- 14:09 did I mention I got held up by pirates? twitpic.com/fnvd5 no better reason to be late to work, really. #
Saturday, August 29, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 18:04 Churchill was not refering to this black dog - twitpic.com/f79hu - he'd have been a happier man if he was. #
Sunday, August 23, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 18:57 beautiful liquor labels in low light - twitpic.com/ez1zh #
- 22:51 10.47 platform 1: gull with 3 souls - twitpic.com/ezg8r #
Saturday, August 22, 2009
PERSONA NON GRATA in da house
Last Drink Bird Head
The insane kids at over at VanderMeer Industries have put together an anthology of flash fiction, with all proceeds going to charity. Contributor list as follows:
It's been so long I couldn't remember what I'd written. Proofing the story was pretty much a fresh reading. It contains ninja. Which, you know, didn't really surprise me.
I'm tempted to point out names in that list, and have a sad little tizzy about sharing a ToC with them, but there are just! too! many! I skimmed the other stories. It is indeed a strange and wonderful collection. (DUDE. HOLY CRAP. I HAVE TOTALLY SNUCK ON TO THE GROWN UP'S TABLE. BOOYAH.)
It will be launched at the World Fantasy Convention this Halloween.
Best American Fantasy
sometimes even the right is wrong
I had intended to blog more after passing that enormous deadline (and by 'passing' I mean exactly like kidney stones), but the story came back. A couple of times. And the Baggage story was waiting for final edits too. And I have to write story notes to go with it. And I have the damn lurgy.
And I just...don't...want...to...write.
That's a blanket Do Not Want. I don't want to write emails, book reviews, blog posts, comments, To Do Lists. My output is not infinite, and right now, my brain is standing in front of a fridge containing a dried up piece of ginger and some moldy hummus and saying, "Dude, seriously, you need to go stock up."
Once the Baggage story and Kidney Stone story are laid to rest, I'll have a lot more time and headspace, and I intend to do a whole lot of not much with either. In the last week Doubt and Paranoia, my dear long-time friends, have come back to visit, which means I've passed the point of being merely tired and under pressure, and have now run out of mental defences against the world at large. I'm not cool with that. Not at all. Gotta shore up the fortress walls. Gotta stake out some territory. Gotta find some silence.
Poor neglected blog. You got food comin' too ya. I still have most of a year of book write ups to do, MIFF and a couple of gig reports, and the rest of my Japan trip to put up. Just. You know. Later.
Hope you strange funny people are staying warm out there in Internetland.
The insane kids at over at VanderMeer Industries have put together an anthology of flash fiction, with all proceeds going to charity. Contributor list as follows:
Daniel Abraham
Michael Arnzen
Steve Aylett
KJ Bishop
Michael Bishop
Desirina Boskovich
Keith Brooke
Jesse Bullington
Richard Butner
Catherine Cheek
Matthew Cheney
Michael Cisco
Gio Clairval
Alan M. Clark
Brendan Connell
Paul Di Filippo
Stephen R. Donaldson
Rikki Ducornet
Clare Dudman
Alistair Duncan
Scott Eagle
Brian Evenson
Eliot Fintushel
Jeffrey Ford
Richard Gehr
Felix Gilman
Jon Courtney Grimwood
Rhys Hughes
Paul Jessup
Antony Johnston
John Kaiine
Henry Kaiser
Caitlin R. Kiernan
Tessa Kum
Ellen Kushner
Jay Lake
Tanith Lee
Stina Leicht
Therese Littleton
Beth Adele Long
Dustin Long
Nick Mamatas
JM McDermott
Sarah Monette
Kari O’Connor
Ben Peek
Holly Phillips
Louis Phillips
Tim Pratt
Cat Rambo
Mark Rich
Bruce Holland Rogers
Nicholas Royle
G Eric Schaller
Ekaterina Sedia
Ramsey Shehadeh
Peter Straub
Victoria Strauss
Michael Swanwick
Mark Swartz
Alan Swirsky
Rachel Swirsky
Sonya Taaffe
Justin Taylor
Steve Rasnic Tem
Jeffrey Thomas
Scott Thomas
John Urbancik
Genevieve Valentine
Kim Westwood
Leslie What
Andrew Steiger White
Conrad Williams
Liz Williams
Neil Williamson
Caleb Wilson
Gene Wolfe
Jonathan Wood
Marly Youmans
Catherine Zeidler
It's been so long I couldn't remember what I'd written. Proofing the story was pretty much a fresh reading. It contains ninja. Which, you know, didn't really surprise me.
I'm tempted to point out names in that list, and have a sad little tizzy about sharing a ToC with them, but there are just! too! many! I skimmed the other stories. It is indeed a strange and wonderful collection. (DUDE. HOLY CRAP. I HAVE TOTALLY SNUCK ON TO THE GROWN UP'S TABLE. BOOYAH.)
It will be launched at the World Fantasy Convention this Halloween.
Best American Fantasy
The Best American Fantasy series has undergone a series of important changes, starting with the publisher. Underland Press has acquired the Best American Fantasy series, and will publish the third volume, “Real Unreal,” in January of 2010. BAF4, tentatively titled “Imaginary Borders,” will appear in March 2011. BAF3 contains work by, among others, Stephen King, Lisa Goldstein, Peter S. Beagle, and John Kessel, as chosen by guest editor Kevin Brockmeier with assistance from series editor Matthew Cheney. The full table of contents is reproduced below. The cover of BAF3 was designed by John Coulthart.
The guest editors for volumes 4 through 6 will be: Minister Faust, Junot Diaz, and Catherynne M. Valente. Each of these critically acclaimed writers will bring excellence and expertise to the position. BAF4 will include work published in 2010, as the series skips a year to accommodate the time needed for the change in publisher and general reorganization.
“Victoria Blake at Underland has worked hard to create the perfect home for this unique series,” BAF co-founder Jeff VanderMeer said, “and the guest editors we’ve put in place reflect an exciting diversity of opinions about and approaches to fiction. Each will bring their own spin to the volume they edit, and that’s going to be great in terms of keeping the series vital and relevant.”
Starting with BAF4, the series will consider stories published in English in Latin American publications, as well as translations of Latin American writers into English in North American publications. In short, any story published in English in a Latin American or North American publication or website, and written by a Latin American or North American resident, is eligible for inclusion in BAF. (As and when possible, and keeping in mind constraints such as expense and a need for additional personnel, the Best American Fantasy series eventually hopes to consider material published in Spanish and Portuguese.)
A series of staffing changes have also occurred. Matthew Cheney, who has done wonderful work on the first three volumes, will be stepping down as series editor due to other demands on his time. Co-founders Ann and Jeff VanderMeer will perform the role of series editor going forward, while Cheney remains in an advisory position. Former first readers Clayton Kroh and Tessa Kum will serve as assistant editors for BAF beginning with volume 4. Fábio Fernandes and Larry Nolen have been added in an editorial capacity, especially as regards the Latin American publishing community. Further staff additions will occur over the next year as necessary.
Guidelines for BAF4 will be made available by January of 2010. Any publications sent to Matthew Cheney will be forwarded to the VanderMeers. Publications should not be sent to the guest editors at this time. Please address queries to bestamericanfantasy at gmail.com or POB 4248, Tallahassee, FL 32315. The BAF website will be updated with all of this information shortly. Bookmark the BAF site and BAF blog for future updates.
TABLE OF CONTENTS FOR BEST AMERICAN FANTASY: “REAL UNREAL”
Guest Editor Kevin Brockmeier, Series Editor Matthew Cheney
“Safe Passage” by Ramona Ausubel (One Story, Issue 106)
“Uncle Chaim, Aunt Rifke, and the Angel” by Peter S. Beagle (Strange Roads)
“Cardiology” by Ryan Boudinot (Five Chapters, 2008)
“The Pentecostal Home for Flying Children” by Will Clarke (The Oxford American, Issue 61)
“For a Ruthless Criticism of Everything Existing” by Martin Cozza (Pindeldyboz, July 6 2008)
“Daltharee” by Jeffrey Ford (The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy)
“Is” by Chris Gavaler (New England Review, Volume 39, Number 2)
“The Torturer’s Wife” by Thomas Glave (The Kenyon Review, Fall 2008)
“Reader’s Guide” by Lisa Goldstein (F&SF, July 2008)
“Search Continues for Elderly Man” by Laura Kasischke (F&SF, September 2008)
“Pride and Prometheus” by John Kessel (F&SF, January 2008)
“The New York Times at Special Bargain Rates” by Stephen King (F&SF, October/November 2008)
“Couple of Lovers on a Red Background” by Rebecca Makkai (Brilliant Corners, Summer 2008)
“Flying and Falling” by Kuzhali Manickavel (Shimmer, The Art Issue 2008)
“The King of the Djinn” by David Ackert & Benjamin Rosenbaum (Realms of Fantasy, February 2008)
“The City and the Moon” by Deborah Schwartz (The Kenyon Review, Spring 2008)
“The Two-Headed Girl” by Paul Tremblay (Five Chapters, 2008)
“The First Several Hundred Years Following My Death” by Shawn Vestal (Tin House 34)
“Rabbit Catcher of Kingdom Come” by Kellie Wells (Fairy Tale Review, The White Issue)
“Serials” by Katie Williams (American Short Fiction, Summer/Fall 2008)
RECOMMENDED READING
The editors would like to call special attention to the following stories published in 2008:
“Run! Run!” by Jim Aikin
Fantasy & Science Fiction, September
“The Lagerstatte” by Laird Barron
The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy, edited by Ellen Datlow
“Within the City of the Swan” by Aliette de Bodard
Shimmer, The Art Issue 2008
“What the Redmond Men Found” by Matthew David Brozik
Zahir, Summer 2008
“The Loa and the Gaping Jaw” by Brendan Byrne
Flurb, a Webzine of Astonishing Tales, Fall-Winter 2008
“Jimmy” by Pat Cadigan
The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy, edited by Ellen Datlow
“Poor Little Egg-Boy Hatched in a Shul” by Nathan Englander
McSweeney’s, Issue 28
“Drone” by Gemma Files
Not One of Us, Issue 39
“All the Little Gods We Are” by John Grant
Clockwork Phoenix: Tales of Beauty and Strangeness, edited by Mike Allen
“The Difficulties of Evolution” by Karen Heuler
Weird Tales, July/Aug 2008
“The Hand of the Devil on a String” by M. K. Hobson
Shimmer, Spring 2008
“The Last Dead” by Drew Johnson
Virginia Quarterly Review, Winter 2008
“Far and Wee” by Kathe Koja
Weird Tales, November/December 2008
“Litany” by Rand B. Lee
Fantasy & Science Fiction, June 2008
“We Love Deena” by Alice Sola Kim
Strange Horizons, February 11, 2008
“But Wait! There’s More!” by Richard Mueller
Fantasy & Science Fiction, August 2008
“The Glazers” by Joyce Carol Oates
American Short Fiction, Winter/Spring 2008
“On the Banks of the River of Heaven” by Richard Parks
Realms of Fantasy, April 2008
“The Joined” by Helen Phillips
Mississippi Review, Spring 2008
“The Small Door” by Holly Phillips
Fantasy Magazine, May 19, 2008
“Creature” by Ramsey Shehadeh
Weird Tales, March/April 2008
“Detours on the Way to Nothing” by Rachel Swirsky
Weird Tales, March/April 2008
“The Body Autumnal” by Lisa Wells
Ecotone, Spring 2008
“A Different Country” by Wayne Wightman
Fantasy & Science Fiction, December 2008
“Two Tales” by Imants Zicdonis
Fairy Tale Review, White Issue
sometimes even the right is wrong
I had intended to blog more after passing that enormous deadline (and by 'passing' I mean exactly like kidney stones), but the story came back. A couple of times. And the Baggage story was waiting for final edits too. And I have to write story notes to go with it. And I have the damn lurgy.
And I just...don't...want...to...write.
That's a blanket Do Not Want. I don't want to write emails, book reviews, blog posts, comments, To Do Lists. My output is not infinite, and right now, my brain is standing in front of a fridge containing a dried up piece of ginger and some moldy hummus and saying, "Dude, seriously, you need to go stock up."
Once the Baggage story and Kidney Stone story are laid to rest, I'll have a lot more time and headspace, and I intend to do a whole lot of not much with either. In the last week Doubt and Paranoia, my dear long-time friends, have come back to visit, which means I've passed the point of being merely tired and under pressure, and have now run out of mental defences against the world at large. I'm not cool with that. Not at all. Gotta shore up the fortress walls. Gotta stake out some territory. Gotta find some silence.
Poor neglected blog. You got food comin' too ya. I still have most of a year of book write ups to do, MIFF and a couple of gig reports, and the rest of my Japan trip to put up. Just. You know. Later.
Hope you strange funny people are staying warm out there in Internetland.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
when you start the war, use arrows, spears, and swords grenades and cricket bats
Promotions!
Weird Tales won the Hugo, and there was much rejoicing! The magazine remains a fantastic piece of reading, each issue consistently surprising and brilliant in all it has to offer. Stephen H. Segal and Ann VanderMeer make for excellent skippers, and recognition of their excellence is far overdue. Huzzah!
Because they're so excellent they broke the excellence benchmark and have rocketed on through to being FUCKIN' OARSUM, our skippers are up for the World Fantasy Awards as well. Phwoar!
If I hang around them long enough, think some of the awesome will rub off?
My Name In Lights!
Gillian Polack announced the table of contents for Baggage, cut 'n paste below;
My emo-victim-poor-meeeeeee-waaaaaaaaah-oh-dear-lord-this-story-is-going-to-kill-me is among some fine company there. I expect it to totally lack manners and grace and embarrass the shit out of me.
Conflagration!
I figure, if you're going to set fire to Rome, you might as well do it properly. By 'Rome', I do of course mean my life, my social life, my health, my sleep, my flat, my absolutely everything. And by 'fire', I mean 'pull an asteroid from the sky'.
Things I have never done;
Things I just did;
Which is why I haven't been posting. Or responding to my email. Or answering my phone. Or anything.
This is probably going to remain, for a long time, one of the stupidest things I have ever done. I knew it was going to be insane and intense when I agreed to it, though, and let's be honest, that is 100% of the reason I said yes when the suggestion was put to me.
It wasn't without cost. I've been spending 12-15 hour days at work, staying back after my normal day in order to write, because my flat was too cold to do so. My back hates me. My knuckles, fingers, hands, wrists, arms, elbows, shoulders and neck all hate me. My eyes hate me. I've been living on painkillers for a bit over a week now. I didn't do the dishes for two weeks and my flat stank. I didn't do any washing and rocked up to work very underdressed and got in trouble. I ran out of food because I didn't do the shopping. I've neglected my friends and my family (which is probably for the best, because if I'd actually exposed myself to any of them their might have been no survivors). I have lost my ability to sleep entirely, my brain has been so intensely focused and processing. I'm exhausted to the point I just about threw up a cup of tea yesterday, and then I stay up till three in the morning working some more. And then I go to work. And then I do it again.
I wrote a 15k first draft in 7 days, which is pretty impressive.
Then I wrote a 25k draft in two days.
I am an incoherent gibbering mess, and so is my poor long suffering infinitely patient partner in crime. When I got up this morning, and checked my email to find a note stating the story had been submitted, I burst into tears. I'll post the details later, when things are confirmed one way or another.
I'm still young enough and dumb enough to try and prove a point, and the point is well proved now;
I AM INVINCIBLE. I CAN DO ANYTHING.
AND THEN?
THEN THERE WAS ICE CREAM.
Weird Tales won the Hugo, and there was much rejoicing! The magazine remains a fantastic piece of reading, each issue consistently surprising and brilliant in all it has to offer. Stephen H. Segal and Ann VanderMeer make for excellent skippers, and recognition of their excellence is far overdue. Huzzah!
Because they're so excellent they broke the excellence benchmark and have rocketed on through to being FUCKIN' OARSUM, our skippers are up for the World Fantasy Awards as well. Phwoar!
If I hang around them long enough, think some of the awesome will rub off?
My Name In Lights!
Gillian Polack announced the table of contents for Baggage, cut 'n paste below;
Deborah Biancotti
KJ Bishop
Simon Brown
Monica Carroll
Jack Dann
Jennifer Fallon
Laura Goodin
Y Green
Tessa Kum
Maxine McArthur
Lucy Sussex
Kaaron Warren
Janeen Webb
My emo-victim-poor-meeeeeee-waaaaaaaaah-oh-dear-lord-this-story-is-going-to-kill-me is among some fine company there. I expect it to totally lack manners and grace and embarrass the shit out of me.
Conflagration!
I figure, if you're going to set fire to Rome, you might as well do it properly. By 'Rome', I do of course mean my life, my social life, my health, my sleep, my flat, my absolutely everything. And by 'fire', I mean 'pull an asteroid from the sky'.
Things I have never done;
- Collaborated on a story.
- Written in a shared franchise world.
- Gone from conception to final draft in one (1) month.
Things I just did;
- ALL OF THE ABOVE
Which is why I haven't been posting. Or responding to my email. Or answering my phone. Or anything.
This is probably going to remain, for a long time, one of the stupidest things I have ever done. I knew it was going to be insane and intense when I agreed to it, though, and let's be honest, that is 100% of the reason I said yes when the suggestion was put to me.
It wasn't without cost. I've been spending 12-15 hour days at work, staying back after my normal day in order to write, because my flat was too cold to do so. My back hates me. My knuckles, fingers, hands, wrists, arms, elbows, shoulders and neck all hate me. My eyes hate me. I've been living on painkillers for a bit over a week now. I didn't do the dishes for two weeks and my flat stank. I didn't do any washing and rocked up to work very underdressed and got in trouble. I ran out of food because I didn't do the shopping. I've neglected my friends and my family (which is probably for the best, because if I'd actually exposed myself to any of them their might have been no survivors). I have lost my ability to sleep entirely, my brain has been so intensely focused and processing. I'm exhausted to the point I just about threw up a cup of tea yesterday, and then I stay up till three in the morning working some more. And then I go to work. And then I do it again.
I wrote a 15k first draft in 7 days, which is pretty impressive.
Then I wrote a 25k draft in two days.
I am an incoherent gibbering mess, and so is my poor long suffering infinitely patient partner in crime. When I got up this morning, and checked my email to find a note stating the story had been submitted, I burst into tears. I'll post the details later, when things are confirmed one way or another.
I'm still young enough and dumb enough to try and prove a point, and the point is well proved now;
I AM INVINCIBLE. I CAN DO ANYTHING.
AND THEN?
THEN THERE WAS ICE CREAM.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Sniff Mah Pillow
I made vegetable soup yesterday. My arms and wrists are right buggered from all the chopping and stirring, and my flat smells like soup. My whole flat. Everything. I went to bed last night and mmmm, yes indeedy, my pillow smelt like soup.
If this isn't a compelling argument to never cook again, I don't know what is.
The smell is still hanging around. Possibly if it was, I don't know, something with a tomato base, I wouldn't find having hair that smells like lunch so off putting. But vegetable soup only smells good when it's hot and you're hanging over the bowl. Old, cold, stale vegetable soup is unattractive, to say the least.
My only course of action is to cook bacon.
I'm not even hungry, but dammit, there will be bacon.
If this isn't a compelling argument to never cook again, I don't know what is.
The smell is still hanging around. Possibly if it was, I don't know, something with a tomato base, I wouldn't find having hair that smells like lunch so off putting. But vegetable soup only smells good when it's hot and you're hanging over the bowl. Old, cold, stale vegetable soup is unattractive, to say the least.
My only course of action is to cook bacon.
I'm not even hungry, but dammit, there will be bacon.
Tilt Shift
I've spent the last seven months looking at cloud patterns, stars, sun sets, birds, wind, rainbows, sunshine and all the marvelous wondrous things in the sky. I've been so distracted that I forgot I was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Suddenly, all I can see is the abyss opening up below me.
Nothing has changed. I have not moved. The hole has always been there.
When enough time passes, I will remember that nothing has changed, I have not moved, the sky has always been there.
Suddenly, all I can see is the abyss opening up below me.
Nothing has changed. I have not moved. The hole has always been there.
When enough time passes, I will remember that nothing has changed, I have not moved, the sky has always been there.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Trepanation From The OutsideIN
Someone in my immediate surroundings, who shall remain anonymous, lost the ability to sleep in. Apparently their brain found the alarm function, and in fiddling around with said function set it to 7AM, and now this someone who shall remain anonymous wakes up DING! regardless of exhaustion or what time sleep was achieved, and can sleep no further.
I lol'ed to hear this, because I'm a jerk like that.
And then I started doing the same.
Did you know that an inner alarm clock was contagious? I didn't. It must have taken prolonged exposure, or maybe it had a long incubation period, but suddenly, DING! I can't sleep past 7AM.
I'm not cool with that.
Someone who shall remain anonymous has apologised for inflicting this on me. In light of such an apology, my brain has decided to go one-up, and for the past two weeks I have been waking up at THREE O'FUCKING-CLOCK IN THE MORNING.
WHY
I DO NOT KNOW
Stupid brain.
Unsurprisingly, I'm a little frazzled right now. A couple of days back I went to bed and to sleep at 7PM. Woke up, it was dark, my alarm wasn't going off so I sighed. Hello again 3AM. Rolled over to check the time and OMFG IT'S PAST NINE I'M LATE FOR WORK I'M no wait hang on that's PM.
I'd only been asleep for two hours.
Dreams have been a little too active of late as well, so what sleep I am getting is not particularly restful. I dreamed I was Hunter S. Thompson, in some lovely woodland glade, and I had a stick. One long thin stick. John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson of Pulp Fiction were out to get me. They had machine guns and chainsaws. It didn't end well.
Stupid stick.
I lol'ed to hear this, because I'm a jerk like that.
And then I started doing the same.
Did you know that an inner alarm clock was contagious? I didn't. It must have taken prolonged exposure, or maybe it had a long incubation period, but suddenly, DING! I can't sleep past 7AM.
I'm not cool with that.
Someone who shall remain anonymous has apologised for inflicting this on me. In light of such an apology, my brain has decided to go one-up, and for the past two weeks I have been waking up at THREE O'FUCKING-CLOCK IN THE MORNING.
WHY
I DO NOT KNOW
Stupid brain.
Unsurprisingly, I'm a little frazzled right now. A couple of days back I went to bed and to sleep at 7PM. Woke up, it was dark, my alarm wasn't going off so I sighed. Hello again 3AM. Rolled over to check the time and OMFG IT'S PAST NINE I'M LATE FOR WORK I'M no wait hang on that's PM.
I'd only been asleep for two hours.
Dreams have been a little too active of late as well, so what sleep I am getting is not particularly restful. I dreamed I was Hunter S. Thompson, in some lovely woodland glade, and I had a stick. One long thin stick. John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson of Pulp Fiction were out to get me. They had machine guns and chainsaws. It didn't end well.
Stupid stick.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
This is not a map of Antarctica.
Today was awesome, and when I say awesome, I mean, awesome. A. W. E. S. O. M. E. Things occur in threes. One of these things made me giggle and shall not be disclosed any time soon. Another of these things made me shriek and shall be disclosed soon-ish. The last of these things was purely material and thus of no interest to anyone to me.
When these things combine, I end up feeling like this;
As nicked from Warren Ellis.
Now, when you wrestle with an idea for long enough - whether that idea be a project, person, goal, whatever - it begins to define your day, and once it has defined enough of your days, it begins to define you.
Thus, no matter how you may feel about said idea (in this particular case, a whole lot of loathing and frustration), when the time comes to part with it, you will be lost. Bereft. The anchor to which you and your life have unwittingly become attached suddenly gone, an absence you know is coming but only understand when it is sitting in your lap at 6:37pm on a week day evening. You'll rather feel as though you've just had a break up.
How to deal with this?
A) Drown your sorrows!
B) Revel in the free time and headspace you've suddenly regained!
C) START ANOTHER PROJECT WITH AN INSANE DEADLINE
Guess. Just go on. I bet you don't even need one.
Posting shall remain light for the interim.
(Actually, posting will probably go through the roof as I seek any form of procrastination. Bet you tu dolla.)
When these things combine, I end up feeling like this;
As nicked from Warren Ellis.
Now, when you wrestle with an idea for long enough - whether that idea be a project, person, goal, whatever - it begins to define your day, and once it has defined enough of your days, it begins to define you.
Thus, no matter how you may feel about said idea (in this particular case, a whole lot of loathing and frustration), when the time comes to part with it, you will be lost. Bereft. The anchor to which you and your life have unwittingly become attached suddenly gone, an absence you know is coming but only understand when it is sitting in your lap at 6:37pm on a week day evening. You'll rather feel as though you've just had a break up.
How to deal with this?
A) Drown your sorrows!
B) Revel in the free time and headspace you've suddenly regained!
C) START ANOTHER PROJECT WITH AN INSANE DEADLINE
Guess. Just go on. I bet you don't even need one.
Posting shall remain light for the interim.
(Actually, posting will probably go through the roof as I seek any form of procrastination. Bet you tu dolla.)
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
DECRYPTION SPECIFICATION UNSTABLE
The eternally brilliant Madame Bishop has been documenting the adrenaline-packed thrill ride that is the revision process, as seen here, here, and here. It's heady stuff, full on and hard to handle. Not for the faint of heart.
I am engaged in the same death march. Actually, that's a lie. My death march is totally different to hers. She's paying stringent attention to detail, and I'm sort of...poking at it with a stick while failing to do the dishes. Anyway, this blog is going to stay quiet, at least until Friday. Friday I intend to get roaring drunk, either because a) I have sent off the completed story, huzzah and rejoice! or b) I haven't. Either way there is going to be liquor involved, and it will be messy, and that's the only warning you're going to get.
Make your decisions accordingly.
I am engaged in the same death march. Actually, that's a lie. My death march is totally different to hers. She's paying stringent attention to detail, and I'm sort of...poking at it with a stick while failing to do the dishes. Anyway, this blog is going to stay quiet, at least until Friday. Friday I intend to get roaring drunk, either because a) I have sent off the completed story, huzzah and rejoice! or b) I haven't. Either way there is going to be liquor involved, and it will be messy, and that's the only warning you're going to get.
Make your decisions accordingly.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
MODULE CORE HEMORRHAGE! WARNING! THIS MEDIUM IS CLASSIFIED AND HAS A STRONG INTRUSIVE INCLINATION! WARNING! NETWORK THROTTLING HAS ERODED!
THIS MEDIUM HAS METASTASIZED!
THIS MEDIUM IS WIDE AWAKE AND PHYSICAL. MAKE YOUR DECISIONS ACCORDINGLY.
THIS MEDIUM IS WIDE AWAKE AND PHYSICAL. MAKE YOUR DECISIONS ACCORDINGLY.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Going Postal
Two boxes landed today; one expected, one not.
The delightful explorer Madame Bishop sent me an 'oddity', a mini-version of a festival mask for Phi Ta Khon. It's quite a fearsome mask. Bit of rabbit, bit of hawk, bit of shark, a lot of unsettling. In the card, Madame Bishop notes that the shop had these displayed on Ken and Barbie dolls. Heh. I have no Barbies, but I do have the Masterchief, who has kindly volunteered to model.
I think he looks quite fetching.
There was also a bottle opener decorated with what look like Chinese opera masks. It is just as alarming to look at. I may never get to open a bottle of fun with it, because the opener will look at me every time I go to use it.
Second box contained an uncorrected proof of Jeff VanderMeer's Finch, which I had the honour of reading as manuscriptand telling him everything he was doing wrong. I read it in one day. It's a powerful book, that. Powerful enough to keep 46 degrees of summer out of my head, which is no small feat. Brilliantly written and very juicy. There's a lot to love.
There was also a wrapped thingy, with a card taped to it. On the back of the envelope was a request to document my reaction. At which point I put everything down, didn't even open the card and went off to do all my chores. Sounded far too distracting.
Now I'm opening it...
Oh holy hell!
AHAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
LOOK AT THIS
LOOK
AT
THIS
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Ages ago. Like, ages ago. I flippantly requested a capybara for my birthday. I wasn't really expecting a capybara, because Australia has strict quarantine laws, and I have nowhere for a capybara to live. But when requesting presents you're never going to receive, you might as well do it properly.
Apparently this infected Jeff, 'cause he had a capybara dream, started RPing a capybara on a certain-social-networking-site-that-looks-like-a-cubicle-farm, and the internet coughed up a capybara to talk to him, who he then went on to interview. (ZOMFG, teh kewt.)
But, I did not receive a capybara for my birthday.
Got the next best thing though!
And this is my head asploding with the combined pressure of Oarsum Unsettling and Mighty Cute.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you, Madame Bishop! Thank you, VanderMeer Inc! Thank you, Caplin Rous!
The delightful explorer Madame Bishop sent me an 'oddity', a mini-version of a festival mask for Phi Ta Khon. It's quite a fearsome mask. Bit of rabbit, bit of hawk, bit of shark, a lot of unsettling. In the card, Madame Bishop notes that the shop had these displayed on Ken and Barbie dolls. Heh. I have no Barbies, but I do have the Masterchief, who has kindly volunteered to model.
I think he looks quite fetching.
There was also a bottle opener decorated with what look like Chinese opera masks. It is just as alarming to look at. I may never get to open a bottle of fun with it, because the opener will look at me every time I go to use it.
Second box contained an uncorrected proof of Jeff VanderMeer's Finch, which I had the honour of reading as manuscript
There was also a wrapped thingy, with a card taped to it. On the back of the envelope was a request to document my reaction. At which point I put everything down, didn't even open the card and went off to do all my chores. Sounded far too distracting.
Now I'm opening it...
Oh holy hell!
AHAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
LOOK AT THIS
LOOK
AT
THIS
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Ages ago. Like, ages ago. I flippantly requested a capybara for my birthday. I wasn't really expecting a capybara, because Australia has strict quarantine laws, and I have nowhere for a capybara to live. But when requesting presents you're never going to receive, you might as well do it properly.
Apparently this infected Jeff, 'cause he had a capybara dream, started RPing a capybara on a certain-social-networking-site-that-looks-like-a-cubicle-farm, and the internet coughed up a capybara to talk to him, who he then went on to interview. (ZOMFG, teh kewt.)
But, I did not receive a capybara for my birthday.
Got the next best thing though!
And this is my head asploding with the combined pressure of Oarsum Unsettling and Mighty Cute.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you, Madame Bishop! Thank you, VanderMeer Inc! Thank you, Caplin Rous!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
"Only amateurs love everything they write." - Robert McKee
The above was twat (hereby past tense of tweet) by Deborah Biancotti last night, and struck a chord with me. I am not a musician, so it was not a very good chord, but a chord none the less.
I'm belly deep in revisions on this sorry sack of soggy scrotum. Revisions are normally painful, as it becomes apparent how much work you have to do to get the draft you wrote to match the Amazing Wonder Power Masterpiece you have envisioned in your head. Typically there is a lot of work. A lot. Of work.
And angst. Lots of that too.
Which I expect, but this time has been harder than usual because, unfortunately, I like this story.
I mean, I like like it. You know. Really.
You know, when you were in school and just starting to think about boys/girls and had a crush on someone, and it was a totally unreasonable crush, there was nothing attractive about this person at all, they were not your type and you never even had the chance to say 'excuse me' when passing them in the hall, but that was irrelevant because you liked them.
This lack of contact meant you'd constructed an image of them in your mind, which was exactly what you wanted them to be. Anything the real person did that contravened that was conveniently ignored for the sake of this daydream, and you couldn't handle any of your friends slagging this person off because that was also in contravention, and you plastered over every such thing and continued blindly on, until the dream wears out and you realise just what a dumbass you've been and omg so embarrassing why did you even admit to liking them?
The fact that I like this story means I can't trust myself with it.
My perspective is skewed, I'm more likely to forgive its flaws, instead of honing in on them and tearing them out with my shark teeth. Hell, I'm so biased I can't even see the flaws (sharks don't have great vision). I'm sensitive to any critique of the damn thing, so I'm arcing up instead of listening and taking that advice.
I am pissing myself off.
How am I supposed to make this story as good as I want it to be if I can't see it properly?
Normally, I don't like my stories. I get excited about them, absolutely. I believe they're worth writing or I wouldn't even start them. I have great fun in exploring them, and I like the challenge, and the (hopefully) final conquest.
But I don't like them, not in that starry-eyed sense.
Much as I hesitate to state any sort of opinion that whiffs of authority, much as I dislike using the word 'should', I'm going to do both, and say this is not the sort of relationship a writer should have with their work.
Tailend revisions should be about breaking up with the work. You need to put distance in, so you can improve it, make it as good as it's going to be, and because you are letting go. Once a story is finished, once it's done and you are not in a position to change anything else in it, nor is there anything left to change, it isn't yours any more. You're the writer. Now you've written it, it isn't being written, it has turned into something to be read.
And readers are going to wade in and read it and not give a shit about you and your sad embarrassing little crush on your story.
It's time to start writing something else.
I'm belly deep in revisions on this sorry sack of soggy scrotum. Revisions are normally painful, as it becomes apparent how much work you have to do to get the draft you wrote to match the Amazing Wonder Power Masterpiece you have envisioned in your head. Typically there is a lot of work. A lot. Of work.
And angst. Lots of that too.
Which I expect, but this time has been harder than usual because, unfortunately, I like this story.
I mean, I like like it. You know. Really.
You know, when you were in school and just starting to think about boys/girls and had a crush on someone, and it was a totally unreasonable crush, there was nothing attractive about this person at all, they were not your type and you never even had the chance to say 'excuse me' when passing them in the hall, but that was irrelevant because you liked them.
This lack of contact meant you'd constructed an image of them in your mind, which was exactly what you wanted them to be. Anything the real person did that contravened that was conveniently ignored for the sake of this daydream, and you couldn't handle any of your friends slagging this person off because that was also in contravention, and you plastered over every such thing and continued blindly on, until the dream wears out and you realise just what a dumbass you've been and omg so embarrassing why did you even admit to liking them?
The fact that I like this story means I can't trust myself with it.
My perspective is skewed, I'm more likely to forgive its flaws, instead of honing in on them and tearing them out with my shark teeth. Hell, I'm so biased I can't even see the flaws (sharks don't have great vision). I'm sensitive to any critique of the damn thing, so I'm arcing up instead of listening and taking that advice.
I am pissing myself off.
How am I supposed to make this story as good as I want it to be if I can't see it properly?
Normally, I don't like my stories. I get excited about them, absolutely. I believe they're worth writing or I wouldn't even start them. I have great fun in exploring them, and I like the challenge, and the (hopefully) final conquest.
But I don't like them, not in that starry-eyed sense.
Much as I hesitate to state any sort of opinion that whiffs of authority, much as I dislike using the word 'should', I'm going to do both, and say this is not the sort of relationship a writer should have with their work.
Tailend revisions should be about breaking up with the work. You need to put distance in, so you can improve it, make it as good as it's going to be, and because you are letting go. Once a story is finished, once it's done and you are not in a position to change anything else in it, nor is there anything left to change, it isn't yours any more. You're the writer. Now you've written it, it isn't being written, it has turned into something to be read.
And readers are going to wade in and read it and not give a shit about you and your sad embarrassing little crush on your story.
It's time to start writing something else.
Friday, June 26, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 16:45 dirty nose - twitpic.com/8g44n #
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
unVampires, Doppelgängers and ______
A photo of Deb and I at the Freeze Frame Project last Saturday has surfaced. Murasaki Claire snapped this great shot demonstrating our product placement, food fellatio, and the fact that Deb is neither vampire nor ninja, and shows up just fine (provided you're looking straight at her).
What I most love about the photo is the guys gawking in the background. That's a pretty light example of what we were surrounded by for those five minutes. Even looming over Deb like that, the guy isn't nearly as obtrusive as some of the other curious souls to take a peek.
Checking @replies on twitter I found an online doppelgänger of mine, @sirtessai. Except, having had a gander at her site, I think it's apparent I am the doppelgänger, a leery reflection of someone quite gobsmackingly talented.
I'm cool being an echo of that.
Steve Burnett wrote this wonderful piece on the importance of silence;
What I most love about the photo is the guys gawking in the background. That's a pretty light example of what we were surrounded by for those five minutes. Even looming over Deb like that, the guy isn't nearly as obtrusive as some of the other curious souls to take a peek.
Checking @replies on twitter I found an online doppelgänger of mine, @sirtessai. Except, having had a gander at her site, I think it's apparent I am the doppelgänger, a leery reflection of someone quite gobsmackingly talented.
I'm cool being an echo of that.
Steve Burnett wrote this wonderful piece on the importance of silence;
We will pay for silence. For better soundproofing in walls, or lacking it we will rest less when we sleep. For more distance from high-density zones, creating longer commutes and increasing fuel consumption, and reducing the time we have by sacrificing it to the extended travel. For active noise canceling cellphones to talk with and headphones to listen to our overly compressed and distorted music on our portable music players and *still* have to pump up the volume until we reach the limits of our ear fatigue before we want to stop listening. For white noise and for nature sounds that become rarer and more exotic over time. For recordings of silence at the bottom of a well, in a cathedral, in the soon-to-become-misnamed Rub' al Khali, the Empty Quarter of Arabia.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
More Advice For Writers
Writing a story is like being a scientific explorer. The early stages of gestation, world-building, plot-noodling and then navigating your first draft are the heady days of discovery. You get to go new places, see new things, and generally, you'll be surprised at what is out there to be found.
And then you have to come out of the wilds, sit down, analyse, and present all your findings in the proper manner for peer review in an academic journal. You're still sifting through and surrounded by the treasures you've brought back, but it isn't the same. You're not out there.
There is a vast difference in the mindframes required to make the most of being an intrepid explorer (first draft), and being an analyst (revisions). They're very different hats.
When wearing the exploration hat, I look like this;
Slack-jawed, vacant-eyed, inert, and lost in the roiling miasma of my inspiration flatulence. I love brainstorming. World-building is a terrible crutch of mine. I get carried away with the shiny, with making things bigger and more ridiculous and fun, because the bigger, more ridiculous and fun the world is, the more interesting it will be to break, and then fix.
I'm supposed to be wearing the analyst hat.
Today, I put the explorer hat on. Not just once, but twice, on two stories that aren't even mine. My head just exploded and I had to thinkthinkthink, and I knew I shouldn't have started that way because I know that's like crack to me, but I did it, and now I'm screwed. I don't want to revise, I want to create! I want to go somewhere new!
But no. I am not bushbashing today. I am treading a known path. With a big stick. And I will not insert any dinosaurs into this short story. No. No I will not. Even if the mental strain required to refrain from doing so will squeeze my brain out through my sinuses. This story requires only a tweaking of balance. Dinosaurs are not tweaking.
Writers, beware. Never lose control of what hat you wear.
And then you have to come out of the wilds, sit down, analyse, and present all your findings in the proper manner for peer review in an academic journal. You're still sifting through and surrounded by the treasures you've brought back, but it isn't the same. You're not out there.
There is a vast difference in the mindframes required to make the most of being an intrepid explorer (first draft), and being an analyst (revisions). They're very different hats.
When wearing the exploration hat, I look like this;
Slack-jawed, vacant-eyed, inert, and lost in the roiling miasma of my inspiration flatulence. I love brainstorming. World-building is a terrible crutch of mine. I get carried away with the shiny, with making things bigger and more ridiculous and fun, because the bigger, more ridiculous and fun the world is, the more interesting it will be to break, and then fix.
I'm supposed to be wearing the analyst hat.
Today, I put the explorer hat on. Not just once, but twice, on two stories that aren't even mine. My head just exploded and I had to thinkthinkthink, and I knew I shouldn't have started that way because I know that's like crack to me, but I did it, and now I'm screwed. I don't want to revise, I want to create! I want to go somewhere new!
But no. I am not bushbashing today. I am treading a known path. With a big stick. And I will not insert any dinosaurs into this short story. No. No I will not. Even if the mental strain required to refrain from doing so will squeeze my brain out through my sinuses. This story requires only a tweaking of balance. Dinosaurs are not tweaking.
Writers, beware. Never lose control of what hat you wear.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 18:43 is off to the Australia vs Japan FIFA qualifer HUZZAAAAHHH!!! #
- 19:54 HOT JAM DONUTS. The blisters hurt so good. #
- 21:12 AUUUUUGH D: #
- 21:20 FREEZING HELL is being sucked into the G just like that super storm in 'The Day After Tomorrow'. #
- 21:39 AUUUUUGH :D #
- 21:56 AUUUUUUUUUUGH :D #
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