it deals with an idea I had several years ago.

You are a time traveler. You float down the river of time so smoothly you barely notice you are moving at all. You think of the passing of hours and days and years, but they are not the ones doing the passing. You float on by at the leisurely speed of one second per second while they remain still along the banks.
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And so I’m seeing some weird things. Like the three-foot cockroach that keeps barking at me.

No, it’s not THAT kind of medication. I’m having an allergy test on Thursday morning, and so I’m not allowed to take any anti-histamine drugs during the four days before that. Which means I didn’t take any yesterday, and haven’t taken any today.

And I feel fine, other than the twenty-five-pound weight strapped on my chest, and the too-tight headband squeezing my forehead and temples, and the cotton stuffed into parts of my brain. Meanwhile, that pesky cockroach keeps yipping at me like it wants to be fed…

The Cougar football team did not lose this weekend.