I know a lot of people refuse to admit their age, which has always struck me as a little silly since surviving another year is a good thing. Of course, the fact that Grandma is 105 and still sharp does tend to skew my perception of what “old” means.
You know, I’m still a decade away from middle age given my family.
All in all, 40 was a really fantastic year on the fiction front. Sold 2 novels, 10 short stories, made the Hugo ballot, and my 1st short story collection came out. I’ve been doing less puppetry over the past year, which gives me an identity crisis but nothing world-shaking.
In personal life, Rob and I moved back to Portland and it’s a lifestyle that suits us better than NYC. I miss my friends back there and, strangely, the subway, but I like getting enough sleep.
I look forward to seeing what 41 brings. It’s starting off well. Mom and Dad sang to me first thing this morning and I get to spend the evening with Grandma.


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