Words per minute

I dream of a word processor that throws a little a WPM gauge up in the right corner, so I can keep a close eye for when I’m backing off the throttle more than I should. Way back, when instant-messaging first came around? I used to write chat scripts to talk to different hardly-remote people, and we’d testrun it, use the chat to IM, all that. What I found out pretty quick with that was that I never cared for the content of our back and forth. What mattered to me was winning the race: getting my reply jammed in faster than the person on the other end could even read it. And have it be proper and right, of course. In short, I wasn’t good to chat with, since it was never about the discussion, always about the speed.

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Blood Business

Good time at Tattered Cover last night, with a whole TOC’s worth of us there—enough that we needed a spinner-wheel to figure out who got to read:

[ photo: Catherine Spader ]

Which? My number spun up. I had to borrow a woman from the audience’s reading glasses, since my arms are only so long, but when I focused in, it was on one of Ed Bryant’s last two published stories. So cool to get to read his words to a big crowd. Thanks, Hex Publishers / Josh Viola. And, thanks, Jeanne Stein, for leading off with reading Ed instead of ourselves. Wasn’t my idea, but I was thrilled to be part.

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Shawn Kemp

In my weakest moments, I imagine that there’s some version of myself in some distant iteration of Earth, dunking like Shawn Kemp:

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