I've been doing way more reading than writing lately (except at the day job). I'm hoping to finish a rewrite this weekend on one story and work on another short I started a month ago. Tomorrow morning I'm going to a presentation on giving presentations with digital projectors. A friend of mine is giving it and maybe he can tell me what to do when the venue's outlet is wonky and your laptop battery is dying in the middle of your presentation.
Today, was a very sad day for me. My dear friend and number one fan passed away on Monday. The funeral was today. She was such a loving woman that knew how to speak her mind. I'm going to really miss her. She was almost 92 and was leading the conga line at her great-granddaughter's wedding not too long ago.
In SF news:
Pantechnicon has had to fold. They were attacked by a virus and the site could not be restored. (I erroneously had Abandoned Towers listed here but that one is alive and well - my bad.) I'd like to play the grief AND sinus headache card on this one. Horrible blunder. That's how rumors start!
I don't know that it will take its place, but I do like balance... I got an email from the editor of a new PDF H/F/SF magazine. It's called Strange, Weird and Wonderful.
Big kudos to Ellen Asher and Jane Yolen on their World Fantasy lifetime achievement awards.
Here's a youtube video mashup you might enjoy on SyFy Wire: Watch the History of SF Visual Effects in 5 Minutes.
Apparently (How do these things happen?), I'm on the publicity committee for WorldCon 2011 in Reno, aka RENOvation. I'll be helping to spread the word and manning tables and parties at local cons.
Here's one last reminder about the Tachyon party in SF this weekend:
Come celebrate!!
-- Tachyon Publications --
A San Francisco-based independent press
publishing quality
science fiction & fantasy
"Saving the world...one good book at a time!"
Sponsor of SF in SF
___________________________________________________________
.
Sunday, August 30th
2 PM - 6 PM
Borderlands Books
www.borderlands-books.com
866 Valencia Street (at 20th St.)
San Francisco, CA 94110
415.824.8203
_________________________________________________________________________
.
Featuring the Emperor Norton awards, a star-studded tribute to the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction's 60th Anniversary (with a special giveaway gift for the first 50 guests!), food and drink, and lots of very special guests,
like authors Peter S. Beagle & Richard A. Lupoff!
vote it up!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Story sale, and SF and FB fun
I just heard from Every Day Fiction that they want "Grey Drive." I don't have a publication date yet, but you can bet I'll blab it around as soon as I hear. It's a SF flash piece that explores the next thing in media storage. Shout out if you know the answer. ;)
I posed a question on my Facebook wall about profile page vs. fan page. I received some great feedback. I'm not really keen on the idea of getting a fan page. But, on the other hand, my personal friends may thank me. I got the FB account because of my writing. Most of my wall posts have to do with writing. But I'm not going to turn away friends and family. I just don't like the one-way nature of the fan page.
Then imagine my surprise when my google alert for Ann Wilkes this evening takes me to an Ann Wilkes fan page, with my information, that I didn't create. Am I losing it or did FB create it when I created the July event that it lists?
Why do I have an Ann Wilkes google alert? Well, sometimes that's how I find reviews of Awesome Lavratt and other press. And once I even caught a pirate: One of my stories appeared on an ezine without my knowledge or permission. For writers, it's a must. It's not vain, it's sane. >groan<
I finished The Unincorporated Man. My first impression? Deliciously disturbing. My interview with the Kollin brothers and the review over at Mostly Fiction will be available in September.
Meantime, Dani (Kollin) sent me this link to a comic strip about it at Unshelved.
Now I'm reading Japanese SF (in English): The Lord of the Sands of Time by Issui Ogawa.
For any SF fans so inclined, Atomic Tarantula has some interesting T's that only other SF fans will "get". And they're having a two-for sale.
Tachyon is having an anniversary party at Borderlands Books in San Francisco this Sunday, August 30, 2-6 PM.
Tachyon Publications' 14th Anniversary Party!!
14 YEARS OF SAVING THE WORLD, ONE GOOD BOOK AT A TIME!
Please join us for the annual Tachyon Publications Anniversary Party!
The Emperor Norton awards, a special Tachyon giveaway, food, refreshments, and lots of special guests!
vote it up!
I posed a question on my Facebook wall about profile page vs. fan page. I received some great feedback. I'm not really keen on the idea of getting a fan page. But, on the other hand, my personal friends may thank me. I got the FB account because of my writing. Most of my wall posts have to do with writing. But I'm not going to turn away friends and family. I just don't like the one-way nature of the fan page.
Then imagine my surprise when my google alert for Ann Wilkes this evening takes me to an Ann Wilkes fan page, with my information, that I didn't create. Am I losing it or did FB create it when I created the July event that it lists?
Why do I have an Ann Wilkes google alert? Well, sometimes that's how I find reviews of Awesome Lavratt and other press. And once I even caught a pirate: One of my stories appeared on an ezine without my knowledge or permission. For writers, it's a must. It's not vain, it's sane. >groan<
I finished The Unincorporated Man. My first impression? Deliciously disturbing. My interview with the Kollin brothers and the review over at Mostly Fiction will be available in September.
Meantime, Dani (Kollin) sent me this link to a comic strip about it at Unshelved.
Now I'm reading Japanese SF (in English): The Lord of the Sands of Time by Issui Ogawa.
For any SF fans so inclined, Atomic Tarantula has some interesting T's that only other SF fans will "get". And they're having a two-for sale.
Tachyon is having an anniversary party at Borderlands Books in San Francisco this Sunday, August 30, 2-6 PM.
Tachyon Publications' 14th Anniversary Party!!
14 YEARS OF SAVING THE WORLD, ONE GOOD BOOK AT A TIME!
Please join us for the annual Tachyon Publications Anniversary Party!
The Emperor Norton awards, a special Tachyon giveaway, food, refreshments, and lots of special guests!
vote it up!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Finally Friday, but good things comin'
Finally Friday. It's been a crazy week and I took the whole week off from writing (aside from the day job as a trade journal staff writer). The weekend will be devoted to a rewrite of a flash piece requested by an ezine and finishing another SF story I've been working on. In between I'll be dealing with online forms, Quicken and other assorted tasks I'll have to do on the Mac in the hot office upstairs unless I can figure out how to get my Apple Airport working again after replacing the modem.
Saw Ingrid Michaelson perform at Latitude last Friday. What a talent! And excellent stage presence! She's really funny. And she plays the ukulele. Is that great or what?
So, have I had my head in the sand? Did everybody know about this but me? Well, maybe left coast folks are just now finding it? I found it on LinkedIn. Oh, I suppose you want to know what "it" is. Isn't it annoying how I do that? I like suspense. There's a SF TV talk show that airs in DC but is available online. It's called Fast Forward: Comtemporary Science Fiction.
I have some more great interviews coming up. I just added Jasper Fforde to the line up. :) And Michael Hanlon, science editor for the Daily Mail and author of Eternity: Our Next Billion Years.
And I have some ladies coming up: Juliette Wade, Jennifer Brozek and Cat Rambo.
Because I "see" my novels...because I vomit dialog...because I dream like I'm in a movie...because I've been meaning to write some screenplays...I'm soooo considering going to the Northern California Screenwriter's Expo and Pitchfest. I have a time share next door to the venue in Napa. Very, very tempting. See my smiling profile face to the right? That was on vacation there. See how happy I'd be? I just found out about it this week, from a social networking site, I think. Like I keep saying - social networking pays off.
vote it up!
Saw Ingrid Michaelson perform at Latitude last Friday. What a talent! And excellent stage presence! She's really funny. And she plays the ukulele. Is that great or what?
So, have I had my head in the sand? Did everybody know about this but me? Well, maybe left coast folks are just now finding it? I found it on LinkedIn. Oh, I suppose you want to know what "it" is. Isn't it annoying how I do that? I like suspense. There's a SF TV talk show that airs in DC but is available online. It's called Fast Forward: Comtemporary Science Fiction.
I have some more great interviews coming up. I just added Jasper Fforde to the line up. :) And Michael Hanlon, science editor for the Daily Mail and author of Eternity: Our Next Billion Years.
And I have some ladies coming up: Juliette Wade, Jennifer Brozek and Cat Rambo.
Because I "see" my novels...because I vomit dialog...because I dream like I'm in a movie...because I've been meaning to write some screenplays...I'm soooo considering going to the Northern California Screenwriter's Expo and Pitchfest. I have a time share next door to the venue in Napa. Very, very tempting. See my smiling profile face to the right? That was on vacation there. See how happy I'd be? I just found out about it this week, from a social networking site, I think. Like I keep saying - social networking pays off.
vote it up!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Flash Fiction contest winning entry - Absorbed by Nicole Krueger
Congratulations once again to Nicole for winning my Attack of the REAL blob flash fiction contest. Here's her winning story.
Absorbed
by Nicole Krueger
Tina squats on an overturned bucket, head between her legs, trying to breathe without vomiting. The bobbing of the charter fishing boat makes her stomach heave, but she’s determined to hold on to her breakfast. Damned if she’s going to be Absorbed with the reek of puke still in her mouth.
At the front of the boat, a man in brown druidic robes intones to the dozen or so people around him: “…the One, the Collective. Once we are integrated into the Akashic stream, once we return to the primordial mud from whence we crawled, we shall know and see all that is, has been and ever will be…”
Tina—no, not Tina, she reminds herself; here, she is Sage Willowdusk, a name she chose carefully but cannot seem to apply to herself internally, feeling absurdly self-conscious whenever she uses it out loud—Sage tries to listen to his words, his words of significance, the last words she will ever hear, but the buzzing in her ears and the motor of the charter boat make his voice sound like a radio broadcast on a fuzzy AM station. This is her chance to prepare herself, to bring her energy into harmony, and all she can manage is to not stain her Jack Purcells.
The robed speaker, Panther Blackthorn, raises his arms and bows his head, leading the passengers in meditation. He’s a short, square man, with tightly trimmed brown hair, quarter-size spectacles, and a beard that tangles down to his chest. Sage met him at a drumming circle back when she was still Tina, back when she would bite down on her pillow every night with wet tears on her face, back when she was searching for something to make the evenings shorter and less devastating. He was kind and looked into her eyes as though he saw a specialness in her, and when the circle ended he wordlessly handed her a business card. It took an entire week to muster the courage to call.
Discovering these people… it had been her something.
Then a dark, globby mass was spotted in the Arctic, its miles and miles of hairy goo mystifying the scientists who rushed out with their test kits. Panther had been the only one to recognize it for what it was. He knew right away, just like he always knew things, like he knew Sage was having doubts that night he'd taken her aside after group and spoken to her gently about her tendency to give up.
One by one the passengers emerge from their trance and begin milling about, their eyes silently connecting and sliding away. From this point on, they will approach their destiny without speaking; Panther calls speech a trapping of the physical world that obscures more than it expresses. A freckled girl with curly red hair and unshaven legs lays a hand on Sage's shoulder, her eyes radiating love and excitement. Willowmoon has always been particularly nice to her, and Sage thinks if only they'd had more time, they might have developed a real friendship. She's tried to express this once, but Willow merely gave her a painfully earnest look.
"Ohhh, but once we're Absorbed, we'll be one with each other, and everyone else. It'll be better than friendship."
Sage nodded then.
"Oh yes. Of course. So much better."
Now she musters a weak smile for the woman she would have liked to share a movie and a bottle of wine with. She stands, and her legs quail, but she remains on her feet and even manages a few steps. The people around her, people with whom she's spent countless evenings, seem like strangers in this Alaskan dusk. A woman with long blond braids clasps white-knuckled hands over her abdomen, her face blank. A skinny man, with a beaked nose and shiny pink skin, wears a faint smile. A black-haired girl with a lip ring and a furrowed brow stares at her boots, refusing to meet anyone's eye. They are alone, all of them, wandering the deck like ghosts, as if they have already checked out.
The fishing boat chugs to a stop and its motor cuts out, leaving behind the silence of lapping water. Sage lines up with the others to stare over the side. And there it is, just below the surface: a giant clot that roils and oozes with the waves, stretching out as far as she can see.
The sight makes her shiver, makes the back of her neck crawl.
It's the energy of it, the life force. We are in a place of power.
It is time. They strip out of their clothes, not bothering to fold anything. Each member has a bucket, overturned near the edge of the boat. They mount these now, Panther in the center, and clasp hands. Sage barely has time to think, This is happening, to draw one last breath, and they're going over, they're falling, they're plunging into the frigid water, right into the center of that black mass.
Then everything is churning, and she tries not to struggle, but she can sense them now, their panic and terror. She thrashes uncontrollably. Her head breaks the surface, and she feels the ooze surrounding her, pressing against her skin. The sacred primordial mud gropes at her with the insistence of a seventeen-year-old boy.
When the thing begins digesting her legs, she can no longer hold it in. Tina spews up her breakfast into the icy Arctic. And after the sea regains its calm, the waves settling back into their placid rhythm, it continues to float there, undisturbed, while the sunset paints the water red.
Nicole Krueger is a book publicist, freelance writer and former newspaper reporter. She writes fiction, poetry and a book blog in her spare time. Her compulsion to write is constantly at war with her desire to bury her nose in a book.
vote it up!
Absorbed
by Nicole Krueger
Tina squats on an overturned bucket, head between her legs, trying to breathe without vomiting. The bobbing of the charter fishing boat makes her stomach heave, but she’s determined to hold on to her breakfast. Damned if she’s going to be Absorbed with the reek of puke still in her mouth.
At the front of the boat, a man in brown druidic robes intones to the dozen or so people around him: “…the One, the Collective. Once we are integrated into the Akashic stream, once we return to the primordial mud from whence we crawled, we shall know and see all that is, has been and ever will be…”
Tina—no, not Tina, she reminds herself; here, she is Sage Willowdusk, a name she chose carefully but cannot seem to apply to herself internally, feeling absurdly self-conscious whenever she uses it out loud—Sage tries to listen to his words, his words of significance, the last words she will ever hear, but the buzzing in her ears and the motor of the charter boat make his voice sound like a radio broadcast on a fuzzy AM station. This is her chance to prepare herself, to bring her energy into harmony, and all she can manage is to not stain her Jack Purcells.
The robed speaker, Panther Blackthorn, raises his arms and bows his head, leading the passengers in meditation. He’s a short, square man, with tightly trimmed brown hair, quarter-size spectacles, and a beard that tangles down to his chest. Sage met him at a drumming circle back when she was still Tina, back when she would bite down on her pillow every night with wet tears on her face, back when she was searching for something to make the evenings shorter and less devastating. He was kind and looked into her eyes as though he saw a specialness in her, and when the circle ended he wordlessly handed her a business card. It took an entire week to muster the courage to call.
Discovering these people… it had been her something.
Then a dark, globby mass was spotted in the Arctic, its miles and miles of hairy goo mystifying the scientists who rushed out with their test kits. Panther had been the only one to recognize it for what it was. He knew right away, just like he always knew things, like he knew Sage was having doubts that night he'd taken her aside after group and spoken to her gently about her tendency to give up.
One by one the passengers emerge from their trance and begin milling about, their eyes silently connecting and sliding away. From this point on, they will approach their destiny without speaking; Panther calls speech a trapping of the physical world that obscures more than it expresses. A freckled girl with curly red hair and unshaven legs lays a hand on Sage's shoulder, her eyes radiating love and excitement. Willowmoon has always been particularly nice to her, and Sage thinks if only they'd had more time, they might have developed a real friendship. She's tried to express this once, but Willow merely gave her a painfully earnest look.
"Ohhh, but once we're Absorbed, we'll be one with each other, and everyone else. It'll be better than friendship."
Sage nodded then.
"Oh yes. Of course. So much better."
Now she musters a weak smile for the woman she would have liked to share a movie and a bottle of wine with. She stands, and her legs quail, but she remains on her feet and even manages a few steps. The people around her, people with whom she's spent countless evenings, seem like strangers in this Alaskan dusk. A woman with long blond braids clasps white-knuckled hands over her abdomen, her face blank. A skinny man, with a beaked nose and shiny pink skin, wears a faint smile. A black-haired girl with a lip ring and a furrowed brow stares at her boots, refusing to meet anyone's eye. They are alone, all of them, wandering the deck like ghosts, as if they have already checked out.
The fishing boat chugs to a stop and its motor cuts out, leaving behind the silence of lapping water. Sage lines up with the others to stare over the side. And there it is, just below the surface: a giant clot that roils and oozes with the waves, stretching out as far as she can see.
The sight makes her shiver, makes the back of her neck crawl.
It's the energy of it, the life force. We are in a place of power.
It is time. They strip out of their clothes, not bothering to fold anything. Each member has a bucket, overturned near the edge of the boat. They mount these now, Panther in the center, and clasp hands. Sage barely has time to think, This is happening, to draw one last breath, and they're going over, they're falling, they're plunging into the frigid water, right into the center of that black mass.
Then everything is churning, and she tries not to struggle, but she can sense them now, their panic and terror. She thrashes uncontrollably. Her head breaks the surface, and she feels the ooze surrounding her, pressing against her skin. The sacred primordial mud gropes at her with the insistence of a seventeen-year-old boy.
When the thing begins digesting her legs, she can no longer hold it in. Tina spews up her breakfast into the icy Arctic. And after the sea regains its calm, the waves settling back into their placid rhythm, it continues to float there, undisturbed, while the sunset paints the water red.
Nicole Krueger is a book publicist, freelance writer and former newspaper reporter. She writes fiction, poetry and a book blog in her spare time. Her compulsion to write is constantly at war with her desire to bury her nose in a book.
vote it up!
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Attack of the REAL blob flash fiction contest winner
Wow! This was hard. Good thing I don't do this for a living. I so enjoyed all the wonderful stories people sent in. And my apologies for being a day late with the announcement.
We need a drum roll here...
Oh, first a refresher for those who don't know what the heck I'm talking about. On July 17th I ran a little flash (under 1K words) fiction contest in answer to the news item in the Anchorage Daily News concerning an actual blob off the shore of Alaska. Scientists have since discovered it's algae after all, but we had fun speculating - spec-fic style.
The news story had the following information on the blob:
1) It's not an oil slick
2) It's organic
3) It's gunky
3) It has hair-like strands
4) It's 12-15 miles long
5) No one has ever seen anything like it
The decision was tough. But, as in The Highlander, there can be only one...
Congratulations to Nicole Krueger for her story, "Absorbed."
The story will appear right here on Tuesday and she'll be receiving a signed copy of Awesome Lavratt by yours truly. Great job, Nicole! Excellent character development in so short a piece.
Because this was such a tough call, I want to name two honorable mentions:
Emily Bush for "Excuse Me, Waiter, There's a Space Elevator in my Primordial Soup" and Bob Myers for his untitled entry.
You can still read Bob's if you're a member of the Science Fiction Readers, Writers, and Collectors group on LinkedIn. He posted it there. I do also appreciate the sense of humor in these two stories that came close to taking the prize. Join the LI group and read Bob's. I'm sure Emilie's will still find a home somewhere where you can read it, too.
vote it up!
We need a drum roll here...
Oh, first a refresher for those who don't know what the heck I'm talking about. On July 17th I ran a little flash (under 1K words) fiction contest in answer to the news item in the Anchorage Daily News concerning an actual blob off the shore of Alaska. Scientists have since discovered it's algae after all, but we had fun speculating - spec-fic style.
The news story had the following information on the blob:
1) It's not an oil slick
2) It's organic
3) It's gunky
3) It has hair-like strands
4) It's 12-15 miles long
5) No one has ever seen anything like it
The decision was tough. But, as in The Highlander, there can be only one...
Congratulations to Nicole Krueger for her story, "Absorbed."
The story will appear right here on Tuesday and she'll be receiving a signed copy of Awesome Lavratt by yours truly. Great job, Nicole! Excellent character development in so short a piece.
Because this was such a tough call, I want to name two honorable mentions:
Emily Bush for "Excuse Me, Waiter, There's a Space Elevator in my Primordial Soup" and Bob Myers for his untitled entry.
You can still read Bob's if you're a member of the Science Fiction Readers, Writers, and Collectors group on LinkedIn. He posted it there. I do also appreciate the sense of humor in these two stories that came close to taking the prize. Join the LI group and read Bob's. I'm sure Emilie's will still find a home somewhere where you can read it, too.
vote it up!
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