Monday, April 10, 2006

When A Duck's A Duck

Nick Mamatas asks that you please kill him.

There's nothing worse than people who appoint themselves to graduate lowly genre fiction into the exclusive court of literary or 'serious' fiction, and that's what the editors of the anthology he reviews appear to be doing. It's the same thing when the New York Times discovers, for the fifth time, that comics aren't just comics anymore, but serious works of art. Thanks, but we've known that for 20 years now. And we all know quality writing is quality writing. It's not an endangered species in need of protection (okay, maybe it is). It's not in need of affirmative action, either.

It got to nearly 80 degrees today, so you know I was on the bike. Unfortunately the trail is still flooded over. I'm making due with laps in the cemetary. Working hard on the zine, assembling it without directions, cutting, pasting, more or less screwing up every five minutes and learning from it. I'm also putting the finishing touches on the new story, and then I'm going to send it to some readers for some feedback before I submit it anywhere. And then I have novels like forgotten children. There is no mercy like the mercy on neglected art. Sigh.

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