are what I felt at Borders today.
No, not at the sheer power and multifarious tyranny of the corporate structure; not even at the massive remodeling project that will replace the dumpy li’l homespun cafe with a full-fledged Seattle’s Best.
No, no, Dear Reader… it was both more encouraging and more personally involving than either of these events. Rather, I was browsing in the much-maligned but ever-sirensonging Fantasy ‘n’ Science Fiction section when I came upon this:
For you see, I "met" Charles Coleman Finlay once upon a time (inasmuch as we can "meet" anyone online) when the two of us were participants in an online SF&F writers’ workshop. I liked his stuff, he and my Sweet Thang were both stay-at-home dads, we e-mailed back & forth a few times… the workshop dissolved, we lost touch, but from time to time I’d see his byline on the cover of the venerable F&SF and duly snap up the issue.
So of course I felt, upon seeing his name on the cover, as if I knew a Real Writer. Wow. My brush with greatness, topped only by having Tad Williams tell me my baby was cute and I should send my novel manuscript to his publisher. Oh these writers, what shameless flatterers they be.