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, for it is new and shiny and avialble for the first time at Worldcon”. While I’m usually pretty good at restraining my default level of writerly craziness in public, something may well come loose in my head when I finally see both books sitting next to each other in the dealer’s room.

See you in Melbourne, should you be coming along.

There are fourteen days between me and Worldcon, which means there’s fourteen days before people can get their hands on Bleed. Much as I’m all unsubtle about my desire for you all to give in to your base, capitalist urges and consume for the good of the economy (and, lets be frank, my rent-paying ability) there is still a tiny part of me that isn’t quite ready for people to see Bleed yet. And yet I stay calm. Almost zen-like. Mostly I’m doing this by pretending its not going to happen, so if you see me at worldcon and I’m all surprised that there’s a book out with my name on it, you’ll know why.

And now I must go clean the house prior to write-club, and wait for a phonecall from my sister so I can explain the latest not-a-calamity.

So this morning my phone beeped away to remind me that there’s but three weeks to Worldcon, which triggers a metric buttload of anxiety in me because I’m so not ready for Worldcon to be three weeks away yet. Especially since it marks the imminent arrival of house-guests in two weeks, my parents return to the country in one week, and the attendance of the most excellent Trent Jameison’s book launch in twenty-four hours. The hours, they are running away from me, and it is only be checking the calender twice daily that I remember what I’m meant to be doing at any given time.

In any case, today’s entry on the calender demands I remind of two things you may wish to swing by the dealer’s room and pick up at Worldcon (if you’re in attendance) or pre-order for the home-delivery goodness (if you’re not).

Item the First: Bleed

So that unicorn book I wrote? A bunch of people were all “more please” and I was all “What? For reals? Well, okay” and now Miriam Aster is on the case again. There’s less unicorn this time (possibly, like, none) but there is a talking cat and a boogie-men and dapper ex-cop mentors and a considerable amount of, well, bleeding.  And as the blog title says – bugger subtlety. And modesty. Buy my new book people, for I am rather proud of it and I have rent that needs paying (and ’cause I really want to write the third book, and sales mean the publisher says “yes” when I pitch the next odd idea).

For your edification, I give you the blurb:

For ten years ex-cop Miriam Aster has been living with her one big mistake – agreeing to kill three men for the exiled Queen of Faerie. But when an old case comes back to haunt her it brings a spectre of the past with it, forcing Aster to ally herself with a stunt-woman and a magic cat in order to rescue a kidnapped TV star from the land of Faerie and stop the half-breed sorcerer who needs Aster’s blood.

Ten years ago Miriam Aster learnt a simple lesson: when a faerie asks you to kill someone, the worst thing you can say is sure. Today she’s about to learn that worse things can happen when the past refuses to stay behind you.

And seriously, how can you say no to that cover? Preorders are available now for $12 plus postage.

Item the Second: Sprawl

And should you be in the market for a fine collection of short fiction rather than a hardboiled fey-noir novella, may I recommend the rather fine Sprawl anthology that’s also avialable for pre-order and choc-full of Australian sub-urban fantasy stories.

Once again, their is blurbage:

Sprawl is an exciting new original anthology, edited by Alisa Krasnostein and published by Twelfth Planet Press, that will give readers from around the world a unique glimpse into the strange, dark, and often wondrous magics that fill the days and nights of Australia’s dreaming cities and towns, homes and parks, and most of all, its endlessly stretching suburbs.

Table of Contents

• Liz Argall/Matt Huynh – Seed Dreams (comic)
• Peter Ball – One Saturday Night, With Angel
• Deborah Biancotti – Never Going Home
• Simon Brown – Sweep
• Stephanie Campisi – How to Select a Durian at Footscray Market
• Thoraiya Dyer – Yowie
• Dirk Flinthart – Walker
• Paul Haines – Her Gallant Needs
• L L Hannett – Weightless
• Pete Kempshall – Signature Walk
• Ben Peek – White Crocodile Jazz
• Tansy Rayner Roberts – Relentless Adaptations
• Barbara Robson – Neighbourhood Watch
• Angela Slatter – Brisneyland by Night
• Cat Sparks – All The Love in the World
• Anna Tambour – Gnawer of the Moon Seeks Summit of Paradise
• Kaaron Warren – Loss
• Sean Williams – Parched (poem)

________________________________________________
Current Writing Metrics
Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 3
New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30
Rejections in 2010: 15/100
Black Candy Word Count (Finish Date: 31st August)

So yesterday the various forms of mail brought in my contributor copies of the new Horn layout, my ninth rejection of the year, and the following news:

Bleed by Peter M Ball
Cover art by Dion Hamill, design by Amanda

For ten years ex-cop Miriam Aster has been living with her one big mistake – agreeing to kill three men for the exiled Queen of Faerie. But when an old case comes back to haunt her it brings a spectre of the past with it, forcing Aster to ally herself with a stunt-woman and a magic cat in order to rescue a kidnapped TV star from the land of Faerie and stop the half-breed sorcerer who needs Aster’s blood.

Ten years ago Miriam Aster learnt a simple lesson: when a faerie asks you to kill someone, the worst thing you can say is sure. Today she’s about to learn that worse things can happen when the past refuses to stay behind you.

Bleed will be available at Aussiecon 4 in Melbourne, September 2010 and is now available for preorder.

I’ve been distracted of late - either by trying to get the latest version of Cold Cases ready or hole-in-my-head drama depending of the day –  and I somehow managed to miss a whole heap of stuff happening around the traps.

1) The latest edition of the Terra Incognita Podcast is up, featuring me reading my story Black Dog: A Biography that came out in the Interfictions II anthology last year. Unlike most of the previous podcasts of my work this one actually involved me recording the reading myself, an experience that forced me to realise exactly how inarticulate I am in the verbal form (seriously; apparently I drop the consonants out of words and rely on vowel sounds and inflections to get things right, and we do not speak of how many times I had to restart things in order to avoid this).

2) Angela Slatter’s Brisneyland by Night is the feature story over at the Twelth Planet Podcast at the moment, which pleases me greatly for reasons that may or may not become apparent if you’ve read Horn. Brisneyland is part of the forthcoming Sprawl anthology from TPP.

3) My sister returned live and well from her trek over the Kokoda Trail yesterday. Notable primarily because my parents didn’t send me crazy with phone-calls when there was news of trouble in the area, and because she returned bearing coffee beans ready for my caffeinated consumption.

4) My doctor continues to taunt me by having me come in for appointments where he doesn’t remove my stitches, thus prolonging the wait until I can finally *wash my damn hair again*. To be fair, this is largely because he took all the stitches out last week and I immediately started bleeding like a stuck pig, but my head itches dammit and the ease-of-care was half the reason I shaved my head a few weeks back.

5) The yearly rejection counts holds steady at 7; the yearly acceptance count rises to 1; the number of stories ready to go out into the world is about to rise by 2. These statistics do not support getting to 100 rejections by the end of the year, but I’m about to dissappear and house-sit for the month of July and I plan to get a *lot* of writing done while I’m there.

First, a public service announcement re-posted from the livejournal of my illustrious publisher:

(The reprint of) Horn failed to be delivered today but I have rescheduled for tomorrow and they should then be out in the post to the preorders in tomorrow evening’s mail.

If you’ve been holding off buying your copy of Horn til they were back in stock, as of tomorrow they will be and you can buy your copy here. Again, whilst stocks last – I expect to have copies for sale at Worldcon but there were quite a few reservations for this second printing as well.

Which seems like as good a segue as we’re going to get to talk about the current state of the second Miriam Aster novella, Cold Cases.

Today I was full of virtue. I rose early, I took my daily dose of penicillin, then I settled down at the computer with a cup of coffee and a Bob Dylan CD and vowed to remain there until the problem of not having a finished version of Cold Cases  was finally solved. I have convinced myself this is doable by promising that a finished draft today means I can take tomorrow off and prepare my next D&D game before we play on Thursday.

That was about seven hours ago, and since then I’ve heard Bob sing Everybody Must Get Stoned about twelve times. It appears to be working too, but I suspect seven hours of Bob Dylan is my limit.

The upside is that I’m finally tackling the pacing problems at the end of the novella, which is a very stop-start process where I build a scene and then figure out what still needs to be done to connect it to the finale. I figure that gives at least a 60% chance of hitting the end some time tonight (the end, of course, being an arbitry stopping point where I look for beta-readers who can point out where I’ve done stupid things that need fixing).

At some point today I’m planning on making cupcakes, which means I have to clean the mixing bowl, which means I have to eat the salad currently sitting in the mixing bowl as it occupies a shelf of my fridge. And I frickin’ hate salad. There is no reasonable excuse for lettuce.

At some point today I’m going to continue going through the Cold Cases draft, engaging in all the chapter-by-chapter tinkering that needs to be done before I hand the manuscript over. I am still unsure of this book, but that doesn’t bother me too much. I am unsure of everything I write that’s longer than 1000 words.

At some point today I’m going to vacuum the seemingly endless carpet of shed hair that covers the floor of my house. On the plus side, that’s not going to be a problem for the next few months. There is some pretty simple math that gets done when your lazy, your hair is irritating you, and you own a set of hair clippers. I release the following photograph into the wild in order to forestall the inevitable “You’ve had a haircut” conversations that are likely to occur over the next few weeks:

At some point today I’m going to remember where I put my beanie, ’cause my head is cold without all the hair that used to insulate it.

At some point today I’m going to enter the handwritten short-story I’ve been working on when I go to bed into the computer, and I’m going to attempt to finish it.

At some point today I’m going to mention that an audio version of Clockwork, Patchwork, and Raven is being put together by the Beam Me Up podcast and part one is already live.

At some point today I’m going to watch the new episode of Doctor Who, although given the length of my to-do list this may not happen until tomorrow.

At some point today I’m going to write an author bio and mail it off. I’m also going to write 750 words on my novel, 750 words on my short story, and not freak out about how bad either of these things are at the moment.

Part One: Tubers in the Moonlight

Ben Payne has launched his online zine, Moonlight Tuber, and the first issue (subtitled A Handsome Laundrette, A Box of Lovers, and Two Dozen Happy Sea Cows) is completely free and available for download. Somewhere within its virtual covers, said issue contains my story, The Peanut Guy, which is the tail end of the Warhol Sleeping/Avenue D vignette that started with one of my first publications, The Normal Guy, in Antipodean SF 102 back in 2006.

The rest of the series, should you wish to track them down, appeared in Antipodean SF 107, Antipodean SF 117, Dog Versus Sandwich, Dark Recesses 8 (not available online anymore, but I’ve posted a copy here), and Dog Versus Sandwich again. Some of this is old work, and the very fact that it’s split up into various vignettes largely shows my discomfort when it comes to figuring out how prose worked prior to Clarion (these days, I’d probably write this as a single novella, albeit still fragmented in its approach). It’s also somewhat spooky tracking the changes in my bio notes as these things progressed (there’s a part of me that looks at my bio for 2006 and thinks I had a fiancee? Really?, because it seems a vaguely absurd when looking at my life four years in the future*).

 Part Two: The Twelfth Planet Press Podcast

Twelfth Planet Press has launched a podcast featuring work from upcoming releases, and they’re kicking off with my story One Saturday Night, With Angel, from their Sprawl anthology getting launched in September. It’s shiny, downloadable, and free.

*Incidentally, this isn’t intended as a slight on my former fiancee, who is still a friend and a lovely person who simply happened to be happened someone I was incompatible with when it came to extending our long-term relationship . My surprise at discovering we’d intended on trying probably goes a long way towards explaining why we broke up instead. 

The folks over at Twelfth Planet Press have just upgraded their webstore and they’re celebrating with Mother’s Day Sale where you can pick up two or more books for a nice, cheap, wallet-friendly price prior to May 7th.

There is some bad news for those of you thinking you know, my mother really digs noir stories with a squicky unicorn filling* and looking for a copy of Horn as a result – it’s out of stock at the moment, and while I don’t know the particulars of when the reprint will happen I’m pretty sure it won’t be in time to show your appreciation for the maternal figure/s in your life on mothers day itself. Of course, you can pre-order yourself a copy of the second printing and pick up a copy of either the Siren Beat/Roadkill double (which delivers Tansy Rayner Roberts’ Hobart noir novelette with a tentacle-squick filling and Robert Shearman’s novelette of desperately uncomfortable, captivating weirdness in one convenient package) or Dirk Flinthart’s Angel Rising (which includes warrior nuns – need I say more?) to cover Mother’s Day itself.

Or, you know, you could just pre-order a copy of Horn and give it to your mum when it’s finally released. Because you don’t actually need mother’s day to tell your mother you love her, dig?

In any case, there’s more details below. Go forth and do with this information as you will.

*Mine doesn’t, for what it’s worth. She hasn’t read Horn at all, and I’m at peace with that**.
** My grandmother, on the other hand, really enjoyed it. That surprised me a little.

*************** 

TPP Mothers Day Sale!

Okay, point the first: Twelfth Planet Press has offered up free e-copies of their 2009 projectsin the name of getting folks to read them prior to the Hugo nominations at this years Worldcon in Melbourne. That means there are free copies of Horn up for grabs. Make of this what you will. (I should also mention that the inimitable Robert Hoge has started a campaign to get Australian’s nominated to the Hugo ballot, and he’s compiling a small list of recommendations for people who might be interested; the real action is over in the facebook group where everyone’s pitching in names).

And so, point the second: February is the month where I combat The Fear again.

It’s a stupid thing, The Fear, all the more stupid because it commonly manifests itself when things seem to be going right. People start accepting stories and asking for submissions and nominating me for awards and suddenly this little voice in the back of my head starts saying “you don’t deserve this” and “you’re going to fuck it up” and the next thing I know I’m sitting on top of a dozen half-finished stories and binging on coke and junk-food because it’s so much easier to not finish things than to start sending them out and face the fact that maybe, just maybe, this time people will realise I suck. Nothing unusual about any of that, really. I’ve never talked to anyone who wants to write who hasn’t experienced The Fear at some point or another. It’s just part of the process, and if it wasn’t for the fact that The Fear creeps up on me in stealth-mode and messes with my head it wouldn’t actually be a big deal at all.

My way past the fear is pretty simple: I start submitting stuff. Lots of it. Writing and submitting stories is actually habit-forming, and The Fear stops being a factor after you get into the routine. It doesn’t go away, but I get to stop capitalizing it. And, as with most things, I can distract myself by focusing on numbers. Make eight submission in February. Accrue 100 rejections this year*. Make sure I write 1500 words a day. Forgo the coke and chocolate which is salving my psychological wounds as I wallow in self-indulgent panic about never getting published again.

So for February I get back to basics and focus on numbers again.

Current Project: Getting Back to Basics
Number of Stories Submitted in February: 0 of 8
Rejections Accrued in 2010: 0
Consecutive Productive Writing Days: 0
Days without coke and other soft-drinks: 0
Days without chocolate: 0
Today the Spokesbear is: Sighing and giving me meaningful looks as he gets all passive-aggressive about the fact that I *should be working* right now if I mean to make any of this happen.

*A goal picked up from my friend Chris Green, based off the theory that you can’t control the acceptances but you can send a bunch of stuff out.