I have an appointment in a few hours with my local cystic fibrosis clinic. And while it’s safe to say I’ve never exactly looked forward to seeing them, there’s a special kind of dread knotting up my stomach today. Part of it’s because I have another appointment scheduled at Stanford in two weeks, followed by a bunch of random annual check-ups (eyes, nose, skin, etc.) and my subconscious knows that this, today, is the gateway to all of that. The first of many unpleasant and exhausting days.
But the bigger issue, the phantom fear haunting all of that, is, of course, COVID. Mask mandates in medical settings are falling left and right, with healthcare workers dancing in the street over the fact that they don’t have to take preventative measures against infecting their most vulnerable patients anymore. The government is ending the COVID emergency without a fight. Information on boosters or updated vaccines is nonexistent. Death, disability, and long COVID are all on the rise and no one cares. There’s a fucking genocide against the medically vulnerable happening, and I’m expected to just walk on into all of that.
The only good news is that, in New Mexico, at least, the hospital mask mandate doesn’t end for another week. The bad news is that, even when I was last there in November, it wasn’t being enforced. So I’m not exactly expecting a lot of assistance in not getting cripplingly sick today. But I’ll be able to see all those smiles all of you missed so much, so that’s a fair trade, right? My sanity and well-being for three fleeting seconds of feeling “normal” again. I mean, historically, if you’re the only masked person in a room you don’t so much see smiles as grimaces and suspicious stares, but I’m glad you’re happy.
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OK, so, I’m gonna say I’m sorry for the above – for calling you out personally – but I think we both know the truth is a lot more ambivalent. Still, I certainly didn’t intend to be so cranky when I sat down. But, well, the above. My anxiety is not great right now. Plus, it’s spring and my allergies have been a nightmare. I had a migraine all weekend and most of yesterday.
Also, the dog woke me up at 5:30 to bark at the wind and, despite a frankly prolific amount of coffee, I have yet to recover.
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Still here? Cool. Thanks. As a reward I got you some uncharacteristically good news!
First and foremost, the Kickstarter for Atomic Carnival Books’ first two anthologies has been funded! We’ve also got our first three authors locked in:
Danger Slater, Wonderland Award-winning author of Moonfellows and Little Miss Apocalypse
Lydia Bugg, writer for 1-900-HOTDOG and author of horror novella Healthy Choices
Ally Malinenko, Stoker Award-nominated author of Ghost Girl and This Appearing House
I’ll be announcing more anchor authors throughout April, and that’s before I get to the general submissions. You might as well go ahead and pre-order your copies now; they’re going to be good books, Brent. Plus, our first stretch goal is a new, slackerized version of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein written by yours truly – but that’ll only happen if enough people pre-order the anthologies.
Actually, speaking of Frankenstein, I’ve got an essay titled “On Being a Real-Life Frankenstein” in the just-released Keeping It Under Wraps: Bodies anthology. It’s about transplant and being a real-life Frankenstein.*
*Yes, I know the doctor was the one named Frankenstein, but, in the original novel, the monster considered himself the doctor’s offspring, ergo, following the naming conventions of the time, he is in fact also a Frankenstein.
I’ve also got one of my favorite short stories I’ve ever written, “Starblossom,” up at The Rumen. They’re just starting out, so give the story a read and make them feel welcome. And, speaking of new magazines, I also sold a story to the also-new Impossible Worlds. “No More Wars Left to Fight” – a very personal story and another personal favorite – will be in the next issue, due out later this year, but I really dug the first one, so check it out if you can.
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All right, I’ve got to go eat lunch and then risk my life to talk to a doctor for five minutes, so I think it’s about time to wrap this up. But please do consider doing me a solid and pre-ordering Atomic Carnival’s upcoming anthologies. They’re shaping up to be pretty amazing. I’m not saying Greater Than His Nature and Open All Night are the last beacons of hope and rebellion and bizarro joy in a crumbling world, but I’m not not saying that either.