I just came back from a whirlwind week in Anaheim—three days at Disney and four at Nerd-Disney, a.k.a. the world Science Fiction Convention. I haven’t been to a WorldCon since before the plague, and I’d forgotten just how invigorating they can be, just how WorldCon-ish. I mean, sure, you’re out of your own resources and away from your bed and wondering if there is a cafe latte to be had in all of Anaheim for a price of less than $all-your-money, but you’re surrounded by friends and comrades and folks you’ve missed for you don’t even want to add up how long. And that’s really what it was all about: the people. I don’t know if it’s me getting older or maybe it’s the weather or something like that (as the man sings), but I remember events like this being laced with a tinge of panic: how am I doing, gee this is a crowd and a half, what’s even going on here, what am I supposed to do? I felt none of that this time, or very little anyway. The weekend was a succession of generous encounters, of good hearts.

The Hugo Awards ceremony took place on Sunday and was a blast. The finalists' reception had my favorite dress code, basically: ‘come as snazzy as you care to imagine yourself.’ I broke out the cutaway tails and the bow tie, some folks wore ballgowns, some wore suits, Ronald D Moore was in monochrome white jeans and t-shirt, and one guy was walking around in a Zardoz costume (with a bodysuit, which made it better, and a chest hair wig, which made it, well, I’m not sure).

Ursula Vernon, T. Kingfisher of many hats, dropped the animal facts on us. The speeches were wonderful. So good to see the best full of passionate intensity. Most of the Best Series finalists ended up sitting together, not because of a seating chart, but because we like each other and are all pretty great hangs. That’s a wonderful thing. John Scalzi won the best series Hugo and we all cheered loudly and he gave a great and gracious speech. There are so many good people doing great work in this field right now, and—if the sheer energy and effervescent joy coming off this year’s Astounding Awards crew is any indication—I think the future of the genre is bright.

It is disappointing to lose an award, of course, I’m not the Buddha or something—but the thing I most found myself missing the next morning was the opportunity to thank folks, publicly. And you know what, I don’t need an excuse to do that!

I started writing this series not long after the financial crash of ‘08, trying to make sense of a world much bigger and weirder and more messed-up than it had seemed when I was growing up—and which has only gotten weirder and more messed-up since! I wanted to tell a great story too: a bunch of different stories that were all also a bigger story about people in circumstances for which they were unprepared, trying as hard as they could, having to grow in ways they never expected to meet the challenges of the moment. Having to reach beyond themselves and their vision of the world.

In many ways that’s been the story of writing and publishing these books too. Writing happens in the room, in the chair—sure, but only like the flower happens at the bud. There are root systems and capillaries and the micorrizhal mess below, and the blossom after, and the pollen and the bees. If I hadn’t stumbled on Robin McKinley’s The Hero and the Crown in my elementary school library—that’s a different life, different art. If my uncle Danny hadn’t given me a cardboard box of Hugo and Nebula winners when I told him I liked science fiction—different life, different art. If Scott and Chrysta from fencing club hadn’t invited me to their Star Wars WEG d6 table even though I was in high school and they were in college—different life, different art. If my Mom and Dad hadn’t taken us on these big backpacking trips when we were kids—to Europe, out West—because they were teachers so we didn’t have much money but we had time—and if they hadn’t encouraged my trips to China and my language study—if Dad hadn’t sat with me for hours working on revising and polishing the language of my first stories back in middle school—different life, different art.

My partner, our son, my Mom and Dad have been constant supports; my sister Hallie listened to the BBC Lord of the Rings audio drama so many times with me on those long road trips and after. I got to show my ever-supportive in-laws WorldCon this trip (and to show my son!),

I’ve had so many wonderful comrades on the road, too many to name but I can’t not mention DongWon Song and my dear friend Amal. The whole team at Tor Books from back in the day to now have given this series time to grow. These books have seen many editors: David Hartwell, Marco Palmieri, Carl Engel-Laird, each of whom have helped me shape the project and take it one step further.

And all of you—readers, writers, inspirations, folks who made a funny joke one time or a side comment that stuck with me, the crew of the Good Question—it’s the human work of art: we’re all the bees and the pollen and the tiny little fungal fibers, making something that will turn into something else and live through time.

I read from the last book in the series at WorldCon. That’s a hell of a thing.

Stay strong out there. Take care of one another. Work for the liberation of all sentient beings. Thank you so much.