Letters to Myself

Got my contributor's copies & payment for "In the Lobby of the Mission Palms," now appearing in the latest issue of Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. Or as they have renamed themselves for this particular issue, Lady Churchill's Robot Wristlet. I'm not sure what caused this issue rename, frankly. Furthermore, my story doesn't have robots in it, so I don't think it quite fits in. It is set in the lobby of the Mission Palms Hotel in Mesa, Arizona, however. Perhaps that's the connection. All that dry air, I think robots would be quite happy there. Plus the hotel was lovely.

I also received a six day personal rejection from Shimmer. But let us not dwell upon such things, but instead look to more positive egoboosterism. Ah, here's something:

Every so often as I'm reading cover letters in the slush, someone will mention how they read a certain story in Realms of Fantasy, and it inspired them to write a story of their own. Well, today someone finally mentioned their inspiration coming from one of my slush survivor tales. So, Mr. Jon Hansen, please take a bow for "In the Lair of the Moonmen."

As for all this talk of zombies and the apocalypse, I can only say 'pshaw.' You read that right. Pshaw. Nothing to fear here, out in the suburbs. It's a well-known fact that in today's suburban sprawl, you can only get around by driving. Zombies can't drive, and there's no public transportation to speak of. Furthermore, since nobody rings our doorbell unless they're trying to sell us magazines, band candy, newspaper subscriptions, or meat, we never bother to answer anyway. Why would we treat zombies any differently?