I don’t usually write posts like this, but there’s been this debate raging over the Hugos, the manipulation of how entries are voted in (not illegal, and not really out of the spirit or somesuch), the valuations placed on literary over entertainment works, on those written by the young, the gendered or transgendered, the white or the not-white, the female or the male or the whatever—and it’s gotten a lot of people, writers and non-writers, all bent out of shape. To be honest, I don’t know how to feel about it, but it is having an adverse effect on some writers, who find it diminishes the enjoyment they have in their craft, and that actually does bother me. So, it got me thinking—why do I only feel sad? Why am I not outraged? Why don’t I want to get an opinion out there and defend it to the max? Why am I afraid at the thought of being nominated as opposed to never being nominated? And I realised that it’s because awards are nice, and amazing and all that, but that they’re not worth