An oft-heard refrain: "Dude, you're not done yet? Why the hell not? I thought you only had a little bit to go? What's a 'little bit' to you . . . War and &%*$-ing Peace!?"

So, in answer: No, dude, I'm not done yet. The climactic battle is giving me fits. To date, I've re-written it three times. You're probably asking me what's the problem, right? Well, I've spent 430+ pages building my protagonist, Assad, up as a frighteningly good infiltrator/close-combat specialist. He's an ass-kicker extraordinaire falling somewhere between Barca and Memnon, but sneakier, fond of the one-on-one encounter rather than the sprawling battle. So, I get to the climax -- a sprawling battle -- and there's absolutely no reason for him to be there at all: the outcome doesn't hinge on him fighting. Thus, we hit a major snag (for the type of story this is, pulp historical fantasy, the protagonist must be crucial to the outcome in some way). I backtrack and try it a couple of different ways, adding layers of personal involvement that require me to revisit specific places in the story to add bits of detail -- nuggets that lead to a payoff at the end. Finally, I hit upon an idea that will allow him to make use of his particular skills . . . but the set-up of this idea has been a gold-shod-bitch to implement. By set-up I mean details. Getting him from the walls of Cairo and into the thick of the fighting dressed as a Templar in such a way that does not inspire gales of hilarity.

So, at the risk of sounding like the bastard son of Chicken Little and the Boy Who Cried Wolf: I'm almost done . . . working on the last few pages.

Yeah, I went and broke one of my personal commandments ("Thou shalt never join a social networking site") and joined Facebook. I know, I know . . . I buckled under the weight of peer pressure. Buckled like a cheap belt. I feel so dirty . . .

But, as long as I'm on there, how about befriending me? I need Friends. I'm experiencing this inexplicable desire to be popular, and to be popular I need your help, O Gentle Readers. Go ahead . . . Friend me. I swear, I'll behave, and perhaps I'll even look good in your friends list . . .

Go on, do it. You know you want to . . .

As a kid, I used to daydream about what my life would be like at different points in the future. What would a 25-year old Scott look like? What hobbies and interests would he have? How about at thirty, or forty? Would that nebulous future self be married with children, or working some soul-sucking job, or living the high-life on a yacht in the south of France? I would worry, sure: what if I did something wrong and got sent to jail? What if I screwed up my life with drugs or booze or some weird communicable disease? Most of all, though, would kid-Scott like adult-Scott?

On Tuesday I celebrated my 41st birthday. A very dear friend, Leah, took me to lunch; we hit a few bookstores, listened to world music at the CD shop, had tea and talked. Geez . . . we talked well into the night. Leah has the somewhat dubious honor of being my first real girlfriend – I was a 19-year old dork, and she a 17-year old hippie chick – and she has provided me with a glimpse of myself, both then and now.

I’ve changed, but I’ve not changed, you know? I’m a little more guarded now, keenly nostalgic, and far more comfortable in my skin than I was at 19. But most of the hobbies and interests of my youth followed me into adulthood: reading and writing, role-playing games (this birthday marks 30 years of playing D&D, incidentally), and action movies. I’ve added a better grasp of history, especially ancient, an addiction to first-person shooters on the 360, and a love of art I didn’t have as a kid. That’s about the extent of it.

This is sad and comforting – sad because I haven’t really changed all that much between 19 and 41, and comforting for the same reasons. I have a career I love, but one that is precarious at best, and I’ve gone from married video-store clerk to confirmed bachelor/slacker extraordinaire. And I have virtually the same friends as I had 15 years ago. Still, I really DO think kid-Scott would approve.

How about you, Gentle Readers? How would your younger selves view your 2008 incarnation?

If you're in the Huntsville (Alabama) area on June 21st, be sure to drop by The BookMark on South Memorial Parkway. I'm going to be the guest speaker at the June meeting of the North Alabama Science Fiction Association (NASFA). These are the fine folks who put on the Con*Stellation SF/F convention every year -- and it was at one of their conventions that I got one of my most prized possessions: a copy of Karl Edward Wagner's Night Winds (a collection of short stories featuring the immortal Kane) autographed by the author himself, who was a guest at the con. They're good people, and I'm looking forward to attending.

I'm not quite sure what I'm going to be speaking about, though. The triumphs and travails of writing? Self promotion? Writing the Great Egyptian Novel and not getting scammed in the process? The care and feeding of literary agents? My tenure as a slush pile reader, or how to commit seppuku with a rusty nib? What would you like to hear, O Blog Folk?

Or, maybe I should just read the mammoth query letter I saved from my slush-monkey days (six pages not including a rough sketch of the cover and some bizzare photos)?


Meet Scott and Poke Him With a Stick
NASFA June Meeting
Saturday, June 21st @ 7PM
The BookMark, located at 11220-J South Memorial Parkway
Huntsville, AL

EDITED TO ADD (6/23):

This was an enjoyable event, for me at least. NASFA is a laid back bunch of folks, so it was less like I was speaking to a group and more like just me and a bunch of friends hanging out. They seemed rather impressed by my ability to go from discussing ancient history to discussing LOTR or Star Wars ;) Hopefully, they'll have me back sometime . . .