That's because things are happening over at https://patcadigan.wordpress.com

––because I wake up every morning between 5 and 5:30, and it isn't even British Summer Time/Daylight Savings Time yet. Also, my brain knows we have a lot of stuff to make up and it wants to get started early.

For most of my life, I was a night owl but since I've come to London, I've really enjoyed getting up super-early, the way I did when my fabulous son was still a fabulous baby. Back then, we used to get up so early that we could get the shipping report on PBS...in Kansas.

Anyway, now I like listening to the traffic noise as it starts to pick up from the occasional passing car to the morning rush, and watching the sky lighten gradually from black to blue...or grey, whatever. When I'm done with my course of antibiotics*, I think I'll try going out for a pre-dawn walk–just a short one, up to Green Lanes at first. I think it will do my back a lot of good. When we first moved here, I used to get up super-early and walk a mile or so around the area. But then, life, etc.

Morning thoughts. I hope the sheer excitement of this post hasn't caused anyone to run screaming into the streets. Or if it has, that they let you off with a warning.

(A slightly altered version of this post appears on my Facebook page. Sorry about that. If I had enough to time to write something completely different everywhere, I would.)


*Infection; nothing serious since I caught it early. It seems to be that time of year; a lot of my friends are on antibiotics for one thing or another.

You probably noticed that.

Well, I never planned to spend a lot of time blogging. Now I have almost no time for anything, although if I ever get out of Deadline Hell, that could change.

Meanwhile, Old Eternal has been gone for slightly over a year, I quit smoking twenty years ago (as of 20 January), and so far, the cancer hasn't come back.

Deadline Hell is probably my biggest problem right now. I need to make some more space around myself so I can get back to work on the sushi novel (working title: See You When You Get There) and the third Konstantin novel (still titled: Reality Used To Be A Friend Of Mine).

I missed the World Fantasy Convention in Brighton but that's another story.

And speaking of stories, I had a couple out this year: "Chalk" as a chapbook (hardcopy or electronic) from This Is Horror and The Christmas Show which came out, appropriately enough on Christmas week on the Tor.com website. Both are novelettes. You might like them.

I also had a story called "Caregivers" in Dangerous Women edited by Gardner Dozois and George RR Martin. Another novelette, about two sisters whose elderly mother is in a home.

Upcoming: in Ellen Datlow's Fearful Symmetries anthology, another novelette called "Will The Real Psycho In This Story Please Stand Up?"

I'll try to update here at least once a month. But I find myself defaulting to Facebook more and more often, sheerly as a matter of convenience. Don't bother telling me how evil Facebook is–I already know. It's all evil out there, all evil, all the time. I tried Google+–it was both evil and clunky. I can handle evil or clunky but not evil and clunky. Nonethless, I've left my account there and every so often, it tells me how many circles surround me. Or something.

It's 'way late here.

Once again, I hope the sheer intensity of this entry hasn't caused anyone to run screaming into the streets.

It's time for my favourite Christmas story!

One night, Confucius had a dream about chopsticks. In the dream, hewas transported to Hell, where he saw a multitude of people sitting at enormous tables set out with with wonderful foods of all kinds. There was so much food that the tables groaned under the weight and the various aromas were mouth-watering, promising incredibly delectable flavours. But the people sitting at the tables had not touched any of it—they had been told they could eat as much as they liked but only if they ate with chopsticks that were five feet long. None of them could figure out how to eat with five-foot-long chopsticks so all they could do was stare hopelessly at this amazing feast and cry in hunger and misery.

Then Confucius was taken to heaven where he again saw multitudes ofpeople sitting around enormous tables laden with glorious foods. These people had also been told they were allowed to eat only if they used the five-foot-long chopsticks. Except these people were not crying with hunger and frustration—they were eating their fill, talking, laughing, and enjoying themselves.

Because in heaven, they were feeding each other.

Merry Christmas, my friends.

–-for best novelette, for "The Girl-Thing Who Went Out For Sushi."

I'm not home yet–I'm spending a couple of days in NYC and I'll be back home on Friday night. After which I will collapse on the sofa, under Gentleman Jinx, and resume trips to Neptune.

For those who have wondered, who have asked, or even if you don't give a rat's caboose, I'm going to Neptune in the same universe a Girl-Thing, about a hundred years later. There will be many octopus, Nautilus, and even a few bipeds here and there. The working title is See You When You Get There.

"The Girl-Thing Who Went Out For Sushi" was a working title, but when I finished the story, I couldn't think of a better one. So I turned it in like that, figuring Jonathan Strahan might think of something better. And son of a gun, that title is just fine. It fits on a Hugo just fine. ;-)

Very shortly, This Is Horror will be publishing a chapbook by me, called "Chalk." It's one of a series of stories set in the neighbourhood where I grew up but are otherwise unrelated (i.e., the stories and the people in them are unaware of each other and do not adhere to an overall set of parameters).

I also have the Christmas story at Tor.com, something called "The Christmas Show," which is the start of a series of stories about two sisters obliged to–oh, I'll let you find out when it's published in December.

And another factoid for those who have asked, for the curious, and, of course, for those who still don't give a rat's caboose, this really is my first Hugo. I have been nominated half a dozen times; the last time I was nominated was an even twenty years ago, in 1993. This is why I love being a writer–-every day is another chance and if you just keep going, something good will come up over the horizon at you. And in the meantime, you become better at what you're doing. You can still learn. Writing and art are professions in which getting older means getting better-–experience makes you wiser, more perceptive, and more adaptable. You can continue learning new things, about your profession and about yourself, till the day you check out. (And to those who think I'm flattering myself: well, so what? You're obviously not going to. Why are you reading this anyway?)

And if anyone knows where I can find some record–-video, audio, whatever-–of me accepting my Hugo, please point me at it. I'd love to know what I said. I was halfway up the stairs to the stage when I realised I had no speech. I stalled at the beginning and then I tried to thank everyone I love. But I was completely boggled, stunned, and ecstatic. It's a wonderful combination of feelings but it doesn't tend to make you eloquent. OK, it doesn't tend to me me eloquent. Or even articulate.

Did I mention I won a Hugo? It was exciting!

Behold! For those who may be interested, for those who were wondering, or even if you don't give a rat's caboose, my programming schedule for the San Antonio worldcon:

Datlow-Cadigan Dialog
Thursday 15:00 - 16:00

Pat Cadigan talks with Ellen Datlow about her life working in the genre of the fantastic - science fiction, fantasy, and horror, and all the subcategories from New Wave to New Weird.

A Look at London in SF and the London Worldcon
Friday 13:00 - 14:00

London calls. It has an allure that has made it the target of much mayhem. What makes it so attractive in this way? Next year's Worldcon will be held in London; what sites can one visit that have been destroyed over and over....
Robin Hobb (M), Pat Cadigan, Nigel Furlong, Martin Easterbrook

Accessible vs. Hard Science Fiction
Friday 14:00 - 15:00

Hard SF is often derided as being hard to read. What can be done to make it more accessible? Or is this a project doomed to failure?
Bud Sparhawk (M), Pat Cadigan, Daryl Gregory, Derek Kunsken, Patricia MacEwen

Punking It: Lowlife, Dystopia, and the Punk Suffix
Saturday 13:00 - 14:00

Cyberpunk, steampunk, clockpunk, dieselpunk, biopunk, martial punk: speculative fiction has seen a heavy influx of sub-genres bearing the "punk" suffix. But are these punk? Is there any real connection between these different sub-genres? What makes an SF or fantasy story into punk?
James Patrick Kelly (M), Pat Cadigan, David Farnell, Liz Gorinsky

The Legacy of Omni
Sunday 11:00 - 12:00
Ellen Datlow (M), Howard Waldrop, Ben Bova, Robert Silverberg, Pat Cadigan

Jim Gunn's Teaching
Sunday 15:00 - 16:00
Kij Johnson (M), Elizabeth Hull, Pat Cadigan, James Gunn, Christopher McKitterick

So I had my follow-up appointment with my surgeon yesterday. A lovely man, he did a double-take when I walked in.

"You don't look like you've had surgery," he said.

"I don't feel like it," I replied.

It went uphill from there. The biopsy results showed that, contrary to the MRI results, the cancer was completely contained and did not penetrate to the outer uterine wall. There will be no chemo, no radiation, and no problem with my going to the San Antonio worldcon.

When he examined me, he discovered that the incision marks have completely disappeared. I guess those supplements I've been taking for hair and skin are really doing the trick (Dove Strength From Within and Seven Seas Illuminate, for those who may be interested). I also power up every day on B vitamins and fish oils and I don't think I'm just getting expensive urine for it, as some experts seem to believe. I don't load up on supplements—I can't afford that—and I'd rather get as many of my nutrients as possible through food. Food works better than pills. But pills work better with food. And everything works better if you take care of yourself.

Not that there are any guarantees. But if you take care of yourself, you'll have a better chance of fighting it off, whatever it is.

Laparascopic surgery was the easy time I remembered from when I had my gall bladder out seventeen years ago. The most pain you have is the day of the op. The next day, the pain drops off sharply and you go home. Which was what I did.

It looks like they got the cancer before it could travel anywhere, which means I'm getting off very lightly. I have a follow-up appointment in two weeks but I imagine they're going to tell me I'm clear and remind me not to get too energetic too early.

Not what I planned to do this summer but as I've said so many times: I got off easy.

The results of the MRI are heartening. While the cancer has penetrated the uterine wall, it hasn't travelled beyond it. So one op will put paid to it, no chemo, no radiation, no worries.

We're good to go in about two weeks.

I'm not bipolar but my life is.

Now do you understand why I can never tell when I'm dreaming?