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Sometimes life is just too surreal
Oct. 4th, 2002 11:27 amSo, as many of you know, MAB is something of a known quantity in the world of science fiction - he's a multiple Hugo Award nominee, he won the Campbell Award for Best New Writer a number of years ago (when he was still a new writer), and he served two years as secretary of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA; no, please don't ask about the missing "f"). I sometimes forget, except when we're at science fiction conventions, that MAB and I live in this weird world in which we're friends with people whose names appear on book spines (other fannish folk reading this understand what I mean). And sometimes it's brought home. Literally.
For instance, there was the time, a couple of years ago, that I was on the phone with a good friend of mine and our other line beeped. I clicked over to the other line and found out who it was and then clicked back to my friend. "Gotta run," I said. "That's Connie Willis so I should probably take it." It only occurred to me later that my friend, another SF fan, might've seen this as something unusual. This followed the time - during MAB's tenure as SFWA secretary - that we came home to phone messages from a number of SF notables trying to convince MAB to vote a certain way on a SFWA internal issue brought in front of the executive board. And when I run into Joe Haldeman in Kendall Square, I stop and say "hi." He doesn't always remember who I am (he's bad with faces, he says), but when I mention that I'm MAB's wife, he knows immediately who we both are. We've had Catherine Assaro sleep on our sofa when she was in town for a convention that was too cash-poor to put its guests up in a hotel.
But yesterday's incident was more surreal than even we're used to.
MAB called me when he got home from work and said, "There were two messages on the machine. One was {name of friend in town this week} wondering if we could get together. The second was Harlan, calling in response to the letter and story I sent back in July 2001."
Oh...kay. Message on our answering machine from Harlan Ellison.
MAB continued. "And he was apologetic for taking so long. So I think I should call him back when we get home tonight" (MAB and I went to the symphony last night).
So he did - when we got home last night, MAB called Harlan Ellison back. And Harlan again apologized for having taken so long to respond to the letter and story and then - when he got another call on the line and had to take it - apologized for having to cut his conversation with MAB short.
My life is, occasionally, too weird even for me to comprehend.
For instance, there was the time, a couple of years ago, that I was on the phone with a good friend of mine and our other line beeped. I clicked over to the other line and found out who it was and then clicked back to my friend. "Gotta run," I said. "That's Connie Willis so I should probably take it." It only occurred to me later that my friend, another SF fan, might've seen this as something unusual. This followed the time - during MAB's tenure as SFWA secretary - that we came home to phone messages from a number of SF notables trying to convince MAB to vote a certain way on a SFWA internal issue brought in front of the executive board. And when I run into Joe Haldeman in Kendall Square, I stop and say "hi." He doesn't always remember who I am (he's bad with faces, he says), but when I mention that I'm MAB's wife, he knows immediately who we both are. We've had Catherine Assaro sleep on our sofa when she was in town for a convention that was too cash-poor to put its guests up in a hotel.
But yesterday's incident was more surreal than even we're used to.
MAB called me when he got home from work and said, "There were two messages on the machine. One was {name of friend in town this week} wondering if we could get together. The second was Harlan, calling in response to the letter and story I sent back in July 2001."
Oh...kay. Message on our answering machine from Harlan Ellison.
MAB continued. "And he was apologetic for taking so long. So I think I should call him back when we get home tonight" (MAB and I went to the symphony last night).
So he did - when we got home last night, MAB called Harlan Ellison back. And Harlan again apologized for having taken so long to respond to the letter and story and then - when he got another call on the line and had to take it - apologized for having to cut his conversation with MAB short.
My life is, occasionally, too weird even for me to comprehend.
