All of which is by way of a very long preamble - because this afternoon exactly this scenario played out - I went in to clear out my spam trap, and the very first email on the list was "Request for Permission".
And here's the thing.
There's this story, see, which appeared in an anthology put out by an educational publisher back in my African childhood - back, in fact, in the early NINETEEN NINETIES. Last century. Last fricking MILLENNIUM. Literally decades ago.
It would appear that there is a textbook being put together by a branch of that self-same southern African publisher, and they wish to include the story which first saw light of day in that anthology.
And they wrote to request my permission to do so.
Which was amazing. And astonishing. And REALLY COOL. In story years (they go something like dog years but different...) this is kind of a really ancient story for me, written wayyyyyyy back when I was young. And I love the idea that it's still alive out there, still kicking, still breathing, still sitting up and looking around with its eyes wide open and seeing the world that's changed around it... and still considered good enough to play in that world.
Of course I gave my permission. WIth utter and unalloyed delight.
The Writer Is Pleased Tonight.