I've never been a fan of fiction online -- I much prefer actual paper. But I started reading the beginning, you know, to see how it was. It was fucking good. Fucking good enough that I couldn't put it down (which was doubly problematic, since I wasn't actually holding it, reading it onscreen and all). I'm very annoyed at this (and when I can afford it, which is unfortunately not quite this minute, I'll go out and buy anything else he's got in paperback -- I can't quite afford hardback prices, much less the space to store them these days). I'd actually meant to go read (well, listen) to a science fiction podcast that I'm doing the logo for this week -- probably this weekend, when I can find a little time -- in exchange for a case of Blenheim's spicy good ginger ale (I've got some cool ideas for the logo, it'll be great, trust me). But it didn't so much happen.
Damn you, John Scalzi.
For the record, I believe this is the second time I've damned him (I doubt he's aware of either, but maybe his ego will find this and he'll be amused. It doesn't much matter). For the further record, this comes nowhere close to the record for times I've damned somebody, which is held by the guy who's doing the podcasts. I can't damn him this time, because this all happened in my routine reading of Whatever. So, whatever.
It's almost (along with the "now I have spare time to think" job) got me inspired to actually write something. I guess. I've got time. I've got something to write. It's got 2000 words of prologue (er, whoopdie do). Gaah.
Of course, it reminds me of the story about how I once got paid to impersonate a science fiction writer (now that's a good gig. Fans, without the actual work. Except they weren't mine. But I got copies of all his books -- that I didn't already own, anyway -- for free :). I'm not going to tell the story here, though... It's the sort of thing that's best told over beers. Nyah.