Groggy to bed and groggy to rise

I've been groggy all day. Woke up groggy and too early; half-dozed for an hour or so; got up and groggily answered email; went to groggy work and groggily attempted to get various groggy things done. With little success. Came home and had some groggy dinner, managed to wake up enough to read a few submissions and iron out some final edits on a story, but now I'm all groggy again. Hoping I can get a decent amount of sleep tonight if I go to bed now, rather than just waking up too early again.

But during my brief dinnertime lucid period, I finished reading Ray Vukcevich's Meet Me in the Moon Room, and I just wanted to mention how brilliant it is. To paraphrase an old review of Spider Robinson, I would nominate Ray as the new Donald Barthelme. Do I exaggerate? Perhaps slightly, but not much. There are some astoundingly good stories in this book. I applaud Small Beer Press for having the perspicacity to publish it, and myself for being able to spell "perspicacity" given my current level of awakeness. Look, if you don't believe me, go follow that link and read the three stories from the book they've posted there. One is funny and solid science fiction; one is spooky enough that it made me nervous going to bed for about two weeks after I read it; one is nicely surreal and personal. If you like short-short stories at all, you owe it to yourself to get this book.

I think one of the things Ray does best is to externalize subjective perception into a fantastical or surreal external reality, in a way that carefully walks the tightrope between metaphor and science fiction, to the point where you can't say exactly which it's meant to be. Maybe I'll try and write a real review of this book in which I manage to say that more coherently. Later.

Of course, another of the things he does best is to be funny as hell. In which regard I have to mention that "White Guys in Space" is currently one of my favorite stories in the book, a lovely pastiche of all the Tom Swift-ish and Flash Gordon-y space opera there ever was, all set in motion when the 1960s are repealed by Congress.

Okay, I need to go sleep now. Groggily.

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