Taco wants to know: Have you pledged?This year, I’m again participating in the Clarion West Writeathon.
A lot of people are driving pledges with backer incentives. Here’s mine:
I plan to complete one story each week. At the end of the six weeks, all backers will receive copies of the stories written during the Write-a-thon along with a bonus story.
So I just wanted to point out – you get to pick the donation amount. In return, you’re getting at least seven Cat Rambo short stories, which, although they’ll be a bit drafty, I’d like to think is a pretty good value. 😉
Want access to a lively community of writers and readers, free writing classes, co-working sessions, special speakers, weekly writing games, random pictures and MORE for as little as $2? Check out Cat’s Patreon campaign.
Want to get some new fiction? Support my Patreon campaign.
"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
I finished Rin Chupeco’s The Bone Witch and The Heart Forger and really liked them both. The third volume in the trilogy, The Shadowglass, is queued up on my e-reader right now. An elegant, enjoyable series.
The screen play of Jordan Peel’s Get Out features an essay by Tananarive Due as well as plenty of deleted material and Peele talking about the script. Really lots of stuff that interested me and I’m really glad I picked it up. I will be going watch to watch the movie again.
Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963) is a terrific anthology with a lot of stories I hadn’t hit before. part of my self-directed reading this year (as with last year) is finding stuff written by women at the times when conventional wisdom says there weren’t a lot of women writing. Part of the fun of conducting the short story discussion group that’s part of the Chez Rambo community calendar is sharing and exploring some favorites. next up on our agenda, for example, is Kit Reed’s “The Food Farm.” Authors represented are Pauline Ashwell, Rosel George Brown, Doris Pitkin Buck, Otis Kidwell Burger, Sonya Hess Dorman, Joy Leache, Katherine MacLean, Judith Merril, Kit Reed, Jane Rice, Maria Russell, Sydney cvan Scyoc, Anne Walker
Alex Burcher’s alternative history As Ants to the Gods is dense but evocative prose that conveys the flavor of its world, where the Arab civilization has taken over Europe and is in the middle of its Industrial Revolution. The paperback comes out on the 10th and if the production values are as high as the e-book would imply, it will be a pretty book.
I hadn’t learned about the joy that is Rat Queens yet; currently on the 3rd book with the 4th on its way.
Since I love reading gaming supplements and systems, I was pleased to get the fulfillment for a Kickstarter I’d supported, the Monsters! Monsters! RPG Rules by Ken St. Andre along with a solitaire adventure, “Toughest Dungeon in the World.” Another system I picked up recently for reading is Tales from the Loop; I wasn’t entranced by the TV episode I watched, but I may be playing in a brief campaign of this so I wanted to check it out.
I’ve been watching season 2 of The Umbrella Academy (lots of fun but season 1 was better, IMO), Stargirl (so cheesy! so snappy and fun!), and Z Nation (halfway through season 3 and really enjoying it despite the fact I dislike zombies).
Here’s a bit from the story I’m trying to finish up today, a young adult piece tentatively entitled “The Ghost Installers.” It actually came out of a dream that I had – a good reason to be keeping a dream journal.
We talked about that recently in a class – the need to listen to your unconscious mind, to pay attention to dreams and serendipitous slips of the tongue. To nourish it with a variety of arts and make sure its senses are satisfied. To give it space in which to express itself. Sometimes when I’m drawing, that’s when a story that’s mentally knotted begins to untwist itself and show me what my mind is trying to do with it.
The dream was just a moment, an image/situation that I won’t describe for fear of spoilers. Talking to Wayne about it the next morning, I found a story idea emerging, which we batted back and forth, applying the classic try/fail, try/fail, try/succeed algorithm, until it was fleshed out to the point that I jotted down a 250 word outline. Now I’m working through that from scene one till the end, but I think if I get stuck along the way, I might try moving to the ending and writing it, advice from this excellent post about writing process by Kameron Hurley that I wanted to point to.
Here’s a bit from the beginning. Penny and her dad have just moved into their new house, so new that pieces of it are still being worked on. It’s two in the morning, and she’s just snuck in after hanging out with her friends in a nearby park.
She had a penlight in her pocket, although the battery was almost out from using it in the park. She crept towards the attic stairs. The solidity of the little light wrapped in her fingers reassured her, although it could hardly be used as a weapon.
Maybe some animal that wandered in? A raccoon or something. Maybe a cat?
She held her breath, as she crept up the stairs. Was that”¦voices?
“Goddammit, Mysa, hand me the calipers, this one’s a bitch,” someone said.
“Keep your voice down, Brian! There’s a family sleeping downstairs.”
“Who futzed up the schedule? These are supposed to go in before anyone arrives.”
“That’s why this one’s high-priority. They moved in three days ago.”
A mutter of Irritation. “Everything’s high priority.”
Penny swallowed down the lump of fear in her throat. Who are these people and what are they doing here? They sounded like the sort of people who’d been working on the house all along, but why were they installing something at two in the morning? She hesitated, then progressed upward a few more steps. A few more and she’d be able to see what they were doing. Speculations raced through her head, but she couldn’t figure out anything that would fit. This was all too weird.
But the pair, once she could glimpse them, seemed ordinary enough. They wore black coveralls and matching black stocking caps. The taller one was fiddling with something attached to the highest point of the roof. And then she noticed what wasn’t ordinary at all. His feet hung in the air. Unsupported, dangling just enough to show that he wasn’t standing on something that she couldn’t see.
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