Yet another beautiful story up at Fantasy, this one by Willow Fagan, called My Mother the Ghost. How can you not love a story that starts like this?

I was eleven years old when I realized that my mother was a ghost. I can remember the exact moment of this realization, but I wish I could better explain how it came about. It was like I had all these broken pieces of the truth, like shards of a white bowl, and in one moment, the pieces flew together, reforming the bowl, like the instant of its shattering running in reverse.

No-go from GUD today; onward to IGMS. Am I crazy to keep submitting to these (paying, big) markets? Yes, yes. I think I’ll try F&SF next.

I need to write more short stories. I have a few ideas floating around, nebulous, but nothing that’s caught yet. I’d like to come up with something to send to Cat Rambo, since she wanted to see more.

On the bright side of things, I finally solved a novel-problem (as opposed, I think, to a novel problem). Until yesterday, my love interest had no personality. But on the way home last night, I figured it out: I’ll make him be just as big of a jerk as my protagonist! He’s been wanting to be written that way, anyway. This development means rewriting, but has also allowed me to be terribly productive today. I got twice as much writing done as I normally do.

In fact, I’m nearing the 50,000-word mark (as of right now? 47,570). This is new territory for me; all previous long-form projects died (NaNoWriMo 2006) or ended (last year’s MS) just over 40,000 words. I have really no idea how long this one will be. As long as it takes, I guess. My goal right now is to finish the draft before my 26th birthday. I’m not sure why. It just really feels appropriate.

Poetry: Reunions by Brooklyn Copeland. Really, really pretty e-chap, both in terms of writing and design.

Fiction: And This Also Has Been One of the Dark Places of the Earth by Anna Feruglio Dal Dan. This is a gorgeously written, slow building story. It reminds me of one of my favorite ever speculative fiction scenes: the killing of the cat in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale in that both present situations that feel undeniably real and immediate and scary despite being essentially fantastic.

I feel like I don’t fully understand it, but Images of Anna by Nancy Kress is terrific. I’ve loved Kress ever since she had a completely sassy interview in The Writer’s Chronicle a year or so ago, but I’d never read her fiction. Exceeds expectations, feels important. Definitely worth a read.