I had a good reading this morning. It made me happy. People laughed in the right places -- in all the right places, in fact -- and made encouraging noises afterwards. I filled the conference room they were holding the readings in (it was a small room), and I didn't even know all the people who came. (At least, I didn't know them when they came. Some of them I know much better now.) Pretty importantly, I was reminded that short stories count. They aren't novels lite. They are their own thing. This is something I usually understand when applied to every single writer in the world except for myself. And sometimes I have a habit of rushing on to the next thing so fast that I forget there was a first thing to begin with. I've sold a bunch of stories. I got to watch how they can make people react. That's good.
I had a last-minute change of heart about reading -- not last-minute enough that I was begging someone to use their laptop to get a different story for me, but still. I decided that while I'd been up for five hours by 11:30, many people had not, and maybe it would be nice to read something with a bit of action, some smacking people with sticks, and also some funny bits. There are a few funny bits in "Singing Them Back," but mostly not. It is mostly a serious fantasy story about families and life goals and math and cookies. What I read instead was "Carter Hall Recovers the Puck," hockey fantasy. I think this was the right choice.
I got to hear other good readings this weekend, from
And it was good to come home and have dinner and silliness with