patricky

This entry might sound all depressing, but I don't intend it to. It's just random thoughts.

The Ennies were announced today. For those of you who don't know what those are - which is all of you, probably - the Ennies are the rpg industry's equivalent of the Oscars/Emmies/Whatever. They've been around a few years now, and by weight of not being completely fucked up (ala the Origins awards) have become the big thing on the block.

Two of my books, which have just come out, were supposed to be sent in to the nominating committee just before the nomination deadline. The publisher held them back for that express purpose. Then he didn't actually print them until it was too late.

Ultimately, an award, particularly one like this, is just a pointless knick knack - it's nice to have, and makes you feel good, but it's ultimately meaningless. But it's the principle of the thing. Well, the principle, and the tangible.

Principle: I was excited that maybe something I wrote was worth a shit, in the context of meaningless awards. True, they have no real meaning save that which I give them, but there you go, I would have liked to have been nominated.

Tangible: Pushing off publishing them til awards season, and then missing awards season, means that my money for writing them was delayed by months for absolutely. no. reason. I could have certainly used that money, little as it is, earlier.


I used to dream of being an artist. More specifically of being a comic book illustrator. But I didn't have the passion to develop my skills to the needed level. And so I concentrated on my writing. I have an assistant editor at Marvel Comics who I'm supposed to be sending stuff too, but I haven't done it in a year or more.

I don't know why. No, actually, I do. I'm like an over-attentive gardener: I fuss at my dreams, I knot my fingers with worry as I nurture them, I drown them, I over feed them, and then I abandon them to wither on the vine just when they're ripe.

Speaking of ripe, that analogy is plenty ripe.