Writing and Other Afflictions

"If it was easy, everyone would do it." –Jimmy Dugan, "A League of Their Own"

Book Release: The Tower and the Fox

I’ve been working on this book for some seven years, which is a record for me unless I dig up one of my trunk novels and try to publish that (spoiler: my trunk novels would need to be rewritten and no, that is not happening). What happened was that I started writing this story, and then it got too big and became two books, and then there wasn’t a lot happening in the first book so I got dissatisfied with it and shelved it, and then one friend said, “You can write better now than you did when you wrote that,” and so I started from scratch and rewrote the whole thing (keeping a few passages I really liked), which is also by the way what I’m doing now with the second book. Along the way I had an idea for a sequel, which became the third book when the first one split and then became the fourth book when another friend made an offhand comment after reading the new draft of the first and I realized I needed another book between 2 and 3. So that’s how a book becomes a four-book series.

The book takes place around Prince George’s College of Sorcery in the Royal Colony of Massachusetts Bay in 1815, which means that yes, there is magic and the American Revolution has not (yet) happened. Kip Penfold, one of a race of animal-people called Calatians created by magic four hundred years before, is trying to become the first of his kind to enroll in the college and become a sorcerer. The opportunity has arisen for him because of a mysterious attack that decimated the ranks of the College and made them desperate for new students. Even so, not everyone is on board with this, not many of the sorcerers, his classmates, nor even the rest of the Calatians in the nearby town of New Cambridge where he grew up. The Tower and the Fox follows Kip’s quest to be accepted as apprentice to one of the sorcerers at the College while preserving his relationships with his community and while surrounded by the mystery of who attacked the College and whether–when–it will happen again.

Kip is a fox (of course) and his best friend Coppy is an otter. Also enrolling at the college are Emily Carswell, the first woman to enroll in a College of Sorcery, and several other students who will offer Kip grief or support throughout the few months leading up to the decision about an apprenticeship. Along the way he will find a mysterious book that nobody else can read and a voice that speaks to him from the ancient White Tower that was the only building spared in the attack, in addition to more practical mysteries such as “is there anything another student can do to him that would actually result in them being punished?”

The Tower and the Fox is coming out in July from Argyll Productions, and should be available on Amazon in physical form as well as on most major e-book sites in digital form (digital might be August). The cover and all the interior art is by Laura Garabedian and it looks fantastic.

I’ll leave this page up for info on the book, and will post again when it’s available.

You Bought It, You Own It.

This is for the people who voted for Trump and are now downplaying the racist, misogynistic, homophobic, anti-Semitic aspects of his campaign. For the people the news keeps telling us voted for him “in spite of those remarks, not because of them.” For the people distancing themselves from the reports of the behavior of the racists, misogynists, homophobes, and anti-Semites who did vote for Trump and are now emboldened by his victory.

Here’s the deal. None of this stuff was hidden. Maybe you thought it was just rhetoric. Maybe you thought the political process would stop the more extreme ideas before they even got started. Maybe you just didn’t want to take the chance that our next president might send an errant e-mail. Whatever your justification to yourself, you voted for him, and you got the whole package. You can’t just claim the aspects you wanted and ignore the rest; that’s not how it works. You are in part responsible for these people feeling free to express their hate on our streets, because you endorsed and helped elect the candidate who told them it was okay.

But this post isn’t meant to shame you or anything. You’re an adult, you made a decision, and your decision came with consequences. So if you’re really not okay with hate, if you’re privately horrified by the threatening letters, the hateful graffiti, the confrontations in public, you can do something about it. When you see attempts to roll back progress–like the Trump transition team discussing registering Muslims in a database–stand up and say that it’s not acceptable, loudly and often.

Here’s the most important thing, though: take action. Donate to the groups that are specifically fighting hate: the ACLU, the Southern Poverty Law Center, Planned Parenthood, and so on. The lists aren’t hard to find. And call your elected representatives. Tell them you don’t want a radical anti-Semite as your next President’s chief counselor. Tell them you don’t want immigrant deportations, minority groups forced to register in a database, gay marriage overturned, Roe v. Wade overturned. Your voice matters, especially if you’re in a red state or represented by a Republican at any level of federal government.

If you really aren’t down with misogyny, racism, anti-Semitism, or any of the other hateful philosophies our President-elect and his running mate have endorsed throughout their campaign, do something about it. You bought this presidency. Now own it.

Book Publishing News!

Well, a teaser anyway. I have reached a handshake deal to publish my 1815 magic school series, the one I’ve been working on for six years now. Pretty excited about it! More details to come, but it looks like the first volume will come out next summer.

Dog Backstory

We got our dog through the German Shepherd Rescue of Northern California. He was found wandering the streets of Sacramento, so we have no idea what his history is. All we know is that he wasn’t fixed (he is now), he loves people, he knows tricks, and he gets nervous/excited around other dogs (poorly dog-socialized). So sometimes we make up backstories for him.


You lived with a family and loved them with all your dog’s heart. And they loved you, too. They let you sleep in bed with the kids until you got too big, and you climbed on the couch to watch TV with them at night. The kids gave you pizza and bread from the table as their mom scolded them. They would all pile into the car with you and you’d go out to a park with a pond where the kids would throw balls for you and you’d jump around in the water and they would give you bits of their soft pretzels and then fall asleep against you in the back seat on the way home. And then one day they were putting things into boxes and everyone was crying and you didn’t know why. You ran around the house, worried, but whenever someone stopped to pet you they just cried more. And then they put things in the car but you weren’t allowed out to see what they were doing. At the end, the house was empty but for the smells of them. They took you outside and got in the car, and you wanted to get in with them but they wouldn’t let you, and then the car drove away without you.

You came home with a man who lived alone, and you were his companion. Sometimes he’d talk to the little box in his hand, but more often he talked to you. He’d sit beside you on the couch and rest his hand between your ears, scratching as the TV flickered and made noise, and he’d take you out in his truck to play in the park. It was just you and him, every day as you grew from a puppy to an adult. And then one day he didn’t get out of bed, and you found out what death was. You stayed with him until the police broke into the house, days later. You were hungry and scared and you bolted out the door.

You were supposed to be a guard dog for a household that dealt drugs, but you were too sweet, so they kept you around as a companion and let you sit in the car and bark at people when they went out, to make you seem scarier. When the police came to arrest them, the cops kept you on to be a drug-sniffing dog, because you were really good at sniffing. You were assigned to a female officer who grew to love you and take good care of you, only you couldn’t be a drug dog because you wouldn’t attack the criminals unless you thought the officer was in danger. They were taking you to an adoption facility, away from the officer, when the car was in an accident and you jumped free. You thought you’d try to make your way back to her, but you quickly got lost and had to fend for yourself.

You were implicated in a Ponzi scheme run by your brother and a standard poodle out of the San Francisco financial district. As the three of you fled across the Embarcadero pursued by the police, you scrambled onto a ferry and made your way to the East Bay, cursing that damn brother of yours and his get-rich-quick schemes. All you’d done was co-sign for a perfectly legal small business loan, and now you had to disappear or you’d go to prison. You made your way to Sacramento and lived on the street for a while until Animal Control picked you up and gave you a new identity, and now you growl at anyone in uniform just to be safe.

When your parents learned that their colleagues’ research was going to blow up your home planet, they put you in a small spacecraft and sent you to another planet with a yellow sun, where your kind are pampered and kept happy and fed all their lives. They didn’t quite understand the mechanism by which this works, so you crashed into the hills outside Sacramento and wandered into the city looking for a family. 


We don’t really know how your story started, but we’re going to be there for the rest of it and we’ll make it as happy as we can.


Write-A-Thon Update!

I’m a quarter of the way to my goal for the Write-A-Thon. If you want to sponsor me, the link is here: http://www.clarionwest.org/members/timsusman/

I’m working on the second book in the Calatians series, which I workshopped the last two weeks with a very talented group of writers. Now that I’m back from the workshop, I intend to get to my goal of 40,000 words quickly and start posting more regular updates.

Clarion Write-A-Thon Time!

Hey, so I’m back at the Write-A-Thon thing! I’ve been drafted by one of my friends in Clarion West, so I’m doing the Write-A-Thon through them this year. I’m also hosting a couple meetups in the Bay Area, so if you’re in the Bay and you want to get together Saturday afternoon for a little writing to kick things off (I know it doesn’t OFFICIALLY start until Sunday but I’m leaving town Saturday night) and get some nifty bookmarks, come on down to Red Rock Coffee in Mountain View around 2 pm on June 18th. I’ll try to snag a table upstairs and will have bookmarks out and we can talk about our goals and how to get friends to sponsor us (hint: do not leave your announcement about doing the Write-A-Thon until the day before).

If you’re not participating but would like to sponsor me, here! http://www.clarionwest.org/members/timsusman/

There are also lots of other lovely authors who will be happy to write things for your money. Check them out at the Clarion West page and also here at the Clarion one!

I Have Zootopia Thoughts

Yes, I do.


(Zootropolis is the UK name of the film)

They have mostly been expressed by Other Me over on that Other Blog where I write more about furry/adult stuff, but if you’re interested, here are some links (most of these posts contain spoilers for the movie):

My thoughts about Zootopia and furry fandom leading up to the movie, and reaction after first viewing(s): http://kyellgold.com/wpblog/2016/03/07/so-zootopia-my-thoughts/

My reaction to people who said that Zootopia is “not subtle” in its portrayal of prejudice, and thoughts on the movie’s structure and some of the neat tricks in it:  http://kyellgold.com/wpblog/2016/03/28/zootopia-and-subtlety/

Should Nick and Judy get together?? Also, what’s the deal with romance in movies anyway? http://kyellgold.com/wpblog/2016/03/31/friendship-vs-romance-yes-zootopia-again/

And as a bonus, I talk about the best Disney and Pixar movies and how the heck you would even make a top five list from either studio: http://kyellgold.com/wpblog/2016/04/01/best-disneypixar-movie/

Three: You Know My Name

Hey there! If you’d forgotten or had never known I’m doing this countdown of the best songs from James Bond films accompanied by a flash fiction piece based on the title of each song, well, I don’t blame you. It’s been close to two years since I started. The last one was posted back in June, and that was months after the previous one. But! Only three to go, and two left now.

  1. You Know My Name, Chris Connell (from Casino Royale). I’m still not quite sure this isn’t #1. Ultimately I knocked it down slightly because it has very little callout to the Bond theme. But it’s a great song, and it is absolutely the perfect song for the major reboot of the series that happened in bringing in Daniel Craig. “Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you / The odds will betray you / And I will replace you […]The coldest blood runs through my veins / You know my name.” The callout to one of Bond’s signature lines—introducing himself—while at the same time making reference to the introduction of a new incarnation of the well-known character makes me happy as a writer.


From MI6-HQ.com: It is only the fourth Bond theme (after the opening medley of “Dr. No”, the instrumental theme from “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” and “All Time High” from Octopussy) to make no direct reference to the title of the film. The soundtrack was completed early in the morning on October 11, 2006. The soundtrack was released on November 14, 2006.

“You Know My Name” is the first Bond theme not to be included on its film’s soundtrack album and was released separately as a single and on Cornell’s album “Carry On”. Cornell declared that it happened because he wanted the song to be “his”, and since he wrote “You Know My Name” in midst of recording the solo album Carry On, he felt that the song belonged to the album. In 2008, the song was included in the compilation “The Best of Bond…James Bond”. The video for the single premiered on MTV’s Making the Video on October 31, 2006.


Flash Fiction: You Know My Name


She jacked in with a password and a code sent to her mobile. No fingerprints; meatsuit security was unreliable. Fingers got cold, dry, wet; retinas could become detached or otherwise altered through the mysterious body processes happening inside her, largely beyond her control. Some of her friends recommended various homeopathic remedies or medicines or devices to wear on or under your skin. Lana preferred to focus her energies on the real world.

Today was a pretty routine meeting with a client in Singapore, at the beginning of their Wednesday and the end of her Tuesday. For this meeting she was Wong Jiu, fluent in Mandarin as well as English, avatar by Avid Diva. She downloaded the personality and loaded it.

And it wasn’t right. None of her Mandarin was there, and when she checked the avatar, it was some crappy free generic businessman off the Cloud somewhere. But Wong Jiu’s name was there on the file, so it had been corrupted somehow. Or hacked.

Lana fought the urge to disconnect right away. If it was a hack job, it was a clumsy one, and she could get out whenever she wanted. If it was a mistake, then she could poke around and maybe learn something—doubtful though, with a shitty avatar like that. And there was that third possibility in the back of her head, those apocryphal stories about people being approached by the secret cabal that everyone was convinced oversaw the Cloud. These contacts never came in the form of an actual message; they were puzzles, breadcrumb trails, modified ads. Maybe even corrupted profiles.

If it were just a Cloudbody fuckup, someone else might be loading Wong Jiu. That wasn’t worrying; her history and such were accessible, but she didn’t save passwords in her identities. They were all in her brain, because cyberspace was as unreliable as her meatsuit. Her mind was the only thing she could count on.

This guy Jenkins didn’t have any other languages, just English, and his history was as boring as his avatar: shopping, conferencing sites, and—hello. She’d read something about this one website, a museum site where people left coded comments on posts. That was a different museum, a science and natural history museum where this one was a modern art museum, but it was still incongruous with the rest of the boring profile. She could already feel herself getting dumber as she assumed the identity of Mr. Horace Jenkins, and she certainly didn’t feel any appreciation for modern art.

So she pulled up the site, entered Mr. Jenkins’ login information (he did store his password, idiot), and waited for her loaded memory to tell her what pages to go to. There were the ten most recently visited ones, eight of them by the same artist, called “studies” of various things. Studies in boredom, she thought, paging through them, reading the comments that were, if anything, even more boring.

But then, because she was alert for a pattern, she found one. Mr. Jenkins had commented on each painting, and she’d been trying to analyze his comments, with no success (example: “I feel that this painting really conveys the sense of disaffection with the modern ennui that the artist encountered in his time in Lagos.”).

After every comment, too, the same person, a Mr. Fallow, had responded either, “I agree,” or “I don’t see it that way.” Very little more than that.

So that might be a pattern, but then she noticed the other thing: the posting times. Every comment by Mr. Jenkins was posted at either 7:00 pm or 8:00 pm exactly. That had to mean something.

It had just gone 8 pm, which was the time Wong Jiu was supposed to be meeting with her client, so she went to a picture by the same artist that didn’t have a comment on it yet and posted one along the same lines. “I feel that this piece conveys a deep appreciation for the boundaries beyond which the artist has struggled.”

Then she dropped out of that memory, because the time had reminded her that she had business to conduct and that she had to figure out what had happened to Wong Jiu. She chose a backup identity and wrote to the client, identifying herself as Wong Jiu’s assistant and apologizing for her employer’s tardiness.

While she waited for their reply, she worked in another window to track down the problem with her memory. Trying to get into Wong Jiu just got her Mr. Jenkins again, so she filed a complaint with Cloudbody and wiped Wong Jiu to replace her with the most recent backup. Getting in worked fine after that, and the client wasn’t all that upset at her—they even commended her assistant on her professionalism.

Cloudbody wrote back apologizing and recommending that she restore her identity from the most recent backup, and also informing her that according to her terms of service, taking any action within an identity once you have determined it is not yours can be subject to criminal prosecution and termination of their services. She ignored the e-mail and chalked it up to one of those things that happens. After her meeting, she went through and double checked that all her identities had extra security protections in case someone accidentally got a copy of one of them, but she was always careful about that, so of course they did.

She didn’t think anything more of it until she went back to that painting’s web page a couple days later to see if “Mr. Jenkins” had gotten a reply. He had: Mr. Fallow had responded, “Surprised to see you commenting on this work, but I agree with your opinion.” Then a day and a half later, Mr. Fallow had commented again: “On second thought, I think I don’t agree with your opinion. I actually think that you know nothing about art.”

Mr. Jenkins had just recently commented below that. “That wasn’t me! I don’t think that about this painting at all! I’m sorry! Please contact me so I can explain.”

And Lana laughed as it became clear. They were coded messages: to set up assignations, probably of the extramarital variety. Ah, the lengths people would go to. She was glad she didn’t have anything like that to deal with.

The Super Bowl

So yeah, I went to the Super Bowl. If that sentence holds no interest for you then go on to your next thing, and no hard feelings. I’ll have a flash fic to post here this week or next.

A whole bunch of stars aligned over last year and the beginning of this one. We’d come into a little chunk of money. The Super Bowl was being played in the brand new Levi’s Stadium, about a fifteen-minute drive from our house; alternately we could walk to one of the stations on the VTA and take a train directly there (our farmer’s market, usually in the parking lot of the transit center, now gets displaced on Sundays when the 49ers are at home because of the traffic going through there). And just over two weeks ago, the favorite teams of my husband (Denver) and our roommate (Carolina) won their conference championships to set the lineup.

Denver is my team-in-law, yes, but I’ve liked them since Elway won his first Super Bowl eighteen years ago. The narrative of the team that had made it for several games and finally broke through and won was appealing, and I was just dating Mark at the time (he told me he watched that first Super Bowl win alone in his apartment, being so nervous he wouldn’t have been good company). Elway is back with the team, running the personnel side now, and that was a great story too. He’d been away from football for years and there were stories of him just hanging around his steakhouse, aimless, looking for something to occupy himself. He never has to pay for a drink in Denver, but he still wanted to do more. So he got involved with the Arena League’s Colorado Crush (we once saw him at an AFL game) and then accepted the front office job with the Broncos.

One of his first moves was to draft Von Miller; a year later he convinced Peyton Manning to join Denver after being released by the Colts. I’ve liked Manning for a while, partly through having a roommate from Indianapolis for the better part of seven years, but also partly because like Elway, he seems to be a very talented, great guy who for whatever reason was on very good teams that fell short in the playoffs early in his career. After his stunning season two years ago, Denver’s dismantling in the Super Bowl was painfully reminiscent of some of those early Colts losses. And this year–well, you all know the storylines.

So Jack, Mark and I looked at the price tag for Super Bowl tickets, said, “When will these teams we like be playing the Super Bowl in our backyard again,” took a deep breath, and bought three tickets. The ticket is the fourth most expensive piece of paper I’ve held in my life, after our house’s mortgage papers and my two car deeds (okay, after my two college diplomas as well). But you know, it’s a once in a lifetime experience. I’m writing this journal almost as much to document the experience for myself as to tell all of you about it.

We got a dog-sitter for the day and set out around 10:45 am for the VTA train station. We’d had to buy our passes the day before–$20 round trip to the stadium. This is approximately a 400% markup. I hope the VTA gets to keep some of that money (and CalTrain theirs for the additional $20 tacked on if you wanted to take a CalTrain to Mountain View). The line to get on the train was long but moved briskly, and was about 75-25 orange Denver jerseys vs. teal Carolina ones. Once on the train, we found a place to stand and waited the fifteen minutes for the train to get to Great America (it made all the stops even though nobody was allowed on or off there). That was the only place where someone commented on my Chevali Firebirds t-shirt; I didn’t explain it beyond saying the logo was a “Firebird” and they concluded it must be the “Denvolina Firebirds,” which was pretty amusing actually.

The weather was sunny, warm, and perfect–high of 73, I think I heard–and that was nice because we had to walk about a mile from the train station to Great America itself, where we had to pick up the tickets from StubHub. The line took an hour to get through, but StubHub sent people around with free cold water and soft drinks, and when we got to the park we got a bit of a surprise: StubHub had rented out the entire amusement park for its customers. Some of the rides were open (we didn’t go on any) and all the food and non-alcoholic drinks were free. We walked around the park for about an hour and had lunch, but by that time it was after 2, and with the game starting at 3:30 we figured we should head back to the stadium.

Outside the stadium was a large fairgrounds, where you could stand behind a Denver or Carolina uniform so it looked like you were a football player, or you could get your picture taken in a big frame with “SUPER BOWL 50” on it. A mob of people crowded around the stand dispensing Denver rally towels, while at the comparatively deserted Carolina one, the man told us, “Take two. Take as many as you want.” We were too late to get our picture with the Lombardi trophy; by the time we walked up it was on its way into the stadium. I’m not sure why it had to leave that early. It’s not like the game was going to end abruptly a half hour after kickoff and they’d need it RIGHT THEN. But otherwise we had fun walking around and being around all the fans, the teal and orange and black and white of player jerseys. The Carolina jerseys were mixed (we saw at one point a group of eight people with the jersey of backup tight end Ed Dickson), but probably 80% or more of the Denver jerseys were the familiar #18. One person had replaced the name “MANNING” on the back with “P.F.M.” which we interpreted the same way you probably are right now.

And around 3, we entered the stadium and went to find our seats. Levi’s is pretty easy to navigate and the crowds weren’t too bad except at a couple points. Even the bathroom line wasn’t bad. And our seats were terrific, about halfway down section 106 so we were right above the tunnel where the MVPs of the former Super Bowls came out for their group photo. I’m not a real student of the history of the game, but you couldn’t help but be impressed by the collection of players and former players they amassed there.

IMG_4098The performance of “America the Beautiful” was lovely, and then Lady Gaga just crushed the national anthem. Levi’s didn’t do anything else with it, no fireworks during “the rockets’ red glare” as I’ve often seen in sports arenas, nothing until the flyover of Blue Angels after the song was over. It was one of the best renditions of the national anthem I’ve heard.

And then…the game itself. I’ve heard some people describe the game as “terrible,” “sloppy,” “a real dog.” From our perspective, it was none of those. It was exciting on the first drive when Denver drove for a field goal. It was exciting when Miller stripped Cam Newton and Denver fell on the ball for a touchdown. There were stupid penalties, sure, just like in every game. But every Carolina drive we were aware that they could score in about three seconds and it would be a very different game. Manning, too, for all his limitations, had made it clear that he wasn’t going to cough up the ball as he had in the regular season, that they could move it at least somewhat against Carolina. So the pressure was on the defenses: Denver to limit Carolina to field goals, and Carolina to keep Denver from scoring, because once the Broncos got out to that 13-7 lead it was clear that scoring wasn’t going to come easy for the Panthers. We were never bored.

The guy in front of us was a real character, too. Jack overheard his friend explaining that when he got drunk, this other personality they called “Ron” came out, usually not until the third quarter. But Ron was in full force throughout the game. Early on, with Carolina against their own goal line, he yelled, “PICK SIX! PICK SIX!” just before the strip sack and Denver touchdown. I leaned down and said, “You almost called it!” and he turned and said, “I CALLED IT! I CALLED IT!” and then high-fived me and Mark. From then on, he’d turn and high-five whenever Denver made a play, loud and boisterous but not too bad (once, as Jack observed, he stopped yelling at the kids in Carolina teal about how “now they know it’s real!”).

(Mark deduced that he’d put money on the game, and Ron later confirmed that and told us that the amount was “thirty two, five.” I don’t think he meant $32.50.)

At halftime, I ran out to the store to grab a shirt for a friend and ended up talking to a couple Denver fans in line (as I was buying a Denver shirt). I wasn’t wearing any specifically Denver gear but I showed them my orange socks and one of them pulled up his pants leg to show his orange socks as well. We agreed that the defense was terrifying and they were quite optimistic for a Denver victory.

That’s another thing I noticed about the Super Bowl, from that initial train ride through the end of the night: everyone was more open, chatty, and friendly. We were all there for one team or another, so whether it was friendly ribbing between rivals or enthusiastic optimism between fans, there was a lot of chatter between strangers.

We enjoyed the halftime show quite a bit, but then, we’re fans of Coldplay as well as Bruno Mars and Beyoncé (and football). Because of slow clerks at the store, I didn’t get back in time for the first audience card stunt, but I did make it for the second one (and yes, we kept the cards).

IMG_4122I think we stood for almost the entire second half. A couple observations about seeing the game in person:

  • At every other game I’ve been to, the Jumbotron supports the home team. Here, the cheering was balanced; at one point they’d show the Denver defense highlight reel, and a few minutes later they’d show a Carolina offense montage. “MAKE NOISE” came up variously under one logo or the other at different times.
  • The timeouts seemed (to me, though Mark disagrees) to be longer and maybe a little more frequent. But this is only the sixth NFL game I’ve seen live, and the previous one was when Tim Tebow was quarterbacking the Broncos, so don’t take my word for it. It was weird, though, to have a timeout during which the Jumbotron was reminding us fans not to forget our cards for the two audience stunts while the players milled around on the field.
  • The game felt maybe more exciting to me without the announcers. Sometimes on great plays they would replay with the announcer voiceover, but by and large I didn’t miss people telling me what was happening. I enjoyed just watching the game unfold at normal speed. We all agreed we’d like to go back to Levi’s for a regular-season game sometime.
  • “Normal speed” is terrifyingly fast. Not, like, Indy car fast, but everything happens in seconds.
  • At the very first football game I attended, a Washington-at-Eagles game that you can look up by typing “body bag game” into Google, there was an Eagles touchdown that was reviewed. I still remember the crowd holding its breath, the woman in front of me moaning, “They’re going to take it away from us,” and then the surge of energy, the explosive cheer when the referee came back out and threw his arms up in the touchdown signal. The same thing happened on Anderson’s one-yard run for Denver: it got the big cheer, and then the announcement came that the play was under review. The crowd went silent and tense, watching the replay–was his knee down? No, he was in. But it was close. Would they overturn it? They did not, and the stadium exploded again.

The game was strange for us because that tension we felt never really went away until the fourth quarter was almost done. We were all aware that one lapse in the Broncos’ defense could let Carolina score with one play, something they’d done all year, and that they’d still have a chance with momentum after that. When Carolina was forced to punt with two minutes to go (after another sack), Mark and I hugged excitedly, and then hugged Jack consolingly while Ron continued to go bat-shit crazy in front of us. I think he high-fived a stadium post at one point.

As trophy ceremonies go, the actual on-field ceremony was shorter than I’d expected, but still emotional as at least Mark and I were still giddy with the win. They presented the trophy to owner Pat Bowlen’s wife Annabel*, then Elway got a chance to talk (with an emotional “This one’s for Pat”), and then they announced that Von Miller was the MVP of the game. There really wasn’t another option; he forced two fumbles that led to the Broncos’ 14-point margin of victory.


After the ceremony, we ran down to the main team store, where in the back there were tables being frantically stocked with Denver World Champions caps, t-shirts, and pins that disappeared as fast as the harried employees could throw them out. One guy was taking orders for shirt sizes: just yell a size at him and he’d find the shirt and hand or throw it to you. I grabbed a cap and shirt for Mark, who’d been looking in a smaller store and had come up empty, and a pin for myself**. By the time Mark got down to the store, all the pins and caps were gone, but he found a cap abandoned elsewhere.

The whole experience was a little surreal. I mean, everything surrounding the game itself felt just over the top: the rented-out amusement park, the immense fairgrounds around the stadium, the halftime show, the pre-game ceremonies. But the game itself was a very normal football game. The game was the most enjoyable part of the day, but it was all the trappings that made this a unique experience. Was it worth it? For us, absolutely. To get to see those shows, the MVP parade, to get to see our team win a championship, to see a player we both like and respect finally win another one (this time as a GM!–oh, yes, I guess it was nice for Peyton too): yeah, it was an experience that comes along once in a lifetime. And it wasn’t just worth it to say we’ve done it; we had a wonderful, exciting time there, and being there in person made us feel more part of it in a way you don’t get from TV.

But you know, the Super Bowl parties are a lot of fun, too, and a lot less expensive. We’ll probably go back to that next year.

* Pat Bowlen, the longtime owner of the Broncos, suffers from Alzheimer’s disease to the extent that he can’t make public appearances anymore. He’s beloved by many of the players and coaches he’s worked with, and I always feel bad for his wife, who is clearly uncomfortable with public speaking and wishing for so many reasons that her husband could still be there. Pat is the one who famously said after Denver’s first Super Bowl win, “This one’s for John,” because Elway had played so well for the team for so long and had lost the Super Bowl three times.

** The NFL shop sold a number of pins in different designs, many of which said, “I WAS THERE,” and was trying to get a pin trading thing going. I saw no evidence that this was working at all. Some of the pins were neat, but I got one tasteful one and that was enough.



For the Record: My Hugo Voting

John C. Wright wrote about his experience after the Hugos: “I heard not one comment, no, not one, of someone who said they voted for ‘No Award’ on the lack of merit of the works nominated.”

I might venture to say that that was due to people being polite to one of the nominees, right? If you’re talking to or near someone who was nominated for a bunch of Hugos, you wouldn’t just say, “Well, I voted No Award because all those nominated stories were terrible. Yours too.”

I’m sure Mr. Wright can find ample examples of people voting on merit just by checking out the comments on file770 this morning, and that he’d have no reason to stop by this little blog, but for the record: I read every short fiction submission in its entirety and at least a lengthy excerpt of every novel (except for one which made me angry from the first sentence). I did not consult websites to see what was nominated by a slate (I had seen the slate, of course, but hadn’t checked back in weeks, so my memory was imperfect); in fact, looking back, I thought one of the novels that was not slate-nominated actually was.

Where I voted No Award, I voted based on stories and novels I’d read during the year, books that had won the Hugo in the near and far past, and compared them to the stories presented. I have read slushpiles for magazines, and with little exception, I found that most of the short fiction read like stories I would have rejected. Where I found those exceptions, I voted for them. I did vote No Award in several of the fiction categories because I felt none of the nominees merited a Hugo; in the novel category, I voted some of the non-slate nominees below “No Award” as well.

I did not vote No Award in either editor category, to my recollection; definitely not the long form one, at least.

Mr. Wright (and Correia and Torgerson and allies) seem unable to wrap their heads around the fact that people might not like the fiction they wrote/nominated, despite the fact that they openly disliked a lot of the fiction nominated in previous years that other people liked. As some people have pointed out, stories like Kary English’s “Totaled” garnered more votes than other slate nominees; I thought “Totaled” was the best of the short stories, and apparently others agreed. If you look at the voting patterns, there appears to be a recognition of quality, and while certainly some people voted anti-slate all the way, there are just as certainly some people who read all the puppy offerings and were not impressed.