Travel Update, Mid-August

Bryan Thomas Schmidt put together this developmental editing checklist for novels after the first session of my online editing class. (Details on the next time the editing class will be offered.)

I guest blogged on the Dark Continents website about why I believe Small Presses are the Risk-takers.

In TAFT 2012, a time-traveling President Taft gets dragged into the 2012 election cycle. I interviewed its author, Jason Heller, for the SFWA blog.

My story, Acquainted with the Night, can be found in a really fun anthology of superhero fiction put together by Lincoln Crisler, CORRUPTS ABSOLUTELY?

I’m appearing at MidSouthCon this weekend as their Editor Guest of Honor. While there I’ll be giving a talk entitled “We’re All Bozos On This Bus: The Truth About Electronic Publishing.” I’ll put the text up on here afterwards.

Another Tabat story is brewing, this time explaining one of the city’s architectural features: the ninety-nine statues of figures from the history of Tabat, commissioned by a Duke to be placed along Salt Road. A mystery arises – what is it about the 99th statue that sets it apart from its fellows? Here’s a snippet from the beginning:

It was one of those rainy days that make up most of Tabat’s spring, a day when the clouds hung so low that the city’s upper terraces were shrouded in fog. When Nicolas started up the foot of Salt Road, it was clear, but as he ascended, the white mist around him thickened and he found himself breathing in cold moisture that made his lungs feel as sodden as the thick wool coat he had imprudently chosen that morning, thinking it would snow and he’d want the warmth.

He shivered and glanced sideways and slightly down at his companion. Feniker marched along with his hands in his pockets, smugly dry in his oilskin cloak and waxed leather boots, both brand new. An elaborate cockade was pinned to the black fabric’s breast.

Feniker glanced down at himself. “This is what all the expeditions are equipped with. Nothing but the best.”

“Still planning on going?” Nicolas asked. He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, but Feniker didn’t reply, just nodded and kept on walking.

Nicolas kept his pace in step with his friend’s, despite the discrepancy in their heights. He hunted for a safe topic of conversation but everything seemed fraught, tinted with departure.

By now, they could barely see the street, surrounded by a wall of meaninglessness, robbed of any sign of wall or fence or street-sign. The cobbles underfoot were slick with moisture. Tonight when the temperature dropped, Nicolas knew, they would become black ice, and most of the city would come to a standstill, with only the lines of the trams moving up and down the terraces.

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