Bad dreams lately. My stomach's been feeling bad lately. I've been reading too much disturbing stuff - Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things, The Button Bin, Baby Doll, Watchmen. These are award winning stories, and they're fucking me up. 10 year olds having sex. Pedophilia. Incest. Rape. I feel like an alien that has to decide whether humanity is worth saving or not. I need some barbecue and snuggles. I feel like watching a nice movie like "Short Circuit" or "Finding Nemo" that might make me feel better, would end up making me feel worse, because those dark images would still be tumbling in my head like a hamster in a wheel.
Really? We can't have a good story without putting all these shock value things in there? Are we really that desperate for good fiction we have to resort to Jerry Springer-esque grabs?
I wish I could say I'm appalled at some of the Nebula selections this year, but I don't know enough about the other nominees, or the Nebulas as a whole, to make an educated judgement. But this shit is giving me nightmares. I hope these aren't typical Nebula nominee, or typical of other literature awards. Last year, the Hugos were plenty clean.
Labels: awards, bad things, dreams