Weird Tales Levels Up!

As has today been spreading along the currents of the intrawebs like the smell of whalefall in an empty see, Weird Tales just muscled up, took its sunnies off and gave you the eye.

WEIRD TALES: New Website, New Submission Portal, Pay Rate Increase

The World’s Oldest Fantasy Magazine Re-invents Itself for a New Decade

Several exciting developments mark the start of 2011 for Weird Tales. In addition to launching a new website at http://www.weirdtalesmagazine.com, editor-in-chief Ann VanderMeer and publisher John Betancourt have raised the pay rate to 5 cents per word and implemented a new submissions portal for potential contributors, located at: http://weirdtalesmagazine.com/submissions/.

These changes come on the heels of the news last year that VanderMeer would be taking over as editor-in-chief, with Paula Guran retained as nonfiction editor and Mary Robinette Kowal named as art director. This is the first time in the magazine’s 88-year history that Weird Tales has had an all-female editorial/management staff. Dominik Parisien and Alan Swirsky join Tessa Kum as editorial assistants on the Weird Tales team.

“Weird Tales was always known for publishing unclassifiable dark fiction, for publishing new voices alongside old pros, and we’ll continue that tradition,” VanderMeer says. “Our website updates those traditions by posting video flash fictions and news of the bizarre.” The new site also features a blog, through which VanderMeer and the rest of the Weird Tales team will discuss fiction and topics related to the revamped magazine.

This month marks the publication of the 357 issue of the magazine, featuring exceptionally strong short fiction. Contributors include Hundred Thousand Kingdoms’ N.K. Jemisin with “The Trojan Girl”, Swedish newcomer Karin Tidbeck’s ingenious and unsettling inversion of faerie and critically acclaimed J. Robert Lennon with “Portal,” a disturbing Shirley-Jackson-esque horror story. Weird Tales will return to its normal quarterly schedule this year, with future issues slated for May, August, and November.

Thanks to Matt Kressel for the new website and Neil Clarke for the submissions portal.

I just had a look at the Slush Cattle Pen, and holy hammerheads and harpsichords, Batman. That's a lot of slush. Do you have a story in there? Have you brazenly submitted your work of art to our fair publication? Do you realise what the Slush Cattle Pen actually means? For me? Hands on. No longer must I wait for Captain VanderMeer to feed me! I am free to rub my face over all the slushcows! All of them! And I will. I'll sniff them and lick them and probably not call them George. (I realise that last sentence may sound disturbing if you don't get the Bugs Bunny reference.)

Send Moar Slushcows!

And while I've got my pimp coat on, may I interest you in these shiny glittering offerings?

• PDF of The Quickening, the sole original story in Jeff VanderMeer's The Third Bear
• Free download of Slitten Gorge by Conrad Williams
• Giveaway of Above/Below by Ben Peek and Stephanie Campisi
• First Installment of Underdog Autopsy Radio: A Day in the Life
• Years Best Australian Fantasy and Horror Submission Guidelines
• CSFG Wings of Change submission deadline 31 January
• 2011 Chronos Awards now open
• Neat review of Baggage by Bruno

Snow Lion! Raaar!

I didn't buy much in the way of souvenirs in Tibet. There is plenty available which would serve well - prayer flags, prayer wheels, rosaries, yak bells and so on - and the streets around the Jokhang and Barkhor Square in Lhasa and the Tashilumpo in Shigatse were lined with stalls. The opportunities were there (and saying, "Hello, hello, hello, hello,").



Most of what is on sale are cheap imitations imported from China and Nepal, as stated in the Lonely Planet and confirmed by both our tour leader and Tibetan guide. There is a stall selling religious items inside the Jokhang, the holiest of holies in Lhasa and Tibet, and there I found a gorgeous wooden rosary. Being quite expensive and found inside the Jokhang, I assumed it must be genuine Tibetan.

I did that thing I do when shopping, and walked off to do something totally different. When I returned, the display had been disturbed slightly, and the maker's certificate in the box below was now visible, with a massive MADE IN CHINA glaring at me.

Point taken.

You know me. I don't like being thwarted. It became a quest to find something that was Tibetan and made by Tibetans, which in Lhasa is trickier than you would think. The Lonely Planet guide came to my aid, however, and one afternoon I took myself off wandering through the back alleys behind the Johkang, around to the Muslim Quarter, up some more back alleys and through some courtyards - they have different ideas about space there - and found Dropenling; a shop that specifically sells goods made by Tibetans, the profits of which go back to those same artisans.

(And for those of you who recall some of my adventures in Japan; can you believe I did not get lost doing this? Not a single wrong turn, not a single instance of heading in exactly the opposite direction! I was gobsmacked too, considering the alleys I was walking through had no landmarks to speak of.



I shouldn't call them alleys. They're streets. They're organic Lhasa.)

And that is where I bought my awesome little snow lion.

As soon as I saw him I fell in love. The big manic eyes, batty happy ears, massive toothy slavering grin - how can anyone resist? When I proudly showed him off to my traveling companions, they didn't see the love. They said he was scary and ugly.

Wikipedia has the following to say on the subject of snow lions:

The Snow Lion resides in the East and represents unconditional cheerfulness, a mind free of doubt, clear and precise. It has a beauty and dignity resulting from a body and mind that are synchronized. The Snow Lion has a youthful, vibrant energy of goodness and a natural sense of delight. Sometimes the throne of a Buddha is depicted with eight Snow Lions on it, in this case, they represent the 8 main Bodhisattva-disciples of Buddha Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha. Associations: main quality is fearlessness, dominance over mountains, and the earth element.
-- The Four Dignities, Rudy Harderwijk

The Snow Lion is an archetypal thoughtform confluence or personification of the primordial playfullness of 'joy' and 'bliss' (Sanskrit: ananda; Tibetan: dga' ), somewhat energetically comparable to the western unicorn, though without a horn. Though paradoxical, the Snow Lion does not fly but their feet never touch the ground; their existence is a playful 'continuum' (Tibetan: rgyud) of leaping from mountain peak to mountain peak.

Later, when I proudly showed him off to my mum and told her he was a snow lion, she said, "There's no such thing as a snow lion!"

If that is true, then the world is not as awesome as it should be.



The postal service has brought unto me more objects of delight! Copies of Weird Tales #355: Steampunk Spectacular, huzzah! I haven't read it yet, but don't doubt it'll be as tasty as all the issues gone before.

There are four spare copies I'm giving away, and actually while I think of it, I also have a couple of copies of issue #354 lying around as well. For the second year running Weird Tales has been nominated for a Hugo Award, with voting closing on the 31st of July. Interested in sampling this mighty magazine? Leave a comment, first in first served.

I only ask that you please post something about what you find between the covers somewhere, even if it's just a throwaway comment on twitter.

The magazines weren't alone; in their company was a copy of Ann & Jeff VanderMeer's The Kosher Guide to Imaginary Animals, and my snow lion got his paws all over it.

On flip through it's a delightful little book with some delectable illustrations. I made a very careful check and double-check of the table of contents. Snow lions are not listed.

Ergo, they are not imaginary.

Ergo, they are real.

And the world is significantly awesomer for it.

Sightings In The Wild

On the train home, sitting in the priority seat by the door, headphones and Imogen Heap on, notebook open, pen vomiting thoughts, I pause a moment, look up and-

ENTER STAGE LEFT: a ginger nut in a grey and red striped top reading the latest issue of Weird Tales.

-total brain freeze.

Do I;

1. Blurt enthusiasm and approval of his choice in reading matter at him?
2. Tell him I'm an editorial assistant and I'm incoherent at the sight of seeing a total stranger reading it in public?

Perhaps this doesn't happen so much in the magazine's home land, but here, I'm the only person who seems to have copies of the dear old rag. I just assume that...well, I just assume.

Oh. OH.

Is that;

1. ...one of the issues I gave away on this here blog?

So then;

1. Does this total stranger recognise me?

Wait. Wait. Hang on. One local I gave copies to indicated he was going to pass them on to others, being an excellent little literary infector cell.

So then;

1. This total stranger could know me from this blog.
2. This total stranger could have no idea of my existence and the source of his reading material.
3. This total stranger could actually have a subscription to the magazine.

So then;

1. WTF do I do?

I could practically hear the adrenaline chutes clang as they opened.

If he knows me, then, to be honest, this is a situation I dread most as the consequence of having a blog. People I don't know who know me, or have the impression of knowing me, or certainly know more about me than has been earned in mutual interaction. Initiating a conversation with a stranger is already a massive leap off a cliff for me. Initiating it with someone who is less stranger than stranger;

1. He might not know me, and then I'd look like a twat.
2. I could simply not question where his acquired the magazine, and just compliment his tastes.
3. Is blurting out "I'm an editorial assistant!" kinda, you know, pretentious wankery oh look at me lah-di-dah pat my head and be impressed?
   

But then what if I did that and he did know me?

Hang on;

1. In every single photo of myself that I post on this blog I look like a bloody muppet,
2. I am in respectable office clothes right now and not pulling faces.
3. Unless my thinking face is funny.
4. It could be.
5. Oshi-
   

Stop. Tessa, you are dehydrated, having a blood sugar crash, and still quite wobbly from this random bout of unwellness. Look at the closed-logic rampage your thoughts are careening around in. You are going to;

1. Keep your mouth shut. You can't even think coherently, let alone form words. No matter what the actual situation is, you are going to make an arse out of yourself.
2. Also, you just left a group because you're an introvert in sore need of some alone time. You can't do social right now.
3. Plus, you're stupid. Remember? You got up this morning. That was a stupid thing to do. Don't bring any more stupid upon yourself. Don't inflict it on other people either.

Head down. Write some more. Keep an eye on the stations passing. Cap pen, close notebook, stand-

EXIT TRAIN DOORS: a ginger nut in a grey and red striped top reading the latest issue of Weird Tales.

-total brain freeze.

The fact that I didn't have far to go was going to be my polite and fast escape if the conversation was a mistake.

The fact that he got off at my stop effectively nutted my Plan B.

...Awkward.

The Moral Of The Story:

1. Hello ginger nut in the red and grey striped top. If you are in fact a reader, dude, you get so many kudos for reading Weird Tales.
   
2. Sorry for not saying hi.
   
3. And yeah, I really am a neurotic anti-social misanthropic introverted cranky hermit crab.
   

Blow, blow damn you!

• Halo: Evolutions has been spied out in the wild of Australia. By me. I stared at it a bit, checked that yes, the behemoth Story of Doom was still in there and it wasn't some fabrication of my ever treacherous subconscious, and tried to work up some sense of...accomplishment? Satisfaction? True is, it doesn't feel real. The publishing end of this whole writer gig may never feel real. Jeff is probably some spectral figment I conjured up just to flesh out the delusion.
• Speaking of Mr VanderMeer, his novel Finch has made the Nebula Awards Final Ballot. Not bad for a figment.
• Speaking of VanderMeers in general, Amazingly Awesome Audacious Ann has been promoted to Editor In Chief at Weird Tales. Far too brilliant to be a figment, I have to say.
• Speaking of brilliance and weird and stories, the exceedingly eloquent Madame Bishop has a story currently online at Subterranean; The Heart of a Mouse. She's a writer who teases her readers, putting out a story here, a story there, and making us wait so. And it is always worth the wait.
• Speaking of putting out stories, I am not. I realised that once the other leviathan is released in April, I will have nothing 'forthcoming'. I feel I should bash something short into shape to release into the wild, but, I am not so flexible. I cannot work on more than one thing at a time, and my novel, poor old potato.
• Speaking of potatoes, I was snapshotted. Because this blog is not soap box enough.
• Speaking of enough-
  

See these other horns? Lo! I blow them.

I have 2 copies of Weird Tales #353, 8 copies of Weird Tales #354, 3 copies the Murder By Death soundtrack to Finch, and 3 copies of The Church's soundtrack to Shriek.

#353 is pretty damn awesome, with special mentions going to Jeff Johnson's The Garbacologist (I love the bunnies), Caleb Wilson's Court Scranto (what was chilling was, for a long while, I forgot it was 'speculative'), and Hunter Eden's Selected Views of Mt. Fuji, With Dinosaurs (which is exactly what it says it is).

#354 is, hey, pretty damn awesome as well. Which you'd expect, really, since this is Weird Fucking Tales, dammit. Favourites were Richard Howard's Ambient Morgue Music (which you can read free on that link, and I encourage you to do so, 'cause you need some disquiet to unsettle you, sitting comfortably at your desk), The Men In That Water by Zdravka Evtimova, and one I'm particularly fond of, Kevin Veale's Twisted, which is pegged on the cover as "the greatest zombie story you'll read this year" and it totally is. Think "gonzo".

The two soundtracks are as different as the bands responsible for them, and each suits their book-genesis marvelously. I'm quite in love with the Murder By Death album. Aside from being luscious on the ears, it's also a surprise little object of beauty.

All these delectable items of art are available for the devouring. Leave a comment or email me, strictly first come first served. And, er, I must admit I'm broke right now, so if you're inclined to pay for postage, that'd be much appreciated. NOW, TAKE. THIS AWESOME SHOULD NOT BE WASTED SITTING ON MY DESK.

The devilish and debonair Jesse Bullington did not have his book, The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart, available at WFC. This shat me to no end. "Nevermind," I said, "Orbit UK are usually pretty good about distributing to Australia, and Borders tends to carry US releases anyway, fie on them." O RLY? NO. NOT REALLY. So. Fine. Whatever. No, really. FINE.

All you kids in the US and UK who enjoy vulgarity and the like (come on, it has the word 'gross' in the title) have no excuse to not read this book. Go do so, so I may despise you as is proper.

Playing bad cop to Jesse's bad cop, I also met Molly Tanzer at WFC, who is every bit as kickass (there was far too much kickass at that convention, I have to say). She just took up the mantle of assistant editor at Fantasy Magazine. Booyah!

Where the first thing she wrestled into submission was Reading By Numbers by Aidan Doyle, who I've become acquainted with via internets/Jeff, and dude, when I saw this I did not think "it's a small world." No, I thought, "holy shit, the incest cannot be avoided in writerly circles!"

(Nasty story, by the way, naaaaasty.)

Mighty Deb is having a mighty give away, with 4 copies of Shadow Queen available. 2 copies for Aust & NZ, and 2 copies for everyone else. You who fall in the 'everyone else' catagory should definitely jump on the opportunity. I reread it while Not Typing, and damn, DAMN. WHERE IS BOOK TWO!?

She also linked two an incredible set of short essays by Justine Musk, the collection aptly titled why you need to write like a bad girl, part one:

She says, “I became my own rebellion.”

I would turn this phrase over in my mind, thinking that it sounded good, but what did it mean, exactly? Why did it appeal to me so much, and seem necessary to anyone who wanted to be an artist (or entrepreneur or hacker or any other thing that demands stepping off the beaten path)?

Probably because of this: the statement is rooted in such spirit and defiance. It’s not just a challenge to the conventional ways of living, the accepted wisdom, the status quo, the established Establishment, etcetera…but a challenge to the self.

And part two:

The double standard for selfishness still amazes me. The same culture that celebrates Ayn Rand’s “virtues of selfishness” will turn around and call women selfish and not exactly mean it as a compliment. Call a man ’selfish’ and he’ll shrug his shoulders; call a woman ’selfish’ and she’ll feel so shamed and cut to the core she’ll twist herself inside out to prove otherwise.

And to be a writer, or any artist, is to be inherently selfish. You must claim time for yourself, away from family and friends and jobs and so-called productive activity. You must claim that your art is important because it is important to you. You must make it a priority even though years will pass before you achieve anything that other people might recognize as ’success’, assuming you achieve it at all.

I have hollared "FUCK YES!" at Deb for drawing my attention to those posts, and could quite happily do the same to Madame Musk. I shouted it at the window when I finished reading it the first time, and I've read it a few more times since. It is true, and having it so cuttingly articulated felt like being delivered vindication I didn't know I was looking for.

It was easier not being able to type. It was mass-silence. There was nothing for me to do, so I did nothing. Now that I am allowed some highly restricted typing, I find myself twisting myself inside-out, to borrow the phrase. There are so many emails sitting in my inbox, all of them excellent little missives I want to feed, but-

But I have to choose. If I write to you, then I will not be writing my novel, my blog, my anything else.

That choice is eating me up, because yes, I feel selfish for letting these conversations lie stagnant, and I feel I'm letting people down, or slighting them, by failing to respond in a timely manner. I don't see that stopping.

But I choose this. I choose to be selfish.

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;

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;

1. Collaborated on a story.
2. Written in a shared franchise world.
3. Gone from conception to final draft in one (1) month.

Things I just did;

1. 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.

Presents!Dénouement

You three are hilarious, heh. Best competition evah? Goodness yes. Sunken Russian nuclear submarines make the world a fabulous place to live in.

After much deliberating, the Committee of Me, Myself and I have reached a decision, and in this particular battle we name Aanimal as victor. The squid, shrimp and whales were excellent plans, but using the TSA to open the safe is a stroke of pure raw genius. It still makes me guffaw.

Aanimal, a postal address if you please!

But, such valiant and BLOODY OARSUM efforts should not go unrewarded. Mr Miller, Mr Moles, I do have in my possession copies of the previous issue of Weird Tales. If you wish it, give me a postal address and they're totally and utterly yours.

Now, you three need to go into business together, 'cause I see great potential for 'problem solving' here, and when your powers combine you are CAPTAIN PLANET you could rock the kazbah six ways from sunday. Would you like a project to start you off?



As found on the other 95%, this octopus uses both camouflage and imitation, which makes it a SEA NINJA. I'd like to order an army of these such beasties.

In red. I like red. Ooh, and purple. Yeah.

(Do you take credit?)

NINETEEN SECONDS TO COMPLY

I've decided to grow a beard.



Here is photographic evidence of my progress. This is one day of growth. I'm new at this, so I still have a lot to learn about growing beards. It may take a while before I get the hang of it. Hopefully I will get better at growing beards faster.

Also, there are now cyborg whales involved in the battle for the copy of WEIRD TALES locked in a sunken russian nuclear submarine. And appropriate defenses cropping up against them. You have 20 hours to take out the trained squid, haxxors, and cyborg whales and make a copy of this Most Fucking OARSUM magazine yours.

Weird Tales & Hugo are most definitely sitting in a tree...

For the first time evah Weird Tales has been nominated for a Hugo! GO TEAM!

Now all that's left is for the people who can vote to go ahead and vote. Vote! If you don't agree with who wins and haven't voted, then you lose all rights to whinge about it. Can you imagine a worse fate? No, you can't. So vote! Vote for what you love and what you care about. And if you don't care or love, well your heart is a dessicated flea, you can vote on my behalf instead. Weird Tales all the way, baby.

I'm half way through the current issue, and am loving it. It's a very, very strong issue, immensely delicious. Stories I've read appear in it, so for the first time, I feel like I've almost earned having my name in the staff section. It'll also give you an idea of what timescale the publishing industry moves to, as I read these stories over a year ago.

I have one (1) copy spare. Just one. So, if this fine example of printed reading material was in a safe stored on a Russian nuclear submarine which has been sunk and is lying, airtight, at the bottom of the ocean, how would you go about securing possession it? Go on, grave robbers and treasure hunters and crazy people, get inventive! Bonus points for taking out your competitors. Shall pick a winner in a week.

Weird Tales & Hugo, sitting in a tree...

Currently at the parental unit, watching Dad prepare a roast. It's a tad warm for roast, it'll heat the house up unpleasantly, but these are the sacrifices one must make when there's a hunk of dead animal to be had.

Taking a moment to draw your attention to this tidy little list of STUFF that Weird Tales has produced in the last year and is eligible for the current round of Hugo nominations.

Best Editor, Short Form: Ann VanderMeer

Best Semiprozine: Weird Tales, edited by Ann VanderMeer and Stephen H. Segal

Best Novella: “Black Petals,” by Michael Moorcock

Best Novelette: “Renovations,” by Matthew Pridham

Best Short Story:

• “The House of Idiot Children,” by W.H. Pugmire & M.K. Snyder
• “Landscape, With Fish,” by Karen Heuler
• “Events at Fort Plentitude,” by Cat Rambo
• “The Stone & Bone Boy,” by Calvin Mills
• “The Heart of Ice,” by Tanith Lee
• “Creature,” by Ramsey Shehadeh
• “The Yellow Dressing Gown,” by Sarah Monette
• “The Talion Moth,” by John Kirk
• “Detours on the Way to Nothing,” by Rachel Swirsky
• “All In,” by Peter Atwood
• “How I Got Here,” by Ramsey Shehadeh
• “Belair Plaza,” by Adam Corbin Fusco
• “An Invitation Via Email,” by Mike Allen
• “Mainevermontnewhampshiremass,” by Nick Mamatas
• “The Stone-Hearted Queen,” by Kelly Barnhill
• “Ganaranok,” by Rory Steves
• “The Difficulties of Evolution,” by Karen Heuler
• “Right You Are If You Say You Are,” by Norman Spinrad
• “First Photograph,” by Zoran Živković
• “The Gong,” by Sara Genge
• “The Dream of the Blue Man,” by Nir Yaniv
• “The Wordeaters,” by Rochita Loenen-Ruiz
• “Out of Sacred Water,” by Juraj Červenák
• “Time and the Orpheus,” by chiles samaniego
• “BleakWarrior Meets the Sons of Brawl,” by Alistair Rennie
• “How to Play With Dolls,” by Matthew Cheney
• “Far & Wee,” by Kathe Koja
• “The Last Great Clown Hunt,” by Chris Furst
• “A Lake of Spaces,” by Tim Pratt
• “Catastrophe,” by Felix Gilman
• “The Matching Pair,” by Mark Budman
• “Ms Ito’s Bird,” by Chris Ward
• “Wendigo,” by Michaela Morrissette
• “Purr,” by Michael Bishop
• “My True Lovecraft Gave to Me,” by Eric Lis
• “The Man With the Myriad Scars,” by Ben Thomas

I've been sitting here for some time, trying to pick favourites, and I'm failing. Reading over the list is one long string of "oh yeah, that was good, oh and that! yeah! and-" etc etc etc. And not being at home, I can't flip through the magazines to reacquaint myself with any of the stories. Any recommendations I make, then, are based on those that made enough of an impression to linger in memory.

AUGH. THIS IS HARD.

Okay, here we go.

"The Stone & Bone Boy" by Calvin Mills, "Creature" by Ramsey Shehadeh, and "BleakWarrior Meets the Sons of Brawl" by Alistair Rennie, if you were to put pliers to my toes and force me to choose on pain of toenail extraction.

I haven't read the latest issue, so can't comment on those stories unfortunately. EXCEPT, "Ms Ito's Bird" by Chris Ward. That was, I think, the second story I was asked to read. HOLY CRAP. PROOF OF INTERFERENCE. Any anomaly in quality from here on in is pure coincidence.

What I'd like to draw particular attention to is the novelette "Renovations" by Matthew Pridham.

This has nothing to do with Hugo nominations. That link is to an online version, free to read. READ IT. It is incredible. Ironically, I read it when my apartment was open for inspection, with people tromping in and out and the real estate agent doing what sounded like a lousy job of selling the place. In that story I realised that this tiny grasshopper was now minorly involved in the mechanics of the magazine, a magazine that finds and publishes brilliant, challenging stuff, and I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy, and damn proud.

I've read another of Pridham's stories, and it was even more gob-smackingly excellent. Keep an eye out for him. (On the off chance Pridham reads this, WRITE FASTER DAMMIT need moar nao.) Read "Renovations" and if you can vote, do vote! And if you can't vote, read it anyway!

Apparently the semi-pro zine category isn't going to live much longer, so if you love on Weird Tales as much as I do and are attending, please make an effort to nominate and vote.

I just noticed my name is now listed among the staff. I hereby give up being coy about my last name. For the record, there is not one original joke you can make with it.

Finally, nominate Ann. For an idea of all the amazing stuff she's edited recently, peek here. It feels redundant, stating how awesome she is, as the magnitude of her awesomimity goes without saying. Sometimes the things that go without saying get forgotten among the things that need saying, so I shall take this opportunity to remind you. Editors are the ones finding and bringing you the stories you love. Now is your chance to recognise and respect, yo.

Damn, that hunk of dead animal smells great. Think I'm going to loiter in the kitchen and get in the way now. Excuse me.

Free issue of Weird Tales

While I remember, for a limited time you can download the last issue of Weird Tales as PDF for free. It will set you back 13MB bandwidth and a couple of hours of your life to read it, which is a pretty good deal if you ask me.

Not as good as the real dead-tree object, though, I love the way the magazine is floppy, and falls open on the desk without a fight so I need not touch it to read it, and my fingers are always too dry and I have trouble gripping and turning the pages.

But you're not downloading it for floppiness. You're downloading it for stories.

Presents!Dénouement

1. Selena - because she's gone and moved herself to some sort of horrible alternate dimension where there are no books. What's up with that?
2. Arthur Miller - as the goldfish ties in neatly with Evolution, in a far-reaching sort of way. Best of luck to the goldfish.
3. Gillian - she's threatening to send me an old toothbrush, and of all the things I'd like to receive in the mail, old toothbrushes aren't in my top 10. Or top 100. Or top anything. Ew.
4. And finally, Charles Tan, who, in a moment of acute insight, cottoned on to the fact that yes, I am the sort of person to get excited about posting mail to the Philippines. Whee!

YOU HAVE WINNAR! Please send me a postal address (email link on the right there), and I'll your copy of Weird Tales in the mail. Apologies to Chris, Matt and ~. I've learned my lesson; next time I'll just do first come, first serve.

Presents!

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?


Aside from a really bad photo, that's the current issue of Weird Tales. I just finished eating it, partial to All In by Peter Atwood, How I Got Here by Ramsey Shehadeh, and Evolution by Karen Heuler. Nom nom nom.

Ann, being a rocking sort of person, sent me spare copies. I have four to give away, so leave a comment and I'll send you one. I'd say first come first served, but if you're feeling particularly creative and come up with a compelling reason as to why you should get a copy, then I have no choice but to be compelled to give you one. You know what I'm after, blatant lies and blackmail attempts. Amuse me!

ETA: I'm going to leave this up for a couple more days before, er, probably pulling names out of a hat, 'cause you guys are too funny. I'm not afraid of paying international postage either.

YOU HAVE WRITAAAR

I am an Editorial Assistant for Weird Tales.

No, really.

See, how it works is, well, just imagine that the slush pile is the fridge, right? Ann, being Fiction Editor and thus Head Chef, is rummaging through the fridge looking for amazing food. I am in the kitchen because, I dunno, I'm picking my nose or stealing biscuits or something. Every now and then, Ann pulls out something like milk, sniffs it, turns to me and asks, "does this seem alright to you?"

If sniffing the milk kills me, then Ann does not use it.

If I read your story, it means Ann, that most cunning and savy and sly editor, is undecided on the merit of your story. What that really means is that You Are Doing It Wrong. In order to avoid such a fate and thus keep your story as far from me as possible, WRITE OARSUM.

And if you don't believe me, my name is in the last two issues. It's okay to check. To be honest, I didn't really believe it till I saw it myself. I'm chuffed and more than a little humbled to be involved. Many, many thanks to Ann.



Issue #34 of Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine is currently available for download as PDF for $4.95AUD. The last story in it is mine, precious, mine! Bitter Elsie Mae is a story of a ship gone bad, as only ships can. It was spawned in week 3 of Clarion South 2005 and Ellen Datlow did not die upon reading it. This publication meets my very low standards of what is required in order to call myself a writer. Even if I am not, in fact, writing.

Also, Daikaiju 3, which contains my giant crab story (actually titled One Night On Tidal Rig #13), is now available in hardcover. So even if I am never ever published again, I can still say I've been published in hardcover.

IS THERE ANYTHING LEFT TO ACHIEVE IN LIFE?