Now this is what I'd like to do with my estate--if, y'know, I had one. From the New York Times, the announcement of the richest literary prize in the US: the Donald Windham-Sandy M. Campbell Literature Prizes of $150,000 each awarded every year to seven to nine playwrights and writers of fiction and nonfiction. That's richer than any other literary prize I can think of except the Nobel.
Here's the part that put a gleam in my eye:
The prizes are meant to reward both established and promising writers, and Mr. Windham, who never went to college himself, specifically requested that writers with no academic affiliation be considered.
[...]
Mr. Windham and Sandy Campbell, his companion of 45 years, were a well-known couple in New York’s gay literary circles.
But here's one of the UK prizes I've got my eye on for Hild: the Walter Scott Prize for historical fiction, awarded this year to Andrea Levy (for The Long Song--which I've just downloaded) and last year to Hilary Mantel (for Wolf Hall). Exciting times.
I'm also really excited by Kelley's writing today for the Clarion West Write-a-Thon. She really hits it out of the park:
Sandy Gustafson lost his faith the day he met Jesus.
It happened during the 10 AM service, which Sandy laughingly advertised as the Pre-Brunch Special: get right with God and still make your 11:30 reservation. Episcopalians liked to have their needs respected. [more...]
Now I've got to go eat lunch in the sun, then bring my tea inside and work on Hild. I am officially psyched!
