- Doc Smith in the (Counterfactual) Sixties September 27, 2016
- Norton in the (Counterfactual) Sixties September 26, 2016
- New Review at LOCUS ONLINE September 26, 2016I review a collection of linked SF stories:http://www.locusmag.com/Reviews/2016/09/paul-di-filippo-reviews-alexander-weinstein/
- New Review at LOCUS ONLINE September 23, 2016I look at an epic fantasy:http://www.locusmag.com/Reviews/2016/09/paul-di-filippo-reviews-brian-lee-durfee/
- What I've Been Up to for the Past Few Weeks September 22, 2016The above are seeds of something called “burr clover” or “burr medic.” [Not actual size, fortunately -- they're about a quarter of an inch in diameter.] They are also something that has completely taken over my backyard.The only way to get rid of them is to comb over your backyard and try to pick all of them up. But because they’re sneaky little bastards, when you do this you tend to miss hundreds (I’m not kidding — literally hundreds) of seeds, and those seeds take root and grow, and those new plants send out tendrils with more seeds, and the seeds explode over your backyard, and the whole cycle starts up again. So then you have to go through the yard again, and find out that you’ve missed a bunch more over here and a whole new patch of burr clover is flourishing in that corner over there… Even worse, you discover that one has attached itself to the bottom of your shoe, and if you hadn’t noticed it you would have been responsible for transplanting a whole new colony of them to another section of the yard. They’re sneaky bastards, like I said.It gets to the point where, when you go to sleep, you see piles of seeds behind your eyes. Where your dreams are filled with delightful visions of flame torches burning the entire backyard to a crisp. Where you start referring to the seeds in the same way you would talk about vermin, or vampires — “a nest of seeds.” Where you think of them as evil, as something put on this earth solely to torment you. Where you become compulsive about rooting them out, and feel antsy if you can’t spend at least a few minutes stooping over the ground and muttering to yourself. Where you come in from your travails exhausted, and close your eyes, and see flames licking through your backyard, and you smile.
- Panshin in the (Counterfactual) Sixties September 21, 2016