Why it’s so important to me is under the cut, but beware. It’s pretty dismal and I whine a bit.

My brother died of diabetes complications 16 years ago. He was 32. Troy was diagnosed when he was 11, and the doctor told him he’d be lucky to live to 18.  Every year after 18, despite better insulin and more information, he seemed to feel he was living on borrowed time. He was bitter.

Baby pictures  show a prickly, grumpy-faced baby, all wrapped up with a foot or more of space around him. He didn’t like to be cuddled or held unless his daddy was doing the holding. In my memory, Troy’s existence begins with me standing in the waiting room of the hospital. I was 9 and too young to visit him. The nurses said they’d smuggle me in if he said he wanted to see me, but he didn’t. Many years later he told me it was because he thought he’d cry, but I was never sure I could believe it. He used to like to beat me up, or cheat me out of toys, or just say really hurtful things to see my reaction.

He had another side, though. He adored our baby sister.  He loved animals, especially horses and dogs and cats. He kept lizards. He loved kids. He liked to fish. To hang out with his dad and brothers. He’d turn his old syringes (minus the needle) into water guns and shoot people around corners. He once told me he’d beat up anyone at school who picked on me.

“But you pick on me all the time!”

He laughed. “That’s different. I’m your brother. Nobody picks on you but me.”

Troy always wanted a cure. He used to demand a miracle from God, and was incensed he didn’t get it.  He was careless of his health. He told the doctor I wouldn’t be a good kidney donor because he refused to settle for just a kidney. He wanted a combined kidney/pancreas transplant, despite the odds against it. He grinned, a reckless, triumphant expression on his face, when he told me.

One of the very last things he said to me, when he’d already died of congestive heart failure 3 times and been revived, despite his DNR order; after several mini strokes and a heart attack; after cateract surgery; dialysis, loss of circulation in his legs; living constantly in pain…one of the last things he said was, “I always wished it was you.”

So, if we could get rid of juvenile diabetes entirely, maybe some other kid won’t be wishing his little sister won that lottery instead. That would be good. And you know, maybe my brother won’t be mad at God that the miracle came a little late.

Second, Lucy Snyder (book list) offered my husband and me a copy of Spellbent (I published one of her short stories. The woman can write.), which also arrived promptly and in good condition, (and which he, knowing me, promptly put into my hot little hands, though it will go on his keeper shelf after I’m done. He’s already read it, the bastard).

I first discovered Charles de Lint in 1987, I think. I was the single mother of a 2 year old and had recently started taking classes at the local junior college. I don’t think I’d read anything of his before, but I remember picking up Jack the Giant Killer from the sci-fi and fantasy new books carousel at my local library. The one with the Thomas Canty cover (the only cover artist whose name I remembered until Michael Parkes came along, and then suddenly I was finding many fantasy artists whose names I needed to know). But I digress.

It was a very small town, and a very small library. The adult books room was about the size of my current library’s bathroom, maybe two bathrooms put together. The walls were lined to the ceiling with books, and sci-fi and fantasy had its own little corner, two shelves and a carousel (I realize now that was really quite a lot, considering the amount of room they had. I love librarians). I first met James Tiptree Jr. there, and Nick Bantock, and Borderland, began my obsession with all things Terri Windling, and began to realize that there were certain publishers I could trust to give me a great book.

I think it was those books, that library, that crystallized the ongoing possibility of a particular kind of book. Beautiful books, both in story and in design. Mythic fiction. (Though it took me a long time to realize I could be one of those people who made available to others a particular kind of beautiful book.) Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I read (and still read) fairy tales long after my mother thought I should have outgrown them (though she introduced me to Mary Stewart when I was about 14, so…). I was content, though, until that library, that moment in time, to read what I could find. Mysteries, thrillers, spy novels (my love of Mrs. Pollifax was born here too), science fiction, fantasy, general fiction, romance, horror. I loved, and still do love, them all, but they weren’t always My Books.

I’m not a collector. I want the experience of the book, am delighted by the design elements, the cover art, the cover copy (most of the time) the art (some of the time) but mostly, the story. After I’ve experienced those things, (‘experienced’ is a pale word) immersed myself in those things, most of the time I don’t need the book anymore, which is one of the reasons ebooks are so great for me. That’s not to say I don’t love print and owning books, I do, and my shelves have a few keepers on them, but I have high standards for keepers, and I love the portability of ebooks (but again, digression).

Muse and Reverie is a keeper. I can tell already by the incredible cover art (by John Jude Palencar, one of my favorites), and the feel of it. (I creep my husband out [the horror librarian] with my insistence that the cover of a keeper ought to have a particular tactile sensation. To feel right.) By the fact that it’s by Charles de Lint and he revisits Newford in it (my one true city, and I’m a country girl at heart).

I’m not a cover snob though. There are some other books I love. Baen books, ROC books, Del Rey, the ones with the somewhat lurid covers in bright colors, by female authors who write strong protagonists who kick improbable ass. I believe Spellbent is one of these. I mean, look at that cover. A shotgun, a big snake, a ferret, and fire. What’s not to love? (Art by Don Dos Santos.) I wouldn’t mind more clothes on the girl but she certainly gets your attention and, loving Luis Royo, I can’t really be hypocritical about a sports bra.

I haven’t read these books yet. I have a lot of work to do before the end of January, but they’re on my desk, taunting me. I am going to reward myself for finishing the next Dreaded Task (DT) (Dreaded Task, the one(s) that keeps being put off for more fun work that are going to kick my ass more than probably if I don’t get them done soon) by reading one of them. And, despite my love of Charles de Lint and most things Newford, I’m not sure which one will be first. I love Newford, but Lucy Snyder’s an author who writes women who kick serious ass. Man, that’s hard to pass up. I’ll let you know which one I chose, and what I think of it, soon…ish.

I don’t really like being addressed by my first name when an email is business related and introductory. First names are fine after we’ve sniffed one another and wagged our tails but, especially if you’re selling me something, don’t get all chummy until I have enough information to know whether or not I want to know you. Of course, I recognize that this is aberrant behavior, so I try not to blink when someone sniffs first and introduces after.

I’ve been signing emails as if they were professional correspondence (which in this day and age they often are) since I started writing them with business in mind. I end with Sincerely, My Name and Company Name. I feel a little silly adding a title since I’ve become President, or Founder, or Publisher, depending on the business, and I see no point in adding the URL since it’s right there in the email address. Funnily enough, I’m backed up on that by Mitch Wagner, the Executive Editor of Information Week, who said, and I’m paraphrasing, that recipients of your email judge your importance in inverse proportion to the length of your email sig.

There’s another trend in email sigs that’s been going on for a while, I guess, but which I’ve only noticed in the last couple of years or so. Many of the emails I receive, if they’re signed, end with “best” or “best regards” and the writer’s name, with or without a lengthy explanation and/or list of urls to visit. The first one I received like that was signed “Best” and I wondered for the rest of the day, “Best..what?” I’ve gotten used to it now, and having read about it as perfectly cromulent on various etiquette guides makes me feel less contrary about it, but it was a bit perplexing at first.

These things, however…

1. Sending an email to “ALL” in one’s address book, thus releasing one’s professional contacts’ email addresses to friends and vice versa, and ensuring that the number of recipients is in inverse proportion to how important they’ll consider your missive. Worse (and there’s always a worse), it releases your “all contacts” to everyone else, some of whom ought not have that much power.

At least once a week, I get an email from someone I don’t know warning me about a virus, or the president, or imminent alien invasion, or sending me hugs, or telling me I’m a phenomenal woman (in addition to the ones I get from family and friends). The hugs are nice. I’m glad they appreciate my phenomenality.  I snopes my family and friends when they send me the rest, and hope that my original, professional contact will remind family and friends of Snopes and that emailing everyone whose email addresses they’ve ever received probably isn’t a good idea.

3. Joining every social networking site around and letting each of them rifle one’s contacts for other people to invite to join too.

I’m already signed up with Facebook, MySpace, LinkedIn and Twitter. Any other social networking invitations go directly to my spam folder. If one slips past the spam filter, everything else the sender directs my way from that point on also goes to the spam filter since that’s the only way I can be sure to catch them all. That might sound like overkill, but I’ve received invitations to join:  hivelive, ning, virb, trig, purevolume, my.9rules, pownce, threadless, shelfari, good reads, beautiful society, humble voice, friendster, bebo, spoke, and more. It’s not that I’m not interested in other networking opportunities, but if someone wants me to join their network, including the information at the bottom of an otherwise innocuous email or as part of a real contact is much the best way to get my attention.

4. Signing the recipient up for one’s newsletter.

If I haven’t asked for it, don’t sign me up for your newsletter. You can tell me that you have one, or include the link to sign up in your signature, but signing me up for it without my permission is spam. I regularly receive 3 newsletters from the same person. She’s an entreprenurial go-getter, and that’s admirable, but I didn’t ask for any of them and they’re not on subjects that interest me. I regularly receive 2 others from someone else. Again, not invited. Spam, it’s not just for Russian mobsters selling pharmaceuticals anymore.

5. Sending an email that says, “see attached” or something similar but usually less formally written, with no explanation and, sometimes, no signature.

Oy! With all those emails going around telling me my computer will be blasted to oblivion if I open an attachment, why do you think I’ll open yours? Admittedly, if it’s in rich text format (RTF) I will, since, so far as I’m aware there are no viruses attachable to an RTF, macros won’t run in RTF, and I scan all my attachments anyway, but I’m not going to think well of you if you can’t even introduce yourself and tell me why you’re sending it.

6. Sending an email to a correspondent a part of which includes “see attachment” but no attachment exists.

I don’t know how many times I’ve done this. I write an email. I explain the attachment. I follow all the rules of etiquette, am a veritable font of wit and erudition, and then the expected reply is returned, but it’s not applause at my brilliance, it’s “Hey Deena, no attachment. Could you send?” Argh.

7.  Sending an email I wish I could take back.

Probably everyone has done this one, but boy am I upset with myself every time thereafter. I try to sit on the ones that are responses to something that’s riled me up until I’m calmer, until I’ve had time to research the issue and get my facts straight, practice an apology in the mirror if necessary, but I’m not always successful, and I regret it every time.

So, what’s like nails on a chalkboard for you in email?

AT&T Wireless is determined to make sure everyone knows that they let you roll over unused minutes and you’d better be grateful for it. Unfortunately, they present this worthy quality in a story where children, through a series of commercials, ask their mother for more minutes. When asked what they did with the minutes they had, they tell her that they threw them away because they were old. “These are rollover minutes! They’re perfectly good! You know some children don’t have rollover minutes!” etc., etc., evoking the childhood memories of those children in China for whom you should clean your own plate. I get the point. Only spoiled children wouldn’t appreciate having a better deal on their wireless service, would effectively throw the deal away by using a different carrier.

I just can’t get past the kids. They’re not normal. Any normal kids, if they absolutely couldn’t bring themselves to use the icky rollover minutes, would listen to the diatribe once, and thereafter lie. They’d used all those rollover minutes on discussing homework with their friends, a really important test coming up, something that would shut the mom up. And of course, if they were real, they’d lie badly and the mom would, if she were real, take the damned telephones away from the spoiled snots and tell them that if they didn’t want to use the minutes provided they could do without.

I can’t get past equating unused rollover minutes with some sort of necessity. The only reason the mother reasonably couldn’t or wouldn’t take the phones is if they are as important, as necessary, as food, shelter, and clothing. Rather obviously more necessary than discipline or affection. There are children going without food. Without adequate medical care. Without access to computers and books. And, according to AT&T, without brand-spankin’-new cell phone minutes.

I was finally so annoyed with the commercial that I actually tried to find an email address or contact form I could use to tell AT&T what I thought. Unfortunately, their website seems to believe that if you’re not a customer wanting specific assistance with your plan, you’re not worth listening to.

As a result of the AT&T commercial, I have chosen Sprint as the sponsor for the cause I chose on Social Vibe (see the sidebar), an amazing site that matches givers to needs and creates opportunities to give for all of us, especially those of us without the funds to give cell phones to our children.

Besides, I like Sprint’s commercials.

To sum up, because it’s much too long, I had some health issues, money woes, a computer crash, another computer mishap, another health issue, and actually did quite a lot of work for clients … leaving my website and blog very much like the house of the professional carpenter. I should know, my father is one (a carpenter, I mean, not a house, blog, or website).

To the update: The Linux operating system plan is a no-go for my primary work computer, since quite a lot of the software I use is available for Windows only. I did a lot of research hoping to find replacements, but that was a bust on some pretty critical applications. At least for now. I am working on moving as many systems as possible over to open source solutions and sharing my software dollars with their developers when I can.

During my inadvertent hiatus, my website was hacked. It was a frustrating, though not terribly difficult, experience fixing the mess, and pretty embarrassing considering how careful I am with other people’s websites, but all security holes are now plugged and all malicious code removed. I’ve also changed the design to something I kind of love. I was unsatisfied with my old design, worked out something colorful but not very functional in between creating this design for a client, and then, you know, mishaps occurred. Upshot, the client went out of business and gave the design back to me (I don’t duplicate designs), and so I tweaked it for my own purposes and here we are! … if by here we mean pretty new design but all the links don’t match and I need to drastically update the content. Working on it.

In the future? Learn more about Linux for my own purposes, find more open source solutions to my work flow, acquire an inexpensive system I can install Linux on for my kids. I think it’s the future and they ought to know how to navigate it at least as well as they know how to search YouTube for train videos and bad gummi bear music (and then, maybe they can explain it to me). Even if it, specifically, isn’t the future, no knowledge is wasted. And if they have their own computer maybe they’ll stop kicking me off of mine to watch Sesame Street’s performance of the Mahna Mahna song…again.