As threatened, er ... promised...

And now, as threatened, er... promised, a word from IGMS author Oliver Dale:



A long time ago, in a suburb not too far from here, the aether congealed, the cosmos burped, the fates and muses chattered conspiratorially over crumpets and absinthe. An editor was created. And if you've ever met Ed, or hell, even seen him, you know what I'm talking about. With a collection of shirts that threatens to make your eyes bleed in self-defense, Ed's the kind of writer and editor that prefers the straight-shooting approach: he'll give you a thumbs up or a thumbs down and damn well expects the same from you. Just take a look at some of his previously published fiction and you'll see no auctorial affectations. It's all story, all the way. Orson Scott Card made a smart move by appointing Ed, Ed was smart enough to not object, and now we all stand to reap the benefits.

However, everyone knows that any editor worth his weight in paper woodpulp has a web presence. That's how the world works in the 21st century. We don't yet have the flying cars, or the house-cleaning-robots, but we've got mass-communication unlike anyone imagined. Praise Cthulhu for the internet, with its irreplaceable flash videos and parasitic chain emails. (If you don't pass the link of Ed's blog to fourteen hundred people, you will be sold to a Uruguayan pimp who will use your body for medical research and Saturday night kicks!)

And thus we introduce one more soul to the blogosphere. Since a story of mine was Ed's first official purchase for his magazine, the honor fell upon me to initiate him to the side-show. (If I were doing it authentically, I'd tag him with a meme and demand he fill out asurvey, but I don't have the gumption to do it to one so green.)

So here's to a promising career, Ed, and internet traffic that crashes servers.

It's customary to christen a new ship by breaking a bottle of champagne across its bow. We shall have to leave it at metaphor for your nascent blog as I can't afford the new laptop and dread picking glass shards from the carpet.

At any rate, welcome to the blogosphere, Mr. Schubert; it is indeed a carnival of freaks. A ship of fools. An intergalactic medicine show.

You'll fit right in.