Blog

An update from Janet, who has been working away at answering questions.

The Wayward Wormhole just made getting to the castle a (w)hole lot easier by meeting you at the airport! Cat and I will head to Barcelona Airport and wait for your flight. We’ll both help with luggage and get you to the shuttle that takes us to the train station. I’ll make the trip to Vic with you and then drive you to the castle. Cat Rambo will stay at the airport, greet the next group of students, and escort them to Vic, where I’ll be waiting to drive back to the castle.

Why would we do this?

1. You are important to us plus the trip is long and generally annoying””we can help make it easier.

2. Your visit will cover a minimum of twenty-two days. That’s a lot of underwear. Yes, the castle has two washing machines, but you’ll want a few changes of clothes and other stuff, so you’ll most likely travel with more than a carry-on bag. We can help with that.

3. Traveling with someone familiar with the trip reduces anxiety, and who doesn’t need a little less anxiety these days?

Do you need to get to the castle this way? No.

Will we provide detailed instructions if you want to travel on your own? Of course, we will.

What does the trip from the airport to the castle entail? To travel the 75 miles (121 km) you’ll need to do the following:

– Take the shuttle bus from the main airport to Terminal B. They travel back and forth constantly.

31 minutes.

– Terminal B has a large train station. A train to Vic leaves every ten min. or so from 4:20 am to 10 pm. By a ticket (approx. 14 euros), catch a train.

1 h 20 minutes.

– At Vic, a car will meet you at the train station and drive you to the castle. 45 minutes.

It’s a long day, so we hope you arrive a day or two early and rest up before Sarah Pinsker gets a hold of you on November 1st.

Got any questions? Email me at janetwaywardwormhole@gmail.com

PUBLIC EARLY BIRD ENDS SOON!

Addendum from Cat: When Janet suggested this, I immediately agreed. I’m happy to be there to greet people. There’s a great little cafe there and I plan to bring a notebook and enjoy a bocadilla and some coffee while hanging out. The airport is mid-sized, and well-marked. I’ll have my cellphone handy should you need to ping me for guidance. The train ride is pretty easy and pleasant – so much to look at!

Here’s another moment from Janet:

A month in a castle in Spain sounds lovely. But add the idea of talking and being around fifteen other people 24/7. It’s enough to make the more introverted reconsider their need to write in a castle””if””it weren’t for the multitude of balconies, cubby holes, and garden (or graveyard) spaces where one can go to read or write in private. Writers need time to think. So on our preview of Castell de Llaés, we looked for those special places where a person could reflect and recharge.

You can find a quiet place inside or outside at castle level or discover the perfect balcony that balances both. Every side of the castle offers views to satisfy every mood and the tranquility to mellow even the most angst-ridden muse. Being from British Columbia, I like seeing the Pyrenees mountains, and I can’t help but imagine the people who marched from France and attacked Castell de Llaés in 1635.

Below the castle, there’s ground cover and grasses, perfect for tucking in with a good book or capturing one of the stories that swirl through the air above us.

Join us and stake out your own private nook.

Bedrooms. That quiet, cozy sanctuary where all things heavy can be folded away, tucked into a corner and laid down for a while. My quiet time is important to me. I work alone 90 percent of the time and find it hard to talk to others without taking breaks.

When I saw the size and comfort of the bedrooms at Castell de Llaes, I was not only charmed, but tremendously relieved. They’re as big as any standard hotel room, yet built with stone blocks carved back in 998 AD. Here’s four of the eight rooms. The owners have moved the two beds close together, but there’s lot of room to move them apart.

There is at least one outlet in every room, so you can charge your phones and computers, as well as use any medical devices, such as a CPAP machine. Linens are changed weekly.

Plus, every room has stunning views of the Spanish countryside.

Since we’re reaching the end of the Patreon Early Bird submission, I want to address one other concern I’ve heard from applicants. Bathrooms.

There are four full bathrooms at the Castle. Two in the tower, and two in the main area. They are modern, with a shower, toilet, and bidet. Bathrooms are thoroughly cleaned weekly, or as needed. We hope to see you there!

Check out http://www.kittywumpus.net/blog/how-to-apply-for-the-wayward-wormhole-regular-and-virtual-versions/ for more information.

Up a set of rugged stone steps, the doors of the castle opened and we entered. I’d been awed by its structure, by its historical significance, and its position in the Catalonia countryside. Now I was nervous. So much could go wrong in the next half hour. We had criteria regarding comfort, workspaces, relaxation areas, kitchens, and modern plumbing. After all, sixteen people living for three weeks in a drafty castle with tiny rooms and narrow hallways could end up being memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Plus, we wanted a private lounge for Ann Leckie, Tobias Buckell, Sarah Pinsker, and Cat Rambo, along with intimate indoor and outdoor spaces for students to read, chat, and think. Could the reality inside this 10th century castle possibly meet our needs? Our lifelong dream of writing in a castle depended on it.

With a mind set on problem-solving, I passed through my first ever castle doors and found myself in a spacious semi-furnished room with a storage area off to one side. My list covered a lot of rooms, a check for onsite supplies, and other areas requiring scrutiny. The entrance room wasn’t on the list, but it had a good air about it and my nerves dropped to a manageable level. With that, I grew confident that this experience was about to get awesome.

Information about the Wayward Wormhole Intensive Writing Workshop

There’s a stillness atop Sant Bartomeu hill that settles my bones and calms my brain. At 998 meters above sea level, I lean against a centuries-old stone wall, part of the Castell de Llaés, and look across the fields below. Thirty-nine km to the right is a second hill of 1025 meters, where I can see remains of the castle of Besora as it sits alone with its past. In the other direction, at 961 meters, sits the medieval remains of Castell de Milany. With the slightest effort, I lower a cellophane sheet over the scene and add people in tunics walking with horses wearing baroque saddles. A second overlay adds dusk and wispy tendrils of cloud to the picture. Torches flare along the castle walls to both sides of me, and the glow of a central fire, ready to send messages across the gap between them as night descends. -Janet K. Smith

So let me start out by saying I screwed up, and in a way that I should have known better than to do. The problem is that the Wayward Wormhole intensive writing workshop that I’m hosting is in one way absolutely not up to standard, and that is its lack of accessibility. This is particularly unacceptable given that I have called out inaccessible venues in the past.

I’ve also called out economically inaccessible stuff, and yet this workshop, unlike the other school efforts, does not have guaranteed scholarships in place to help make the workshop cost easier on anyone, although we’ve structured fees to try to fund at least two scholarships this year.

I made this poor choice in part because ““ while this is not an excuse ““ 2022 was the year of the biggest changes of my life (the end of a 20+ year partnership and a cross-country move) and I just let the wheeeeee castle vibe carry me along past any thoughts other than how do I make spending my birthday in a Spanish castle a reality? And when the voices in my head stopped saying that and one in the back nervously raised its hand and said hey what about accessibility, I told myself we’d addressed that by making sure there was a virtual version.

Except now that I’ve thought about it, that’s not enough, because the virtual version lacks some features that the on-location includes. So I apologize to the community for setting a bad example. I apologize to my teachers for having involved them in this ethical lapse. And I apologize, abjectly, to my students for having let them down in this regard.

Given that I have already made a substantial down payment that is nonrefundable and which I can’t afford to lose, what are the material steps I can do to show I understand I fucked up and mean to make it right?

1. The first is already done. The location we have for next year is fully accessible physically, and that is a requirement for all future locations.
2. The second is that we will be providing a yearly full scholarship in memory of Vonda N. McIntyre.
3. The third is that a quarter of my profits from this year’s workshop will be donated to a charity that advances accessibility issues, like the American Association of People with Disabilities. (I want to research the best choice here.)
4. The fourth is that I have learned from it and, as the friend I was talking to about it put it, gained a point in humility, so I can do better going forward and not let whee castle override the let’s look this over before agreeing notion.

So. There you have it.

Best,
Cat

The Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, fantasy and science fiction’s premiere online learning center, announces a new venture for 2023 – the Wayward Wormhole, an intensive writing workshop with some of the industry’s top teachers.

The inaugural Wayward Wormhole will run November 1 to 21, 2023 at Castle de Llaés, in the municipality of Gurb, Spain. Look northward from the castle to see the Pyrenees and southward to see the rolling hills of Catalonia. Ten students and four instructors will spend three weeks here writing and critiquing, while a virtual component allows other students to experience Wormhole-Light.

The Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers has been in existence for twelve years, serving hundreds of students who have gone on to win awards, honors, and accolades, including Nebula, Hugo, and World Fantasy Awards. “I attended Clarion West, and have taught at multiple workshops now,” says Academy founder Cat Rambo. “While others have delivered the gold standard, I want to stretch to the platinum level and deliver an amazing workshop in an equally amazing setting.”

The Wayward Wormhole instructors for 2023 are Tobias Buckell, Ann Leckie, Sarah Pinsker, and Cat Rambo, all seasoned instructors of the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers. Details on how to apply for the workshop, costs, and other information can be found at https://www.catrambo.com/waywardwormhole

Writing games. I avoided them for years because I was short on time, not ideas. Once I lifted my head from my page, I realized my focus was all wrong. This one-hour-a-week “game” held incredible lessons I couldn’t get anywhere else.

So why the reluctance? That’s the easy part. Take a first-born, type-A personality with a novel in its final draft, multiple short stories out on rejection””oops, I mean submission, numerous other half-written stories, and a second novel that’s itching for a conclusion, then disrupt that work with “games” full of nonsensical sentence prompts, and odd pictures, and you’ll find a non-believer who prefers to focus on “real” work.

I’d occasionally pop into the session, but more often than not, I’d log out as soon as I heard it was a writing game and not the story discussion or feral writing time I’d expected. If I had a deadline to meet, anything with the word “play” was dismissed automatically. Who had time for play? For five and a half years, fun writing seemed like an oxymoron.

I admit to being a sucker for the Ticky Box. Which is to say, I am perhaps excessively motivated by having Lists and Ticking Things Off Them. I like setting goals for myself, and I’m good at breaking those goals down into smaller steps, rewarding myself for them, all that sort of self-management stuff. I’m keen to write, to write more, to write better; so I use my goals to manage all those things. And as far as it goes (and for as long as it works), that’s great.

The trouble is that sometimes all those lists and goals instead get me stuck in fear: fear of not meeting the goals, fear of not improving “˜enough’, fear of not writing the book of my glorious imaginings. (Spoiler: I am never going to write “˜the book of my glorious imaginings’, because my glorious imaginings are a cloud of inchoate vibes, not a collection of real actual words, and a book is a collection of real actual words, not a cloud of inchoate vibes. The best I can do is to approximate it.)

Fear is not good for creativity.

A day that I’ve been saying would arrive for about twenty years now is starting to loom on the timeline, and it’s taking a lot of smart people by surprise when it shouldn’t have.

I’m talking about AI (artificial intelligence) creations – art appearing in visual, auditory, and textual forms. Such creations are in the news lately because we’ve hit a point where what they’re creating is pretty sophisticated. Not sophisticated enough though (yet) – Clarkesworld Magazine just stopped taking submissions because of a sudden upsurge in AI-generated stories, none of them actually publishable. But the quality of that prose will improve and already people are talking about how to create systems to distinguish between a submission written by a human writer versus a machine-generated one.

Speaking as a former Microsoft employee and long-time technologist, I’m utterly unsurprised. In 2005, I wrote “Zeppelin Follies,” a story about a future “writer.” (You can find the story in my collection Near + Far if you want to read it in its entirety.) Here’s a section:

I forced a smile and patted Fitz’s shoulder. “Be ye of good cheer,” I said. “I think I’ve got that dialogue problem I was having licked.”

Fitz, as I well knew, hated getting drawn into the technicalities, so when I started to explain how reducing the adverbial modifier minimum downwards had tautened the syntactical delivery, he backed out pretty fast. I spent a few hours testing it out, and was pleased with the results. 90% of writing is putting together the formulas, so once I had this one, and a slight problem with the scenery equivalence parameters solved, I’d be sitting pretty, ready to generate a manuscript to hand over to Mikka the editor. Around three, I took a break and went out to sit in the Plaza.

In “Zeppelin Follies,” the writers don’t write. Instead they create the algorithms used to generate their fiction. Will there actually be a point where AIs can generate prose sufficiently adept to construct something that’s an entertaining read? Absolutely, and I would suspect that point is much closer than current writers would like to admit.

But I think the question that most people are deluding themselves about is this: will AI art reach the point where it touches the human soul, the way a Georgia O’Keefe painting can make you stand and stare or the way an Ursula K. Le Guin can make you stop and think, and perhaps even copy it into your notebook to ponder over later? I believe it will, because the consuming human soul remains a constant in that equation, and it doesn’t require another, second soul to be involved in creating the thing we’re appreciating: we can pause for a sunset, for a scrap of birdsong, or to admire the Fibonacci curve inside a conch shell. The experience of the aesthetic depends on the viewer perhaps more than the origin of the viewed.

We would like to think that there is something inside ourselves that recognizes “authenticity,” a word that is a little nebulous. What makes the words coming out of a biological entity’s mouth “authentic” in a way something created mechanically is not? Is it the intent behind the creation? Or something else? We would like to believe that we are more than biological machines, whose actions are on some level as predictable as those of the mechanical ones. We move in a cloud of delusion, in fact, thinking ourselves unique in this universe.

As far as the consumption of what is produced by machines versus what is produced by human hands goes, there are things we buy to use, and there are things we buy to enjoy. We usually don’t worry about the “authenticity” of the dishes we eat out of, but at a certain economic level, we may worry about it as a status symbol, a way to display affluence by using handmade rather than mass manufactured goods. And I don’t know that most people worry too much about the authenticity of what they enjoy, unless they are a connoisseur of it.

I used romance writing as my example in “Zeppelin Follies,” because romances are notoriously formulaic. But the truth is that every genre has its tropes, and that’s something that an AI can use.

Some artists have stopped putting work up online in order to keep it from being fed to artificial intelligences to use. I don’t know that will work all that well, but it’s worth thinking about. But art is also meant to be seen, music to be listened to, text to be read, and we cannot make it so humans are the only ones seeing, listening, and reading.

I think that one way writers will be able to survive a while is by holding onto the overarching ideas of their properties, and the things that make them distinctive and enjoyable. This is one reason why I plan to keep writing books about bioship You Sexy Thing and its crew, because I hold the rights to its world and character. But will AIs create new properties, new worlds? Beyond question, although they will be made of the fragments of other properties, recombined and reworked. Which is, I would argue, on some level what literature is about, replying to the stories that have come before.

Which makes me ask – will an AI be able to look, for example, at Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and come up with something that is not a reworking, but an original thing that speaks to the Tales? That I’m not sure of. But I’m definitely looking forward to seeing what happens when one tries.