It’s the wee hours of the morning on the second day of Aussiecon 4 and I’ve had far to little sleep, so I’m going to limit myself to firing up the laptop webcam and posting this: New Book! Wooo! It Exists! Now I’m off to shower and prepare for another day of geeky awesomeness.
And in an hours time I’m off to the airport. I’m a bundle of nerves this morning, but I’ve been singing this song for the last half-hour: And tomorrow there is Worldcon.
And by this time tomorrow I’ll be happily ensconced in our Melbourne digs, surrounded by a bunch of my writerly peeps. This promises to be awesome – hail to the peeps. My publisher’s twitter stream also informs me that they’ll be bringing the last of their Horn stocks to Worldcon. I have no idea how many books this may be, but should they run out of stock at the con it means the second print run has completely sold through. This is pretty good news, unless you happen to be at worldcon, in which case I may find myself clutching people by the lapels and asking “do *you* own a copy of Horn yet? Do ya? You should totally buy one!” in a slightly manic voice. I shall try to retrain myself, really I shall, but I make no promises. I was barely able to contain myself when the goal was “convince lots of people to buy copies of Bleed,
And last night there was Write-club with the inimitable Angela Slatter and Ben Francisco, whereupon many words were written and we ate our body-weight in sugar. I was also mocked (albeit politely and deservedly) for my insane approach to rewriting, for I have real trouble letting go of a scene when I know that *something is dire and wrong*. Victory was mine, however, for after five weeks of hammering my head against the brick wall I finally found the problem with the opening chapters of Black Candy. It’s involved much deleting and rewriting, but I suspect that this will be the final rewrite I do before launching into the (much easier to write) middle of the book. In other news, I suspect updates will be scarce for the next two weeks (’cause, like, Worldcon, yo!). See everyone on the other side and all.
And man, doesn’t that feel like an ominous thing to type in the title of the post. I’m in a vaguely half-asleep state this morning, largely because I started reading Seanan McGuire’s Rosemary and Rue just before going to bed last night and it’s one of those books where the temptation to read just one more chapter is terribly, terribly strong. Were I a less lazy blogger there would be a whole post here about yesterday’s adventure to Pulp Fiction, whereupon my plan to buy just one or two books quickly fell apart. Fortunately, I am a lazy blogger today. That’s what Sunday’s a for. Today there is writing. And write-club. And bugging the inimitable Ben Francisco about co-writing a YA novel, ’cause there are some writerly shenanigans that work better when they’re shared with other people.
So this morning started with a trip out to my not-so-local post office to check my mailbox, largely on the assumption that a terribly efficient postal system stood a very small chance of delivering a hardcover book from England to Brisbane in the space of a week. Admittedly I figured it was a long shot, but if I didn’t check today I wouldn’t get a chance until after Worldcon, and at the back of my mind was this constant what-if-what-if-what-if… And lo, when I opened my PO Box, my faith in the postal system was rewarded with this: Angela Slatter’s Sourdough and Other Stories in all its fabulous, hard-covery glory. And it is freakin’ glorious – a hardcover and with a placeholder ribbon that’s packed to the gills with stories that rock the freakin’ casbah. Plus it’s one of those books that looks just as good without the dust-jacket: And, as with all good books that enter the house, it
Man, I’ve been all over the place for the last week. Good stuff happened and bad stuff happened and my emotional state bounced around like one of those 20-cent rubber crazy balls you used buy from the machines out the front of the grocery store, but there was rarely a moment where stuff happened all on its own and demanded no real engagement on my part. Fortunately the last three or four days have trended towards the good rather than the bad, but I suspect any seven day period that starts with your parents ringing from the other side of the world and saying “we were almost killed in a car crash” is going to struggle to come out ahead on points. Still, among the cool stuff: – Doing edits and contracts for my short story, L’esprit de L’escalier, which will be coming up at Apex Magazine in the future. Astute readers may put two-and-two together and realise this was
You know Worldcon is getting closer when everyone starts posting their schedules. Details of my stuff below, with the full program available over at the website. Finding the difference: Australian SF vs the rest of the World Australia has a strong and vibrant speculative fiction industry and community – but how does it differ from the SF produced in the USA, the UK, or other nations around the world? Is there a unique cultural identity to Australian SF – and if there is, what are the most common elements? Lucy Sussex, Peter M. Ball, Tehani Wessely, Jack Dann Thursday 1700 Room 217 What can the mystery teach science fiction? Mysteries and crime novels remain overwhelmingly popular, and boast a literary history at least as rich as that of science fiction. What can the mystery genre teach writers of speculative fiction? How can the two genres intersect? In an imagined world of high technology or powerful magic, are the conventional narrative
’cause I’ve already started humming to chorus to myself every half-hour or so:
Or as we in Australia like to call it – the day we head out and vote. I did my civic duty a few hours back, so now I’m waiting things it in tentative fear about the possible result. Elections are always a time of fear for me. I’m a fairly moderate lefty whose spent most of my adult life enduring the seemingly endless reign of the Howard Years when the country routinely decided they preferred a very different ideology at work running the country. And I’ll be honest here – in most of those years I could at least respect the country’s choice on some level. One of the things that always struck about Howard was that he was the kind of idealist that people seem to think of as the exclusive domain of the left; he just idealised a very conservative viewpoint. Even when I railed against him for being an evil fucking bastard, there was at least the
If you’ve never read the Persistence Pays Parasites entry of Cory Doctrow’s Locus column then I heartily recommend dropping over and taking a look. The short-version, for those without the time or attention span, runs something like this: Doctrow is a smart and internet savvy guy, but he got himself phished despite his high awareness of such scams ’cause they hit him when there was a short-lived crack in his defenses. Actually, let me quote the key message of the column, ’cause it’s worth repeating: Phishing isn’t (just) about finding a person who is technically naive. It’s about attacking the seemingly impregnable defenses of the technically sophisticated until you find a single, incredibly unlikely, short-lived crack in the wall. ‘Course, I still recommend going over and checking out the whole thing. It’s interesting stuff and it’ll make you rethink the way spam e-mail works (at least, if will if you’re like me and you assumed Spam merchanters were going after net-surfing
Yesterday started out okay with the job interview. Then it kind of downgraded a bit. Then the following happened and it downgraded a lot. On The Sudden Discover that Your Parents Live their Retirement in the Same Way Most People Live their Early Twenties A Play in One Act Peter is at home, working on a few things after going to an interview. His parents are overseas. They’ve been taunting him with postcards from Vienna, because Peter has this thing for Vienna after watching The Third Man and Before Sunrise too many times. Peter’s Parent’s are classy like that. They send him pictures of Viennese food. They’re not actually in Vienna anymore, because old-fashioned postal systems aren’t as instant as e-mail. They’re meant to be coming home soon. The phone rings a few times. Peter rolls off the couch and answers it. Peter’s Dad calling from distant Turkey: Hello? Peter: Hello? Peter’s Dad calling from distant Turkey: Hello? Peter: Yeah,
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