Author Archives: Eugie Foster

Watched Adaptation yesterday, which was very odd. Made by the same folks who did Being John Malkovich, it’s narcissistic and self-deprecating at the same time. It started slow and disjointed and then turns into a darkly comedic thriller. Weird. But I liked it.

Also made vegan seitan stew. Making seitan was a novel experience. The raw dough, when rising, looked like brains with all the ridges and bumps in a half-sphere. And since the seitan/Satan pronunciation slurring is inevitable, Matthew and I joked that we were having “Satan Brain Stew.” Well, we thought it was funny.

The recipe we used for seitan made a lot more than we needed for the stew, so Matthew’s going to put some in a stir-fry this week, and we froze the rest of it. It’s full of protein goodness, and I considered seeing if Hobkin would like some, but it’s also pretty high in sodium. Thinking about making a little bit of seitan without the flavoring next time (which would then make it gluten) and offering that to the little fuzzhead.

Writing stuff:

1600 words on a science fiction piece. Rah!

Also received the copies of Ascendancy of Blood from Scrybe Press to sign.

Yesterday was both Prokofiev’s and Shakespeare’s birthday. Prokofiev is one of my favorite composers, and Shakespeare is one of my favorite writers. NPR played Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet in observation. Very fitting.

Doctors visits went. As it turns out, I needn’t have fasted. They’re running the labs they routinely do for physicals next week when I have my regular tests done so they only need to prick me once this week. And the lab tech for my Pulmonary Functions Test was nice. He was like a track coach, extolling me to inhale, pant, exhale, and breath normally into a sci-fi apparatus on cue. Heh.

I made ginger muffins for brunch. We were out of vanilla so I substituted orange extract. Turned out very nicely. For dinner, Matthew and I went to a nearby Indian buffet. It was excellent. Paneer, saag, curry, and saffron rice. Yummy. But in conversation that popped up, we realized we weren’t sure which anniversary we were celebrating. Matthew thought it was the thirteenth, while I believed it was the twelfth. So, this morning, I went rummaging around to find our marriage announcements. And, of course, I was right. Tomorrow will be our twelfth anniversary.

I also found a sketch my ex-boyfriend, Donn, did of me when we were dating: “Goddess Eugie.” It’s more of a doodle, really, as it’s on lined three-hole notebook paper, but I’ve always liked it. Well, I mean how can I not like it? It depicts me as being a sky goddess. I brought it downstairs to scan so I’ll always have a digital copy of it, as I don’t think the original, being on notebook paper, is going to last forever.

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Got two doctors appointments today. One for just the regular ole annual physical, and one to do an oxygen analysis thingy. Two directives: don’t eat after midnight and discontinue all breathing-assistance meds for three days before appointment. So now I’m starving and I feel like my throat is closing shut. Lovely.

It’s the weekend of Matthew and my anniversary. Went out to eat yesterday at Harmony, a Buddhist restaurant that sculpts fake meat out of textured vegetable protein and gluten. Yummy.

Writing stuff:

Received a “not right for the magazine” form reject from Artemis. I thought it was a long shot, but you can’t win if you don’t play.

And a “no grabby” from JJF of F&SF. Didn’t even get a “there’s nice writing here but . . . ” to salve my ego. Dammit.

So, in a fit of despondency, I decided not to wait the extra three weeks and am sending one of the folk tales I’ve been sitting on to Cricket. Hope I’m not shooting myself in the foot giving them so many things of mine to consider at the same time.

And finally: New words? What’re those? @#!$*^&

Been trying to regulate my sleep cycle of late. I’m tired of feeling like I’m napping away my life in the evenings, so I’ve been forcing myself to stay up until a respectable bedtime. So far, the result has been me groggy and sluggish in the morning. Not an improvement.

Did another bout of yoga yesterday. Much better. Interesting that I’m getting tone and flexibility back so quickly. Not that I’m anywhere near in shape after only two sessions or anything miraculous like that. But it took me a lot more work to break into a sweat. I was much closer to what I would consider marginally acceptable on the flexibility scale, and I could hold asanas for longer, actually started experiencing the openness that settling properly into an asana gives one, rather than the “ugh, ow, owitch” strain from Saturday. Now to keep it up . . .

Writing stuff:

Apparently, Gardner Dozois is stepping down from editor at Asimov’s. Gleep. Truly the close of an era.

Wrote a review of the new Sci-Fiction story, “Flight Risk” by Marc Laidlaw, and sent it to my editor at Tangent. I find it extremely relaxing, writing non-fic. I’ve mentioned it before, but I find it so much easier to write something opinion-oriented or factual than a work of fiction. I never had writers block when I was working on that psych. textbook in graduate school. ‘Course I don’t get that thrill of achievement and creation either. Tradeoffs.

I finally heard from my editor at Tangent! Whew. He’s a bit swamped and is slow at responding to email, but reviews are still going up in a timely manner. So, my review of “On Display Among the Lesser” by Carol Emshwiller in Sci-Fiction is up at Tangent. Rah.

Also managed 800 new words on the vague current effort. My muse is petulant and surly.

Realized I was terribly out of shape so decided to unroll the ole yoga mat and do some asanas. Owitch. How is it right that doing what amounts to stretches can make me so sore? Ow, ooo, ouch.

Writing stuff:

My muse was elusive this weekend so instead of forcing her to perform, and making myself sick in the process, I thought I’d try luring her with something other than caffeine. Cracked open the Neil Gaiman and some of my favorite children’s lit books like King of the Wind and The Cat Who Went to Heaven to re-read. No sign of my muse yet, but I’m enjoying my re-immersion into fiction I’ve loved.

Received a rejection from Flesh & Blood. They liked the writing, but it was too science fiction for them. I thought that might be the case, but since I’d classify what I sent them as science fantasy, and dark science fantasy at that, thought I’d give them a try.

Haven’t heard back from my editor at Tangent about the review I did for Sci-Fiction last week. That’s not like him. Usually he responds within a day or so. I’m worried that my emails aren’t making it to him. They’re not bouncing, but it’s not like him to be so non-communicative either. Hmm.

Also checked the RoF slush page. Carina’s picked up the next batch, and the last postmark date is 4/9. *&$@*%#! I missed this batch with a submission sent on 4/13. Sigh. Guess I’ll just have to wait for the next round. Damn.

Matthew and I were discussing the nature of my muse, and we came to the conclusion that she is a skanky crack whore. In all likelihood, this is a new state for her. She was probably at one time all la-la-la gossamer skirts and Grecian sandals. But because of me calling upon her to perform at all hours and getting her hooked on various and sundry stimulants (caffeine and sugar) and depressants (clonazepam), she is now a twitchy, buzzing, withdrawal-hopped ho in torn fishnet stockings and streaky make-up. She refuses to put out unless I get her flying on caffeine or chocolate, and she becomes surly and uncooperative at the least provocation.

It has not been a good writing day. 700 new words, and that was only after most of a pot of coffee. I feel queasy and headachy now.

In better news, while surfing for inspiration (rotten muse) I stumbled across another review of Hitting the Skids in Pixeltown by Rich Horton at the Speculative Literature Foundation that singles me and some of my fellow antho authors out for praise:

“Hitting the Skids in Pixeltown is a collection of stories by winners of the Phobos contest for short fiction . . . Best was a story by the fine new writer David D. Levine, ‘Ukaliq and the Great Hunt’, American Indian legends transposed to a new world. Also worth noting were stories by Eugie Foster, Carl Frederick, and Paul Pence.”

I’ve been looking for a picture of me in my bunny suit from Fantasm on Saturday. fings, the sweetie, linked me to a couple. This one was taken by conal_cearna and it has me and my “goody basket” of Ascendancy of Blood chapbooks and Blasphemy promos (and handcuffed plush bunny). *bounce*

Gotta love Easter!

Didn’t gnaw my arm off at my CAT scan, but someone, one of the receptionists I think, had her lunch with her, from which wafted the mouth-watering aroma of French fries. I think bringing French fries into a waiting room filled with people who have been instructed not to eat for several hours, at lunchtime, should qualify as a flogging offense.

Spent some time yesterday surfing various Fantasm review sites looking for a picture of me in my bunny outfit on Saturday. Have yet to find any, but I did find some mahvelous pix, from this year and last, taken by James Garner and Rev. Bob (Feel the Hate).

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