This week’s stack of new books and ARCs has some very choice titles in it, I have to say. What here is speaking to you? Tell us all in the comments!
This week’s stack of new books and ARCs has some very choice titles in it, I have to say. What here is speaking to you? Tell us all in the comments!
Our backyard here on the second day of spring. To be clear, as late as 12 hours ago it was entirely snow free. Now look at this. It’s probably the most snow we’ve had fall in a single day the entire year to date. Get it together, spring! You’re better than this!
So, you piled under snow, too?
Yes, you could win this specific ARC of Head On! And I will sign and personalize it for you!
(Cat not included)
All you have to do to enter is leave a comment, and leave an actual email address where you receive mail in the part of the comment form where it says “Email” (the email will not be displayed unless you actually put it in the comment field; don’t do that unless you want everyone to see it). The comments will be left open for two days starting the moment this post is published; after the comments automatically close, I will see how many comments there are and then ask one of my voice activated computer assistants to pick a number between one and [whatever number of comments there are]. Whoever has that comment number wins!
Leave only one comment per person, please. Don’t be greedy.
Also, before you ask, yes, this is open to everyone on the planet. I’ll pay for shipping to wherever you are. But if you’re not in the US I can’t guarantee it will get there quickly. I don’t know how your country handles mail, folks. If you’re not on the planet, I’m not sending it to you. I wouldn’t know how. Sorry, astronauts and aliens.
Got it? Okay: Go!
Update 3/22/18: The random number has spoken and the winner is Chocotodd! Who has already been contacted. Thank you, everyone for playing!
The blog Lifehacker just posted a piece entitled “Why You Should Write For Free,” in which writer Nick Douglas (on staff, note) explains when he believes writing for free is appropriate — and when it is not. The headline alone is enough to fluff me up with righteous fury, as my own, consistent refusal to write for free is a matter of public record. But I’m also aware that headlines are meant to elicit a response (hopefully, to read the article) and are sometimes not entirely representative of the article.
So I read the article. It’s still wrong, but I can see where Douglas has gone wrong, and some of it boils down to a matter of definition of what constitutes “free” writing and what does not.
So what does constitute “writing for free”? Douglas’ definition is pretty simple, and wide: Writing for which one is not paid. This would include personal blog posts, tweets, Facebook posts and comments on all of the above (basically, all social media for most people), school papers, diary entries, emails and letters to friends and family, graffiti, resumes and job applications as well as material written for editorial entities, for which one’s work is not compensated — newspapers, weekly papers, non-personal/commercial blogs, magazines and so on.
My definition, probably because I am a professional writer, is rather more narrow and is focused on intent. My definition of “writing for free” is “writing work that is aimed at the stream of commerce but for which one is not compensated for its production.” More simply, work where someone is trying to make money off it, but none of that money gets to me. By that definition, no personal blog post, tweet, Facebook posting, email, etc constitutes “free” writing, since none of it was ever intended in itself to make money. But things I write for others are almost always in the stream of commerce — and somewhere along the way, someone is getting paid because of it, or at least trying to.
And that’s where Yog’s Law applies: Money flows toward the writer. If my work is being used to extract monetary value from someone, somewhere, then I need to be paid. I don’t work for free, especially when someone else is attempting to gain a financial benefit from it.
(“Yeah but Twitter and Facebook serve ads so technically they’re making money and you’re not” — correct but I am being offered use of the platform without having to pay for it because it’s supported by ads, and that would be the case even if I never posted, i.e., social media’s financial model is not contingent on my content, but rather on my use. Eyeballs, not words. That’s a different thing, believe it or not.)
Let me put it another way. I play guitar (poorly). When I play my guitar at home, am I playing “for free”? In the sense that no one’s paying me for it, sure. But I’m also not intending to make money from playing it, and that matters. I’m a literal amateur. I’m doing it because I enjoy playing, and the benefit of it to me is not financially-oriented. On the other hand, if (highly improbably) someone heard me playing and said “Wow, that’s awesome, can I record you and release your music to the world?” then my immediate response would be “I think you’re probably high” followed by “Also, how much are you paying me?” Because what’s being said here is “your product has a value I would like to exploit” and my response in those cases, for all media, is “then I need to participate in that value exploitation.”
Douglas’ definition of “free” is more expansive than mine, and for people who are not primarily or professionally writers (or who want to be) it’s probably fine. For people who do want to be professionally or primarily writers, it’s muddy, and can be used as a way for people who won’t want to pay you for your work, for whatever reason, to smudge lines which should not be smudged. Intent matters.
So, let’s apply my definition of “free” to Douglas’ advice. Should you write on a blog or on social media for your own personal interest and benefit? Sure! It’s fun, it passes the time, and occasionally you might able to leverage that writing into economic benefit. I certainly have done that — I’ve published four books (so far!) of essay writing that originated here on this blog, and two novels which I originally published here have been published conventionally and are still in print. Go me. Work here has also served as a calling card for paid work elsewhere; I’ve gotten a number of gigs because people have read something here and said, essentially, “Hey, can you do that, but for me, and for money?” To which I answered, “Oh, probably.”
Should you write for others without being paid? Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t care how tiny or noble the site/magazine/whatever is, if they want to use what you write to help them make money, then go ahead and make it your policy to get paid. If they don’t have the money to pay your asking price, then, oh, well. “Exposure” means shit (and “exposure” in the sort of venue that can’t/won’t pay means even less than shit). What matters in these cases is that you make money from the people who want to make money from you. So, you know. Don’t write for “free.” Get paid.
Let’s also recognize a third category here, which is writing you do for yourself, that you intend to exploit financially by yourself — basically, by operating a small business specializing in the distribution of your writing (and/or other creative product). This is a thing that is much easier to do now than in times past, and certainly writers do it through things like Patreon, Kickstarter, self-publishing, placing advertising on their own blogs and so on. Here in 2018, you don’t need someone else to pay you to get paid, although if you do want to get paid by running your own little writing business, you have to do what any small business does and work your ass off on it. Which is why I personally like publishing through other entities — it’s ever so slightly less work.
(And obviously, you don’t have to pick just one of these avenues. You can do them all! Wheeee!)
So, Nick Douglas is right that you should write some things that without intending to be paid for them, for the fun of it and to try different sorts of writing and to grow your skills. He’s incorrect that much of that writing — the stuff you do by yourself, for yourself — should be considered as being done for “free.” And when he suggests that you write for others for “free,” I think he’s incorrect there as well. If your work has value to anyone, then it should have value for you, and you should be at the front of the line to receive that value, because you’re doing the work.
That’s how you become a professional writer: By expecting to be treated as a professional.
I figure this will make up for my absence. I especially like Zeus’s expression.
How was your day?
I’ve been in Durham, NC the last couple of days, visiting friends and seeing sights, including this here sculpture of a bull, which frankly seems to be judging me. How dare you, sir! It’s been fun but now I’m on my way home again to see Krissy and Athena and the cats. Life is good.
Hello, this serves as your reminder that the 2018 Hugo nomination window comes to a close tomorrow, March 16 at 11:59pm Pacific Time, so if you are eligible to nominate for the Hugo Awards (ie., you were a member of last year’s, this year’s, or next year’s, Worldcon, as of 12/31/17), don’t forget to go nominate the things you liked in each category. Here’s the link to Worldcon 76’s Hugo page, which includes a link to the nomination page for this year’s Hugos and for the 1943 Retro Hugos.
Remember that a) you shouldn’t worry if you didn’t read “widely enough,” since nominating what you did read and did like is good enough, b) that you don’t need to feel obliged to fill up all five nomination slots in every category. Just nominate what you think is deserving, and if that number is less than five, so be it.
That said, if you do need a quick refresher on some of what’s been critically acclaimed this year, the Locus Recommended Reading List is a good start.
Self-interested note: The Collapsing Empire is eligible for best novel, and Don’t Live For Your Obituary is eligible for Best Related Work. If you liked them, please feel free to nominate them, with my thanks. But if there were works you prefer better in these categories, please nominate those works instead!
That’s right! The prologue to my upcoming novel is up at Tor.com. You can read it now! Here’s the link!
Oh, and, hello. I’ve had a busy day away from the Internets. Hope you’re well.
My friends at Subterranean Press have already put out really excellent signed, limited hardcover editions of the first four books of the Old Man’s War series, and now they’re getting ready to release the fifth, The Human Division, in June. In addition to being signed, the limited editions include not only Vincent Chong’s awesome cover art, but a portfolio of images from John Harris — the cover illustrations he created for the digital releases of the 13 stories that make up The Human Division. This is the first time these illustrations have been in print, which truly makes this a collector’s edition worth having.
And if you are interested in getting it, you can pre-order it now from the Subterranean Press site. In fact, since the run is limited to 500 numbered copies and 26 lettered copies, I strongly suggest pre-ordering now if you want one. They will go fast, and when they’re gone, there won’t be any more.
(Mind you, The Human Division will still be available in paperback and eBook and in audio. But this limited edition is, well, limited.)
“So, why were you crying through the entire film?”
— my daughter Athena, who was mildly concerned.
There are several answers to this, most of which boil down to the fact that I am a father who remembers being the ten-year-old boy who fell in love with Madeleine L’Engle’s book, and the movie engaged both of these states. I cried because the casting and performance of Meg (played by Storm Reid) is immensely good — such a stubborn, willful, doubt-filled girl — and because I could see both myself as a child and my daughter in her. I cried because I remember being a fatherless child and being a father who would never want to leave his daughter. I cried because the film has empathy not only for bright but difficult children but for all children, and because it wants so much for Meg to see herself, just as I would want to be seen and would want my own child to see her value. I cried because I remembered being lost like Meg was lost, and remembered everyone who helped me find myself, as everyone in this film does so for Meg, and as I hope I have helped my own daughter become who she is meant to be.
I cried because this film has an enormous amount of empathy, as the book did, and that essential core remains intact, even as the film takes liberties with the source material. It would have to, 56 years after the book’s initial publication, to speak to the audience it’s intended to speak to, which is not me, a 48-year-old white dude, although it clearly and so obviously did. I cried because this film gets the book right, because it sees the book, just as the book saw me when I came to it almost four decades ago, and has seen so many other children since. Director Ava DuVernay’s love of the material, and her willingness to put the work into it to make it speak today, is self-evident and appreciated.
It is not a perfect film, in itself or in its adaptation of the source material. Lots is truncated, changed and elided, some new stuff is put in to middling effect. The commercial needs of a $100 million film mean that some tropey elements get past the gate, and on more than one occasion the special effects become the tail wagging the dog. In the end I didn’t see much of this as a problem. The film is not perfect, and also, this is a film about faults, and how our own faults ultimately may give us power to save ourselves and others. While I’m not going to say this film’s faults ultimately give it power, I can say that none of the film’s faults are that important to me when the film’s core is solid, and intact, and so powerfully on point. It’s not perfect, nor does it have to be to work.
(And, you may ask, what do I think about the film’s multicultural and feminine viewpoint and aesthetic? I think it works very well, and it’s a reminder that things that are not designed specifically for one in mind may still speak significantly and specifically to one, if one is open to it. I would not have imagined A Wrinkle in Time the way DuVernay has — I seriously doubt I could have imagined it this way — and yet there I was crying my eyes out all the same. I do not need the world to be imagined as I would have imagined it. I want the world and the things in it to exceed my imagination, to show me things I cannot make for myself but can take into myself, hold precious, and make my imagination that much wider from that point forward. As I noted before, this movie was not, I think, made for me, and still here I am, loving it as much as I do.)
Should you see this film? Well, I think you should. I also think you should see it on a big screen, because it’s visually impressive enough to warrant it and because films still have their most potent power on a big screen, in front of an audience. Maybe it won’t have the same effect on you that it had on me — in fact, it probably won’t, because you are not me. But I’m willing to believe it will have some effect. Whatever that effect is, it’ll be worth getting yourself to a theater for, and maybe taking a kid or two along with you, too.
As for me, I can honestly say that I don’t think I’ve been this affected by a film in years. Part of that is because I loved the book as a child, but I’ve loved other books before, and their adaptations, and yet didn’t spend their entire running time in tears. I think, in the end, it’s what Ava DuVernay, her team and her actors (especially Storm Reid) brought to it: Empathy, joy, optimism and their own point of view that brings A Wrinkle in Time into modern times. No one needs me to tell them that DuVernay is a major director; that much was evident with Selma and 13th. What I can say is that DuVernay, rare among directors, is now someone whose vision I trust — not to give me what I think I want, but to give me what I didn’t know I needed, until she showed it to me.
I knew I was probably going to like A Wrinkle in Time. I didn’t know I was going to love it this much. I certainly didn’t know I was going to find myself crying all the way through it. That’s on DuVernay and her team. And for that, I say: Ava DuVernay, thank you. I don’t think it’s possible for your film to have moved me more than it has.
Look! New books and ARCs! I’d write more but a cat is lying on me and I only have use of one hand! What in this stack looks good to you? Tell us in the comments!
Today the New York Times debuted two new monthly bestseller lists, dealing with audio books: Audio Fiction and Audio Non Fiction. Here’s the link to the Audio Fiction list.
And look at what’s number eight on the list!
Yes, The Dispatcher. That’ll do just fine. The Dispatcher had already been a bestseller (it had topped the Audible Bestseller list on more than one occasion), but of course the New York Times has the bestseller lists of record, as it were. So this is a neat further recognition of its success in entertaining people.
I’ll note the Audio Fiction list is rather heavy with science fiction titles, with a full third of the titles from the genre, including the number one title (which also has a film of it coming out in a week or so, which I suspect helps too). It’s a nice showing for the genre. People seem to like science fiction in their ears.
I’ll also note there is now such a thing as a New York Times bestselling narrator, and that my pal and frequent audio narrator Wil Wheaton is now a “#1 New York Times Bestselling narrator.” Which I love. And so of course Zachary Quinto, who read The Dispatcher, is also a bestselling narrator. I like it when that happens.
Congratulations to everyone else who has made this new NYT list, which among other things shows that audiobooks are a medium that matters. They’ve certainly made a difference in my career, and I’m happy to see them, and these authors and narrators, get recognition for their efforts.
This is a lovely thing to see: The cover flat of Head On, which, when appropriately folded and flapped, will cover the hardcover editions of the book when it comes out in April. It’s very pretty and my name is embossed, which is always a delight. And I continue to very much like the cover design, by Peter Lutjen. Basically, I’m a happy Scalzi right now.
Also I got other good news today but I can’t share it yet. But I will be able to share it tomorrow!
How was your day?
As part of a Disney sing-along on the JoCo Cruise.
1. I am mostly on-key! Go me.
2. Check out that dad bod, ladies.
(and those of you fluidly gendered.)
3. It should be clear I have absolutely no shame whatsoever.
Yesterday on Twitter, noted astrophysicist and Pluto killer Neil deGrasse Tyson wrote:
And, well. No. I responded:
This excited at least a few people, who were hoping that this meant that me and Tyson would now commence to fight. But sadly for those folks, there will be no fighting. One, despite his Pluto-murdering ways, I am an admirer of Tyson for his tireless championing of astronomy and astrophysics and science in general. Two, I think Tyson is simply falling prey to a common misconception about both art and entertainment, which is that the former is (mostly) exclusive of and (mostly) superior to the latter. In both cases, it’s not true.
To begin, “art” is not a rarified thing, or at least I don’t think it is. It is, simply, the product of the creative exercise. When you write a story or play a song or draw a picture or act on a stage, you are making “art.” Whether it is good art or bad art is another thing entirely — when I write, I can say I am (generally) creating good art, but when I draw, I am mostly creating bad art. But it’s still art, good, bad or indifferent. What makes it art is the act of creative production, not its quality.
Likewise “entertainment” is also not particularly rarified. It’s that which aims to amuse and engage people (or more widely, that which amuses and engages people, whether intentional or not). In a basic sense, if you are writing or composing or drawing or whatever with the intention or hope that other people will apprehend and appreciate what you are doing, that’s entertainment. And again, you can succeed or not succeed, depending on your skill and also the interest and taste of the audience. What makes it entertainment is the intention, not the quality.
It’s worth pointing out here that in the cases of both “art” and “entertainment” there are two, mostly unrelated components: The act of the creator, and the apprehension of the audience. I may create art, or aim to entertain, or both, but it’s generally up to others to decide if I’ve done a good job in either case. I have my own internal critic in both cases, who I think usually has a good bead on both. But ultimately the success of art depends on the individual, and their take on the created thing. We can further declare that someone has good or bad taste, or doesn’t know enough to appreciate art, or whatever, and those are arguments that can take us down a long and contentious road. But at the end of the day, apprehension of art is subjective, and you either accept that or don’t.
Tyson’s formulation of “art” — that it’s somehow effectively better or more challenging than mere “entertainment,” is not that unusual; it’s at the root of the old question “Well, I know I like it, but is it art?” For the person for whom is this is a serious sort of question, the answer of “Yes, it was art the moment the creator started producing it, and your liking it is valid in itself” possibly seems facile and a little vapid. Likewise, the devaluation of “mere” entertainment, as if something that succeeds in amusing and diverting you, and making you happy, cannot have the value of (or inherently has less value than) something that confronts you and aims to make you think.
Well, that seems a bit silly to me. Alt-right trolls aim to “challenge and disrupt my world view” with what passes for their cogitation; it doesn’t mean what they’re doing has an inherently higher artistic value than, say, an essay by Roxane Gay, whose worldview is rather more in alignment with mine. Fascist-aligned punk bands are not inherently more artistic than the Dead Kennedys, who have rather pointed things to say about Nazi punks.
(“But those are extreme examples!” Yes, they are. And? There were no qualification on Tyson’s initial statement; it’s not “Except in cases involving fascists and thugs…” And even if it were, we could still find more than enough examples to dismiss the hypothesis.)
Likewise, the one thing “art” has over “entertainment” is not quality, it’s intentionality. Art results from the creative drive of humans, and a purposeful act of creation. Entertainment can be, but does not have to be, intentionally created. I can be entertained by cats playing or by clouds rolling along in the sky, but neither the cats nor the clouds do what they do in the hopes of entertaining me. On Youtube, you can watch hours of logs burning in a fireplace or trains rolling through Scandinavia. It’s entertainment but I think not really art (unless you count pointing a camera at a fireplace to be art, which, meh).
“Entertainment” is not a lesser state of “art”; they are separate conditions with substantial but not perfect overlap. Much if not most of what we think as entertainment starts off as art; most art we eventually see is intended to have an audience (i.e., is “entertainment”). The subjective entertainment value of something may not be the same as the subjective “artistic” value of the thing. I can recognize art has been finely crafted and speaks well to an audience, and also recognize that audience is not one with me in it (which is to say, not be well entertained by it). I can likewise recognize that something which amuses me vastly can be something I also find sloppy and junky and not something I’d recommend to other people — or alternately, speaks so particularly to me that I don’t expect others to have the same reaction to it.
Also, and importantly, we don’t have to excuse or rationalize or dismiss art that exists within our “world view” (and let me note that I could spend a whole other essay deconstructing that phrase) as “mere” entertainment. One, “entertainment” is not mere — the ability of anything to transport you out of your own worry cycle for even a few minutes is a pretty great thing. Two, that entertainment is (usually) art. And it’s art that is working for you, however it works. Enjoy it and celebrate it. This is why there should be no such thing as a “guilty pleasure.” You shouldn’t feel guilt about enjoying art, whatever it is.
Now, what I think Tyson may have been trying to say, and if so is a thing I would agree with him on, is that one’s entertainment and/or artistic diet shouldn’t be only what you already know that you like — it’s worthwhile to make a stretch here and there and try things that you don’t know if you like, and on occasion to learn more about art (of whatever sort) so that when you approach new and unfamiliar art, you have tools to better understand and apprehend what you’ve got in front of you. Always be reaching for the new and always be learning — and as a result, what art speaks to you, and entertains you, will be a larger set than what’s come before. And sometimes you won’t like the art, and won’t be entertained, but that’s all right, too. You’ll know more about yourself through the process.
This is why, fundamentally, I don’t need to fight Tyson — I’m pretty sure he and I agree on the important things regarding art and entertainment. We’re just using different words (and definitions of words) to say it. Mind you, I think I’ve said it better here. But then, I’ve just used 1,250 words, and he used a tweet.
I was sent an email today by a Whatever reader noting that I was notably light on political commentary here these days and being curious as to why that might be. It’s a good question, and the answers are, alas, not that exciting:
1. My previously-noted Trump Quandry is still in effect, in which things happen fast enough that by the time I have what I consider a useful opinion on something, it’s three to seven major political news stories back in the slipstream;
2. The above-mentioned phenomenon means that Twitter is actually the best place for me to do a quick reaction/bit of snark, and having done that, move on to the next thing;
3. Even the longer thoughts I have eventually boil down to “Malign and/or incompetent people are running the country and this latest thing just accentuates that point again,” and there’s only so many ways to play that variation of a theme without getting bored, and I’m kinda bored of it;
4. Hey, there’s a novel I’m writing with a deadline coming up! So that’s a thing, too.
And also there’s the thing that honestly writing a long piece about politics now just fills me with ennui and a desire to take nap, and while naps are objectively great, the ennui part is not so much. Right now, I just don’t wanna, basically. So, I don’t — or don’t as much — and put most of my editorializing on Twitter. It’s not to say that from time to time I won’t have something I want to pursue at a longer length. It simply means I’m having relatively fewer moments like that at the moment.
Honestly I think part of it is that as much as anything else I’m finding this current political moment sad. For example, that fool Sam Nunberg today, a former Trump campaign official who’s been traipsing from one cable outlet to the next, becoming progressively unhinged as he goes along. Sure, he’s a landfill of snarkable moments, and also, underlying that is the increasingly likely possibility our current president is a Russian tool, unwitting or otherwise, and, I don’t know. That kind of ruins the fun for me. Now, maybe that’s temporary — a lot really is contingent on other factors, like actual work I get paid for taking up brain cycles — but right now that’s where I’m at.
So this is why political commentary is sorta sparse here at the moment. In its place: Lots of pictures and reviews of tech and otherwise whatever I feel like writing about — which is why it’s called “Whatever.” I’m pretty sure the urge to write more, and in detail, about politics will come around again. Until then, I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.
I saw this beaut on the way to the gas station this morning; I pulled over to snap a photo with my phone. As a fun bit of trivia, the place I pulled into was Harris Creek Cemetery, which many of you may recognize as the cemetery at the very beginning of Old Man’s War. Kathy Perry will one day be buried over there to the right. I bumped up the contrast and saturation in the picture so you can see the entire bow better, but I assure you it was pretty impressive in real life, too.
This is one of the nice things about living in the modern era, incidentally: One has a decent camera with one pretty much all the time now. This picture probably would have looked better if I had taken it with my dSLR, but then I’m not lugging it with me when I go to the gas station. As they, the best camera is the one you have one you, and fortunately phone cameras these days do a pretty good job.
Speaking of cameras and things they capture in the sky, here’s a thing if you missed me posting it last night on Twitter:
After I posted this, astronomer Phil Plait told me that reportedly Copernicus himself never caught a glimpse of Mercury, so I had that on him. And I was all, Yeah! Suck it, Copernicus! Sure, he established the heliocentric theory, but I saw the smallest planet with my bare eye! That evens things out! History books should be updated with this equivalence presently.
There, I hope you have enjoyed these views of the sky through my cameras’ eyes. Off you go now into your Monday. Hope it’s a good one.
Today’s a day some some personal significance: 20 years ago today I secured the “scalzi.com” domain, making it my permanent home on the Web and on the Internet. To some extent it happened out of necessity — I was about to be laid off from AOL and all my email addresses there were about to be discontinued, so I needed to get an email address — but in a larger sense I decided that I needed an online home that I couldn’t suddenly get kicked out of, at the whims of someone else. So long as I paid the domain and ISP fees on an annual basis, I had a place to call my own.
And so it has been this last double decade. AOL is reduced to a tiny sliver of what it once was, Friendster and Myspace and LiveJournal (not to mention AngelFire or Geocities) are similarly gone or greatly reduced, and all manner of sites that existed in the long-lost days of 1998 are now only accessible via the Internet Archive. And yet, here’s scalzi.com, still plugging along. There are of course older sites out there, but in the increasingly thin segment of personal web sites, not all that many.
I’ll note that today is not the 20th anniversary of Whatever, the blog; that comes in September. It took me about six months to get my act together on that score. Instead what was here was collections of writing from when I was at AOL and, before then, at the Fresno Bee — basically a lot of writing samples I could point people to if they wanted to hire me. It worked, inasmuch as I was soon hired to write music and video game reviews, although I never did go back to working as a full-time employee for anyone else.
Lots of good things have come from having this site out there, including selling Old Man’s War, which started me on my way to becoming a full-time novelist. I’ve told that story before and so I don’t think I need to go into great detail about it again right now. Nevertheless one thing I will repeat now and as often as people need to hear it is that especially for creative people having your own domain is really important. Other sites are highly contingent: they come and go, and they may also arbitrarily decide who gets to see your stuff and who doesn’t (see: Facebook, and its annoying tendency not to show everything you post to everyone who follows you).
Even if you have a large following elsewhere, you should always have a place to call your own, that you are in control of, not someone else. So when Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Snapchat are dead and buried — and they will be — people can still find you. And email you! There’s something to be said for having the same email address for 20 years.
So: Hooray, 20 years. Scalzi.com is definitely not going anywhere anytime soon. I suspect it’ll be here as long as I am here, and then, probably, well after that.
A new month and a new stack of books and ARCs that have come to the Scalzi Compound. What in this stack do you want to put into your own “to be read” pile? Tell us in the comments.
A picture of her at the mission in Loreto, Mexico. If I remember correctly, she’s looking up at a saint, or the Virgin Mary. She’s pretty great (Krissy, I mean. The Virgin Mary’s all right, too, I guess).