Saturday, November 29, 2003

A quick blog to say that I hope you all had a lovely day thursday, and to pass on a link...

http://ter.air0day.com/index.php?script=aboutpage is a link to The Editing Room, which features very short, hilarious parodies of famous movie scripts. Pirates of the Carrabean and The Matrix both gave me a giggle...though I think you should really see the movies first before you read these...


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  Nine Out of Ten Lady Bugs Prefer Neil Gaiman!
Friday, November 21, 2003

Yep, it's true...nine out of ten Lady Bugs prefer Neil Gaiman....

My house is infested with lady bugs...or, as some of your guys out there call them, lady birds. They're the little red/sometimes tan/sometimes orange beetles (and this is really just lady bug stereotyping, since one of my books says there are many more varieties...) with the black spots on their backs.

They love me. They crawl on my keyboard, they read my writing as I'm working on it, one even did a little dance over a word that wasn't right, but was spelled correctly the other day while I was editing a book for Zumaya. They converge on my cd player, they crawl on my arms as I'm reading, and they have learned that, if I'm in bed, the only thing that'll encourage me to get up after dark and put them outside is if they slam themselves against the ceiling. The other night I rolled over in bed to discover two of them had decided that they wanted to share a pillow with me.

And, like me, they love Neil Gaiman's writing. Whenever I do my morning "Let's go collect lady bugs and put them out the window." rounds, I can always find at least three or four happily dozing (after their night of wild partying) on my copies of American Gods and Neverwhere. At first I though that it was the fact that the Gaiman books happen to be closest to the lamp and CD player...but when I moved them (in the interest of purest scientific inquiry) they eschewed the copies of the Anne Rice books I put over there and traveled all the way across the room to the new Gaiman book section.

Though to be honest, there are a few lady bugs who seem to prefer Terry Pratchett...and they seem to prefer the books where Vimes is a major charcater.

I'd talk more, but there's a lady bug slapping herself against the ceiling....I guess she wants out. :) Yes, I am the Willard of the lady bug world.

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Wednesday, November 19, 2003

My word count is now 27,360. :D We're rolling, now, eh? And I have eleven whole more says to go!

Yeah. I'm so not going to make it.

I've decided to include an except, telling how Drachen and Sorenna met. I didn't read it over, I just spell checked it, so...um...it might not be the greatest thing in the world, ok? But it'll give you an idea of what I'm doing....

The Water’s Edge

book 1 - At the water’s edge

She knelt in the center of the crowded anteroom and waited for her fate. The stone of the floor, smooth as it was, hurt her knees. Parts of her were going numb to match the numbness in her head and heart. She did not move to avoid the trickle of blood that was making its way to her. She did not look to her left, at the man they had just executed, the silly, foppish court nobleman who had once been called the king’s best friend.
She did not say, for the thousandth time, that she had not taken a lover, that she had not betrayed her fiancee.
Her fiancee, the king, sat on his throne, his fat, lumpish face trying to look betrayed, not triumphant. In the shadows behind his throne, Minafea would be hiding, gloating behind her cold facade.
“Sorenna“
She looked up, now. He commanded her to. For over ten years she had lived at this court, transplanted from her home and loved ones to this strange, vile land, waiting to marry this disgusting toad in order to seal the bargain made between their countries. She was trained to obey him, even though he had ignored her, even though he had let his mistress plot and scheme a way to legally put aside the betrothal, and get her own back on a man who, too pretty for his own good, had refused her advances. “Ulrich has paid the price for betraying his king.” He began. Her eyes shifted away, caught by a glitter of perfect coin like gold on the floor. A curl of hair, sliced off because it Ulrich had worn his gorgeous hair long, so it had been below the collar and in the way of the sword. “Because of the treaty we hold so dearly with your people, we will not execute you. Instead, I present those gathered here with your choice of fates. You and your possessions will be loaded on a small boat and put to sea, there the heavens will choose your fate...or, in honor of your own people’s old laws, we will allow one man to come forward and claim you as wife. He will expiate your sins by promising to keep your...nature under control. What say you? What man will take responsibility for this foolish, silly child?”
Sorenna wanted to laugh. Plain, powerless and an accused whore to boot. No one would take her. It was the boat -- the tiny, half heartedly supplied boat and the ocean -- for her. There she would either starve e to death, or die from the sun. Or on her own, sharp knife. If she wasn’t good enough for the king, who would dare take her? No one. He knew it. But the chancellors would send word back to her people, and no one could complain...whether they believed in her or not.
The king, enjoying himself almost openly now, made a show of looking around the room. “Anyone? Not one man?”
There was a long silence. She felt her eyes drawn to Ulrich. Ulrich with his strange, crooked brand of honor. She’d almost liked him, would have truly liked him if she hadn’t been forced to stay away from the court, and had time to get to know him. His large, cornflower blue eyes were wide open, vacant. He looked faintly surprised. She ached for him...he didn’t deserve this, either.
“What a pity.” The king said, settling back into his chair.
There was a shuffling in the crowd behind her.
“I am sorry, sire, to keep you waiting.” It was a deep voice, it resonated like the huge, thick church bells that hung from mountain temples. “The crowd is quite tightly pressed.” She has been staring again at the marble floor, and now she looked sideways, afraid to look up. Under the deep gray green wool of a cloat she saw the black shine of boots. The boots walked past her, stepped lightly over the pool of blood, then stopped, facing her. Their owner knelt. He wore the high collared, huge cloak like coats of the out warders, green gray that would melt into forest and fog. Everything he wore was of quality, meant to last, but not the latest style. His black hair was long and dead straight, tied back from his face, loose it would accentuate the perfect widows peak, the pale wide brow, the high cheekbones and hawk like nose. His eyes were luminous, gray green like his cloak, and as changeable as fog and forest.
He inspected her, too, for a long time, then turned to his king.
“I will take her.” he said.
“You will be responsible for her?” the king hissed. “You will make her live a more circumspect life, so that this wayward child will not stray from the right path again?” He said it mockingly. Everyone stared at the nameless man, including Sorenna. He was meant to say no. He had to say no, he was sorry, back off. She willed him to. She did not want to kneel in his blood, next. He stepped back, put his long fingered hands in the pockets of his tailored black pants. She studied the laces that trailed up the sides, then looked up, and met his eyes. She shook her head ever so slightly. The amusement this seemed to give him was gone so fast she wondered if it were a trick of light.
“Yes, your Majesty. I will take this woman’s soul upon my conscious.”
“Very well. Sorenna of Veilmyst, meet your new husband, Drachen Windfayre. You are bound to him as his mate and wife until the day you die.” He emphasized the last word, as if emphasizing his disappointment.
“Many thanks, your majesty.” Drachen bowed, then held out his hand. The King had slid from his throne and was now walking away, to where his soon to be wife was waiting for him. “Come Sorenna.” He said, and the way he said her name was like music, not sore-enna, like she’d spent her life getting used to, but So-rehnna, rolling the r’s gently over his tongue, like a slowly savored sigh. “I fear we have displeased our sovereign. Perhaps a speedy exit would be advisable.” She smiled, gratefully, and let him help her up.
“Thank you.” She said with all the feeling she could muster. She felt tears prick her eyes as she melted inside, thinking maybe, just maybe she’d be alright after all. He turned away and began striding for the grand doors.
A guard handed her her satchel, all the possessions she’d been allowed to keep in one, small bag, and she ran after him.
Outside was a large wagon, partially loaded with boxes and bags. Her new husband...husband!...went over to the Chancellor of goods, who stood near the heads of the pair of huge horses, waiting, no doubt, for the carter to sign the papers and go. For the Chancellor of Goods, himself, to be waiting in the misting rain for a carter to sign for his supplies meant he was at least somewhat important. She was not truly surprised when Drachen walked over to him.
“As you can see now, Telsen, I have a wife. Surely the king would want you to live up to the charter and provide extra goods for milady as well?”
“I’ve already ordered them,” the Chancellor snarled. “Though I would not put it past you to slit the stupid girl’s throat and sell the supplies yourself.”
Drachen tilted his head. His expression did not change, but something menacing filled the air. “Have I ever given thee reason to doubt mine honor?” He spoke formally and something about him, about his stance, made the Chancellor shudder and even Sorenna, who by now thought that Drachen had to be some sort of Angel, stepped back a bit.
“My wife will need more than food supplies. She will need a complete outfit of clothing and extra cloth. She will need blankets and bedding, as well, and...”
Sorenna touched his arm, and he turned, lowering his head so that she could speak, ever so softly, to him.
He nodded as he straightened. “The truck you confiscated from her this morning should do, for a start.”
“But...” He sputtered. The Chancellor of Goods, who looked down at his nose at her for years when ever she asked for some thread or soap was sputtering.
“It’ll be faster if you just bring her things and the supplies I asked for.” He said with such deceptive mildness. The Chancellor ran off.
“Should I...should I be afraid of you?” She asked.
“Only if you betray me.” he said, watching the Chancellor giving out panicked orders. The hand she had left resting on his arm lid off to rejoin its mate on the handle of her bag.
They watched as the wagon was loaded with more provision, and she felt a small tiny smile creep into her heart when she saw the scarred side of her trunk.
“Tis mine,” she reassured him when he questioned her, with one raised eyebrow.
“Do not be insulted,” he said, “By the request for extra bedding. The keep is cold, and we’ll need all the warmth we can get.”
The chancellor came back with his quickly amended inventory papers. Drachen signed after studying them, a quick flourish of letters. He pried the case from her fingers and placed it just behind the bench, then handed her up to the wagon seat. She looked up at the dark windows of the castle, at the empty, fog laced courtyard. There would be no one, she thought, and so when he joined her on the bench and clicked the horses forward, when they crossed the stones and went through the huge double portals, she kept her gaze on the road ahead.
“You are not going to look back?” he asked.
“There is no reason to.”
“Wise.” he said, his voice warming slightly, just so slightly, with approval. The heaviness of the coming winter seemed lighter. Maybe she thought, maybe things will be alright.

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Friday, November 14, 2003

A couple of markets posted to The Write List by a very sweet lady....

An Original Anthology of Canadian Speculative Fiction

Tesseracts 9 -- CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS



An Original Anthology of Canadian Speculative Fiction Tesseract Books announces that Tesseracts9, the 2004 volume in an award winning series of original anthologies of Canadian Speculative Fiction, is now open for submissions. With a different editorial team for each volume, the series is representative of the best Canadian SF. Editors for Tesseracts9 will be Geoff Ryman and Nalo Hopkinson.

The Tesseracts anthology series is open to submissions in either English or French from Canadians, landed immigrants, long time residents, and expatriates. French stories will be translated into English for publication if accepted. Tesseracts is open to both short fiction and poetry. While the series has included stories as long as 10,000 words, preferred length is 7,500 words or less. Speculative fiction includes the genres of magic realism, science fiction, fantasy (this term incorporates dark fantasy and supernatural fiction), horror, and la fantastique. In all these areas, the editors prefer not to be presented with genre clichés reworked, but with original, well-written, well-crafted works of art. Send us your best!

The deadline for submissions is December 31, 2003. Reporting time is about 15-20 weeks following the deadline. Payment is $20 for poetry, $50 for stories under 1,500 words, rising to a maximum of $100 for stories of over 5,000 words. (Significantly longer stories, where chosen, are paid a slightly higher fee, but in order to exceed the word length limit of 7,500 words, the editors must judge a story to be of surpassing excellence.)

Tesseract Books buys non-exclusive world rights; that is, Tesseract Books is free to market the Tesseracts9 anthology as a whole anywhere in any language, but contributors retain the right to market their individual entries outside the anthology.

Manuscripts must be typed double-spaced, 12-point type (preferably Times New Roman or Courier font) on quarto (8 1/2 x 11) OR A4 (8 1/4 x 11 3/4) paper, minimum weight 16 lbs; near-letter-quality dot matrix printing is acceptable, provided the ribbon is sufficiently dark and computer printouts are separated and paper-clipped. No fancy fonts or coloured inks or papers, except good off-white recycled paper is OK. Please include your name, address, telephone number and, where applicable, your fax number and e-mail address on the first page of the manuscript; each page should also have a number and a brief identifier in header or footer. Electronic submissions will be accepted, but ONLY if sent to tessnine2003@yahoo.ca and followed by hard copy and SASE for editors’ replies. No faxes! All manuscripts must be accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. If you wish your manuscript to be returned, the return envelope and postage must be sufficient for this purpose, or the manuscript will be considered disposable, and destroyed. To be returned, manuscripts from outside Canada must be provided with sufficient Canadian stamps or International Reply Coupons. Do NOT send originals. Tesseract Books cannot be responsible for submissions lost in transit. If you require acknowledgement of receipt of your manuscript, include a self-addressed stamped postcard.

Mailing address for anthology submissions only:

Tesseracts9, c/o Tesseract Books,
#330, 10113 104 Street,
Edmonton, Alberta, CANADA T5J 1A1.


All-Star Zeppelin Adventure Stories


Jay Lake and David Moles have official announced All-Star Zeppelin Adventure
Stories. Guidelines at http://www.allstarstories.com/

Stories ranging from 5,000 to 10,000 words are sought for Infinite Space, Infinite God (tentative title), an anthology edited by Karina and Rob Fabian. Karina is a regular columnist for Montana Catholic and has published numerous articles and stories in various publications. Rob is a published author of space policy and use articles and an officer in the Air Force. Together they edited, Leaps of Faith: An Anthology of Christian Science Fiction, which was a Dream Realms Awards finalist for best anthology.

(www.livelywriter.com)

Ideal submissions will highlight a coexistence of science and the Catholic faith, with any conflicts resolved in a manner that leaves both realms intact. Science should not negate the need for religion, nor should it be the root of all evil, and vice versa. Stories may examine the technicalities of religious practice (e.g. broadcasting religious services to Alpha Centauri, or holding Mass in zero gravity); how technology may affect doctrine (Do clones need baptism? Can they be saved?) or how religion may temper scientific research.

Whatever the plot, science and/or technology should play an integral role. Stories may be set in any time, though an ideal story set in the near- future should contain plausible principles. Likewise, be sure use of religion is doctrinally correct or changes are explained (e.g. hypothesizing that the Catholic Church may allow a priest to marry if it's the only way he would be allowed on a colony ship, etc.)

Submissions must be the original work of the author; authors may submit more than one story for consideration. Stories never before published will be considered, as will previously published stories so long as the author retains all rights. Authors selected for the anthology will receive reimbursement as determined by the publisher. (We have one interested, but without any guarantees.) Deadline for submissions is Feb 2004. For more info contact Karina Fabian at karinafabian@cox.net .

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  Hah! Who says we can't write?
Thursday, November 13, 2003

I broke Ten Thousand words today. Only 40,000 more to go.

And only...oh, 18 or so days. Oh, sure, I'm going to make it. Snork.

I also wrote 2,000 words of book reviews today. Does that count?

Writing, for me, is the most fun when you find these little relevations. When Sorenna comes home from a really lousy meeting at the village, she goes down to the beach, where she sees Drachen, her husband, is really a Mirrim...which is what I'm calling mer people. She doesn't run away shrieking, thank god, and they had what was one of the sweetest, nicest scenes I'd ever written.

So it was way depressing when I parted them.

The big shock I got today was when Sorenna told the Mirrim woman she's about to free that she's looking for her husband because she's pregnant...that floored me. I was just typing, typing the scene, and before my mind really caught onto what was happeneing, Sorrenna opens her mouth and out comes this huge relevation. Now I have to go back and write in her being sick and dizzy...and we'll have to write on to find out whether she's really pregant (which should be impossible, I mean, she's human, Drachen, well, isn't.) or if she's just sick. And we have to be careful because we don't want to use, wholesale, any real romance conventions....


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Sunday, November 09, 2003

First, at Oprah's Book club, there's a What Kind of Novel are you? quiz.

Me?

If you were a novel, you'd be a Mystery Novel
Whodunit? We don't know, but we're sure you'd be the one to find out. So maybe you don't carry around a magnifying glass and have an arch nemesis named Moriarty. One thing's for sure though, you've got the intelligence to solve most any caper that comes along. Not many villains stand a chance when they go up against an intellectual type like you with a good head on your shoulders and a keen eye. Whether you're tracking down an item that's disappeared or unraveling a spine-tingling plot, you've got the brains to solve the mystery. No doubt, your cleverness and wit will lead you to the answers every time. Good show, detective.

Quirky Moment of The Day:

I should not confess this moment, but it's too good. Ah, like any of the men mentioned herein will ever read this.

So, anyway, I was wandering around the magazine racks, and I saw some really good looking magazines, but when I saw their price I blenched. I actually complained outloud to myself, something along the lines of (muttering) too fegging expensive for my blood. (/muttering) And, sadly, a clerk heard it, and she said, "Like, you'd never pay 15 dollars for a magazine, ever?" And I said, "Well, if it was an issue of Gorgeous Jewish Hunks featuring Neil Gaiman and Oded Fehr I'd go for it, but otherwise..." and I rolled my eyes to show how likely *that* proposition was likely to be. She slumped against the shelf behind her and said, "Oh, I know...I'd pay thirty for that, at least." And after I recovered my shock, we had a rather nice debate over Sandman, and trying to cast Oded into one of Neil's books. We argued for ages, mostly because I kept giving him smaller rolls...I'd love to see him (don't kill me) do Carabas from Neverwhere. Eventually, to make peace towards the only Gaiman/Fehr fans we've ever meet, we settled on Shadow Moon from American Gods.

I read Ten Thousand Lovers last night. I cried at the end, because it is done so beautiful (Hey, another possible job for Oded! He'd make a perfect Ami....) a gorgeous, soul changing story of two love affairs...one between a college girl and her army interrogator lover, another between them and their state, Israel. If I did the movie script to this, I'd take away the fourth wall sometimes...see, there are points in the story where Lily, the protagonist, tells us about things that are "put" of the main two stories, mostly the linguistics of Hebrew words. I think, right when she does that, lily should look right at the camera, at the viewer, and tell us these things....also, I'd use narration, sometimes.

I itch to write this script. I know *exactly* how I'd do it...and this is the first time I've ever, ever said this about a book. It's such a lovely, amazing, heart breaking read.

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Saturday, November 08, 2003

So, I've written a little over 5,000 words on my book. I was doing ok, until I fell into the clutches of the barefoot serpent. Sometime you just get so down, everything feels like grey and garbage. So I've learned not to write on those days. I used to push...one time I wrote a review during this time and sent it in only to find that I hadn't even gotten the names of the charcaters right. I was so embarressed I wanted to cry.

So, my pile of books that I've read and need to be reviewd is piling up again, but I'll get to it.

I felt a little better after I watched The Mummy and The Mummy Retuns and The Two Towers. The unfortuante side effect of this, of course, is that now Drachen is looking and sounding an awful lot like Ardeth Bey (played by Oded Fehr...who if you've never seen him in these movies, you may have seen him on TV...UC Undercover and Presidio Med. And, in the movies, in Duece Bigalo: Male Gigilo. Which is an odd name. I mean, when are women ever called gigilos? Which...actually...is the fourth movie I wacthed this week. A friend lent it to me so that I could see Oded in it...and it wasn't my cup of tea. I can't relax enough to enjoy this sort of humor, but while it was a silly, silly comedy, it had this under-theme of all women can be "beautiful" and that I rather liked. OK, OK, I was more interested in seeing Oded shirtless. But instead of fast forwarding through it like I expected, I did actually watch it.)

I have the urge to say something blidingly intelligent, but I'm still whiped out, so I won't.

I should be writing, shouldn't I? Yergh. I just want to curl under the comforter and add to my pile of things I need to review.


Permalink Cindy scribed this at 1:04 PM 0 comments

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Monday, November 03, 2003

Well, my first nanowrimo report...

Saturday, I wrote a little over 1,300 words...this is because I'm evil and lazy. :D Today I wrote 2,500 words...which is what I realized I'd have to write every day for 20 days to make my goal. :-)
I'm rather hoping I won't have to write weekends...weekends (at least Saturday) can serve as overflow days.

Writing feels good, though. Because of this, I'm forced to write fiction first. I don't sit down at the computer and say things, like, "This review needs to be done," or "This interview needs to be edited." Of course, the paying jobs still come first, but then that's natural.

I began to write based on a pair of images I had in my head. The first is a woman, kneeling on the stone pavement, a trail of blood running toward her while she waits for her fate. She has been accused of betraying her husband to be with another man...who has just been executed. The King makes an announcement, that basically, she's to be banished to sea...unless someone is willing to marry her, despite her evil ways. Someone does...a man who is responsible for a light house on the edge of the world. He's a hard man...not unkind, but very cold. He tells her, as they reach her new home, that nothing matters...not her nefarious past, nothing but the light house, which is in the form of two towers that sit on either side of a river that pours itself into the sea. As Sorenna, as she is called, adjusts, she and her new husband, Drachen, start to get along well...but of course, Drachen is not what he seems, and when war breaks out, and he is forced to leave her, she decides to go and find him. Don't worry...I'm not stealing any riffs from Terry Pratchett, whose recent novel (the fabulous Monsterous Regiment) has a girl who dresses up as a solider to go to war to find her brother...what I plan for Sorenna to end up doing is quite different.


As I wrote, the story unfurled like a flower, and small details expanded, and I was able to see, clearly, the path these two characters will need to take. It's going to be a pretty hard-core fantasy with a bit of romance, the first non-contemporary story I've ever written. I'd tell you what fantastical creatures are going to star in it, but I'm not sure if I'm going to keep it a secret for the first part of the book...i.e. we know Drachen's kind of weird and crabby, but we don't find out why until Sorenna does...or if I should reveal it. I may end up revealing it, because it may be the main interesting thing of the book! I'll certainly use it in my query letters next year...

In other news, I got my issue of Affaire de Coeur today! My interview with Susan Krinard and 12 reviews are in it. 12's the most I've done for them, I think.

I was going to write a review of The Third Magic, but...when I really don't care for a book, I tend to skip reviewing it. And when I don't like a book, I really, really, really don't like a book.

Instead I'm reviewing Cube Route by Peirs Anthony, which is really engaging, and Skytrain to Murder by Dean Barrett, who is as good as any writer out there and needs to be signed by a major press.

Permalink Cindy scribed this at 8:14 PM 0 comments

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