One of the things I am more than a tad suspicious of is that my past activism in *gasp* conservative circles had an adverse effect on the search for an agent. That, and my books did not carry any obvious check marks for the Diversity Celebrants to claim me as one of their own.
Oh well. Color me an old-fashioned reactionary, and I’ll go Indie.
One of the most interesting things – and by interesting I mean scary – about the reaction to Sad Puppies 3 is that many people who are anti-puppy (always wanted to write that) were mad at Brad for “not telling people you were putting them on the slate.”
Okay. The accusation is not true. Brad actually told people, except for a couple he legitimately forgot to contact.
But let’s not defend Brad on that front, because when we are defending him on that front, we’re already swallowing whole a pretty bizarre assumption of the other side.
Instead, let’s step back and take a deep breath.
What are the Hugos?
They’re awards, right? They’re awards given, supposedly, for the best science fiction and fantasy of the year, right?
In theory, theoretically as it were, who is supposed to nominate: why, Lord love a duck, right? Any reader of science fiction who…
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