As I logged in to my gmail, bleary-eyed from wasting my time on LOST the night before, I discovered that, alas, yet another story had been rejected. However, later in the day one was accepted. :) And I have a lead on a possible venue for the rejected one. All in all, a good Monday.
That's if we discount the certified letter I went to the post office for. It was from the TSA. Apparently their you're SOL policy regarding missing items in luggage that has been inspected by them is firm, in spite of their claim process. Why am I not surprised? My husband packed my digital camera into his suitcase for the trip home about a year ago and found that they had traded a your-bag-has-been-searched tag for his camera. Stupid TSA employee stole my camera! And it wasn't cheap, either. >smolder, smolder< I can see it now: The underpaid TSA inspection clerk has decided that he or she is going to quit. So why not take a few souvenirs before leaving?
I posted about this on facebook and Jeff Lemkin invited me to check out Jon Udell's solution. Jon found himself minus a camera as well. Now he includes a starter pistol in each piece of checked luggage so he can declare a weapon. The TSA agent has to lock your (required) hard case and give you the key. Then they take extra care of that piece of luggage. Of course, this was in 2007. They might be on to that scheme by now. At any rate, now I don't pack anything but clothes in my checked luggage when I check luggage at all. I gained a valuable lesson, but I still don't have a camera. :(
On a brighter note, Robert Sawyer won an Aurora Award for www.Wake. Visit the awards website for a full list of award winners.
I'm determined to finish the first draft of my new Awesome Lavratt story this week. That's long overdue. But I have a deadline. Have to fire it off to my crit group before leaving for BayCon on Friday. I'm still waiting for a review on iTunes of my shiny new Awesome Lavratt book app. (hint, hint)
Here's a peek at the new story:
A clicking noise broke him out of his reverie. Like metal on metal. Or.... He remembered when he'd heard that sound before. The seven-foot-tall Askaran's talons clicking on the station floor the last day Horace spent on his salvage station. He'd left him unconscious and confined when he left with Aranna.
Horace's gut clenched as he recognized the salmonella-rich odor of Askaran wafting in his direction from the recirculation fans. He turned in his seat, hoping he was not quite sane after all. Better that than ....
Look for a guest post by KS Augustin on Thursday. You can read it while I pack for BayCon. San Jose, here I come.
vote it up!