I was at Potlatch in Seattle, a literary con, and I had a good time.
I bought a t shirt at Potlatch that I love and wear a lot. Tom Whitmore told me about this. Hearing that out of his own mouth was the high point ….
I just deleted the middle part of this post, about three hundred words, because there’s no point being honest. It’s just me flailing about with words to no good end….
Back to Potlatch…That was the last time I saw Ulrika. I talk to her online but I haven’t seen her IRL since then.
Everybody around me was crying or otherwise sad and visibly upset because Octavia Butler died abruptly and they all knew her and loved her and loved her work and they were very conscious of what a loss it was to the world.
So to honor a moment I had in my life, before everything changed and broke and turned to shit – because frankly, that’s how I feel and I’m tired of pretending I feel great, even if how lousy I feel is temporary, and to honor Octavia Butler I will link to the journal entry of another writer of color, link to something about SF, cultural appropriation, and how the culture we are raised in is a pernicious lie NO MATTER WHERE WE ARE. Minor quibble – spelling.
