Well holy crapdoodle, I’m eligible for the Hugo Award.
Not like I’d win, competing against giants in the field, but I thought I’d mention it to those who are eligible to nominate. These are the awards I’m eligible for:
- Best Novel – Corruptor
I am also eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Author. This is the one I want, though getting best novel would be akin to Jamaica winning the bobsled gold in the Olympics: awesome but as likely to happen as a snowstorm in Hell. I mean, I wouldn’t turn down Best Novel if presented (hell, or nominated) with it, but I would really like to be nominated for the nest new author award. I promise to thank you and all your kin in my acceptance speech should I win.
So if you are (or know someone) who can nominate for the Hugo, spread the word about the crazy Spaniard who keeps going on about how the possibility of him winning the John W. Campbell award is the only thing that keeps him going.
If that’s not moving, lemme ‘splain… no time, lemme sum up.
***warning – moving sob story ahead. Read at own risk!***
*heavy Spanish accent akin to Inigo Montoya*
My mother… was a high school drop out and had me before she was 15. My father… we don’t know about him. I was removed from my mother’s tender care (well, maybe “tender” is stretching the truth there) when I was 5 or 6 after being molested by her boyfriend, I don’t remember. I bounced around from group home to group home, not attending school because I was never in one place long enough. So basically my education was glimpses of Sesame Street and Reading Rainbow.
I remained in group homes and foster care until I was old enough to be emancipated, which I proceeded to screw up college and go to the Navy. Didn’t screw that up, mainly because they don’t let you screw up. Went back to school afterwards and promptly fell into a deep depression after my foster brother Shawn’s suicide in 2001. Finished up school with a worthless piece of paper and started teaching, which I only lasted two years before I realized that kids today are just seriously
fucked screwed up. Being threatened to be shot by a few gang bangers and vatos who were in some of my classes tends to put a damper on life and education. It no longer becomes an intellectual education, merely a survivability one.
Yeah, my story is a sob story, sob if you want. Those bitter tears of shame? Yeah, that’s your fuel. Use that to nominate me.
Have I no shame, you ask. Hell no. If I had shame I wouldn’t suggest you use nominating me to assuage your white guilt. Yeah, I have more nationalities and races in me than Nina Hartley. You want a list? Fine…
I have Uyghar (Chinese minority), Spanish (General Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordoba is a distant relative), German (Saxony, from John George) and British (some peasant wench) in me. I also have a smidgen of Blackfoot (Native American), but I don’t see it and generally don’t claim it.
So see? Vote for the… uh… American guy. Damn it, there went my whole argument. *grumble*
Well, nominate me anyways. It’d be cool to stand up there with John Scalzi and say “I blame him for this award”.