A gray sky, melting snow, and lots and lots of fog. It's a formula for beauty. But I spent most of the day indoors, working on a new story that's just reached that point where everything starts to fall together and you can imagine it being done soon. Maybe even this week. Maybe even tomorrow.
But that's not all I did today. I've just sold three stories to Tor.com! In one day! I'm betting that, so far, that's a record.
And speaking of limericks . . .
The Isaac Asimov/Science Fiction Day Limerick Competition has only eight more days to run. I gave it all of January because I figured that some people might need the time. But as it turns out, the kind of people who write limericks are naturally quick-witted because the bulk of the entries were made in the first day or two.
But there's still time for more! Here are the rules, as I originally states them:
The limerick must be clean, formally correct, and witty. The judgment of the Blue Ribbon and Not at All Nepotistic Jury of Family will be final. You can post your entry here or in response to any other blog entry for the rest of the month. And I'll announce the winner on February 1.
Above: I spotted this elephant today in Chestnut Hill. Drugs may well have been involved. Not on my part, however.
Gee, I had no idea there was a contest. I have in fact written two occasional limericks since Saturday afternoon, one on the occasion of Nancy Kress's birthday, and one on the occasion of Vonda not being given a ride in my car. You can probably guess what kind of a car I have.
I'd enter the contest, except I don't believe they are brilliant: merely properly in meter and appropriate to the occasion.
There once was a writer whose views
Were that God was a source of the blues.
"Avram, we've done well,
But would our stuff still sell,
Were we goys among orthodox Jews?"
(cf. I Asimov chapter 7.)
There once was a robot whose rhyme
Considered this directive prime:
"My verses must scan
If they possibly can
Except where doing so would conflict with either the First or Second lines."
Richard, that's an old joke. And yet I am strangely charmed by your change on it.
But of course, all judging will be done by the Blue Ribbon and Not At All Nepotistic Jury of Family.
Inexplicably, Eileen, I am unable to come up with a witty reply to your post. I would've thought it impossible. Nevertheless, I owe you one quip (warm, with a subtext of cameraderie).
Michael, I am always happy to have one of your warm, cameraderic quips, and am happy to wait, in contented anticipation, until one, limerick-like, occurs to you.
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