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Writing-Related Link Roundup from November 2014

Image of a feline mermaid.
If you're looking for an interesting online writing class to keep productive during December, I've got both a flash fiction and a "Moving Your Story from Idea to Draft" workshop coming up on the 20th and 21st.
Maybe not as timely as it could be, since everyone’s finishing up Nano novels, but just in case: 8 Ways to Outline a Novel on Litreactor

Some of you have two weeks left to sub to She Walks in Shadows. All woman Lovecraft antho, pays 6 cents a word (pro rate). Guidelines.

Good piece about science-fiction writer Nnedi Okarafor on BookRiot. “I came to her work at a time when the debate about a woman’s place in the world of science fiction, fantasy, and speculative fiction was getting a lot of buzz. I realized that I’d read a few of the women who’d made their mark in that realm ““ Ursula K. LeGuin, Octavia Butler, Margaret Atwood, Jo Walton- but I felt as though I hadn’t gone far enough. Okorafor’s stories have encouraged me to travel further down that path.”

Interested in a writer’s retreat? Here’s a pretty good list of them.

Ray Bradbury talks about creativity and how our motives shape our writing. On the same site, Umberto Eco talks about the pleasures of maps of imaginary places.

What happens in your head while you’re reading? Your brain on stories.

David Cronenburg is interviewed about his process of novel writing, as well as finding beauty in unlikely corners. “There are many realities we need to ignore in order to function. Whenever we’re reminded of that, however obliquely, it is very disturbing””there’s a real dissonance that’s happening there. But of course it’s part of the function of art to keep that dissonance happening.”

An article with a lot of resonance for the self-pub versus traditional publishing argument about day jobs, found via M.C.A. Hogarth.

In The Atlantic, Jeff VanderMeer talks about the uncanny power of weird fiction.

Great piece about writers and their real influences, the things that shape their writing.. “I have a theory: the thing that makes you a unique writer hasn’t got so much to do with your influences as it does with how you became a writer in the first place. I think your preferences””your obsessions””come just as much from the first sorts of things you consumed and were passionate about. Whether that’s pop music, comics, “lowbrow” fiction, soap operas, or anything else, the thing that matters most is what started you writing stories.”

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"(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."

~K. Richardson

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WIP: Teaser from "You Remind Me of Summer"

IMG_9664From the SF story I’m working on, “You Remind Me of Summer”. Think it will end up being 6-7k.

Madhur hesitated in the doorway of the bar. No sign on the outside other than a weathered metal plaque set at eye level to the right of the door. It showed a complicated red knot on a chipped white background.

This was dangerous territory but it was also anonymity, a place where no one would be looking at her flags. The privacy field inside kept all such information unavailable.

Someone was coming up behind her and there was nothing to prevent them reading her right now, so she gave the metal knob a twist and pulled it toward her to slip inside.

First impressions: booze-scented brown darkness broken by a single strand of red and green Christmas lights, tables centered in pools of yellow light from overhead lamps, constructions of spiderwire and sickly glow crystals. Along the back wall, a photo mural tried to provide the illusion of looking out onto a great deal seascape from a high cliff, but stains and a few tears made the illusion ineffectual. Underfoot, plas-crete, worn and a little slippery. A dim jukebox pulsing out a watery rendition of “I’ll be Home for the Holidays.”

The air smelled of sweat and alcohol and here and there a whiff of cologne or perfume. The inhabitants were varied ““ even a few nonhumans and mechanicals, but most shared a uniform dispirited look, a slump to their shoulders that made them seem aged and discouraged. Many nursed drinks, but three teenagers lounged at a back pool table, talking trash talk to each other as the balls clacked defiantly against each other.

This morning on the train into the city, she’d looked out the window and seen three young deer, springborn, now nearing fall adolescence, playing with each other by the side of highway running parallel to the track. They darted back and forth; one reared, sharp little hooves flicking out in play, catch me if you can, full of fearless stupidity and no thought for the cars rushing past so close to their play.

Then they were gone, and the landscape kept flickering as she tried to ignore the porter’s stare.

She chose one of the few empty tables, close to the wall, sliding into a wobbly seat, touching a faded video display, freckled with dissipated pixels, alight, tabbing through the choices, contemplating beer and onion rings. Her mouth watered at the thought not just of the greasy food, but the sensation of being unlooked at ““

— then someone sliding into the seat across from her, a woman perhaps two or three decades senior, face unfrozen by the conventional anti-aging techniques, but instead wearing tattoos across forearms and cheeks, purple streaks almost as faded as the menu.

Alarm blared against her nerves, but she refused to let her breath quicken or her tone be anything but bland. “Thanks, but I’m not looking for company.”

“Neither am I if bedplay’s what you mean,” the woman said sharply. Her hair was a silver Mohawk, tipped with blue along the six-inch strands that stood up like a parrot’s crest. She looked strong, was Madhur’s first thought, like some sort of warrior goddess cum blacksmith or stevedore.

“I just want conversation,” the woman said, “and any man I talk to is going to think I’m trying to pick him up, even if I lead with a denial of that. Humor an old broad and entertain me this evening. Unless you really do want to be by yourself, in which case I’ll slide off and leave you alone.”

Enjoy this sample of Cat’s writing and want more of it on a weekly basis, along with insights into process, recipes, photos of Taco Cat, chances to ask Cat (or Taco) questions, discounts on and news of new classes, and more? Support her on Patreon..

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Documents of Tabat: An Auction Handbill
abstract image
What are the documents of Tabat? In an early version of the book, I had a number of interstitial pieces, each a document produced by the city: playbills, advertisements, guide book entries. They had to be cut but I kept them for web-use. I hope you enjoy this installment, but you’ll have to read Beasts of Tabat to get the full significance. -Cat

A flyer, kept carefully folded, in the top drawer of Bella Kanto’s dresser. Dated some twenty-five years earlier, the paper crumbling and worn, and never looked at since being placed there.

VALUABLE GROUP OF ASSORTED BEASTS AND ANIMALS

Trained by Renowned Beast Trainer Jolietta Kanto, Her Estate

Will Be Sold At Auction

On the 12th Day of Autumn, at the Black Dome

At 2nd Afternoon Bell

***

Two serviceable male Minotaurs, of approximately 25 years, trained in simple guard duties and of proven loyalty and good breeding.

One stout Satyr, capable of gardening and light field work.

One hearty Centaur female, trained in cookery and housekeeping.

One Oracular Pig, of unremarkable accuracy.

Two hands of small hunting dragons of good bloodline and health, with two females currently in brood.

Brace of Riddling Deer, elderly.

One Dog-Man, incapable of breeding but trained for fugitive-hunting.

***

Sold For No Fault; With The Best City Guarantee

Sale Positive And Without Reserve

Terms: CASH

***
Love the world of Tabat and want to spend longer in it? Check out Hearts of Tabat, the latest Tabat novel! Or get sneak peeks, behind the scenes looks, snippets of work in progres, and more via Cat’s Patreon.

#sfwapro

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