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!