So I have a story coming out next month in Clarkesworld Magazine, “Tortoiseshell Cats are Not Refundable.” I’m very pleased to appear again in Clarkesworld (past stories are I’ll Gnaw Your Bones, the Manticore Said, Whose Face This Is, I Do Not Know, The Mermaids Singing Each to Each, and Worm Within) and it’s a story that I like because it’s got some humor and some seriousness all blended together in a way that I think is less of a downer than some past stories have been.
I have seen the cover for the March issue of Asimov’s, which contains my novelette, “All the Pretty Little Mermaids,” and which even features an illustration drawn from the story, although I don’t know the artist yet. Hurray! That’s the second time I’ve appeared in Asimov’s, and I’m very excited about it. I also have a non-fiction piece appearing in the March Analog, an interview with Bud Webster about his new book, Past Masters and Other Bookish Natterings.
Other stories that should see print in 2014 are: Memphis Barbecue, a southern steampunk story (AIRSHIPS AND AUTOMATONS); dark fantasy story A Brooch of Bone, A Hint of Tooth (BY FAERIE LIGHT); Summer Night in Durham, which involves a tattoo artist, a vampire, and a parking lot confrontation (STAMPS, VAMPS, and TRAMPS); and Hoofsore and Weary, a fantasy story set in a new part of Tabat’s world, the Rose Kingdom (SHATTERED SHIELDS).
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Last night we had the final session of the Writing Fantasy and Science Fiction class, which is the session where we talk about everything except writing: stuff like going to conventions, and how to submit stories, and how to treat editors and what about audio markets and all that sort of thing. And I’d meant to include a section about plotting stories, because I’d taught a new class the day before, the Moving Your Story From Idea to Finished Draft class, and as often happens had come up with some new things to say about stories from thinking about one specific aspect, but there just wasn’t enough time. So I want to talk a little bit about it in a blog post.
As always, everyone’s writing process is different and the only one I can speak with authority about is my own. So perhaps this will click for you and perhaps it won’t. I hope it does.
Certainly, there are stories that arrive complete. They appear in my head and all I have to do is write them down. This is most likely to occur during the night, meaning I can rise, go to the keyboard, and bang it all out quickly. For example, “Pippa’s Smiles” arrived complete and ready to go, though it had its roots in some thoughts I had been mulling over about gendered narratives. Unfortunately, though, that’s not usually how it works.
For me, stories can start in a number of ways.
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Sold “Whose Face This Is, I Do Not Know” to Clarkesworld. That’ll be the fourth time I’ve had a story in there, the others being The Mermaids Singing Each to Each, The Worm Within, and I’ll Gnaw Your Bones, the Manticore Said. I’m pleased by this sale, particularly since they do a lovely collection of each year’s stories.
Had a FABULOUS time at Norwescon. My fellow panelists were great, and it was terrific seeing everyone, including (but not restricted to): Alma Alexander, Michael Alexander and his lovely wife Sheila, K.C. Ball, Nathan Crowder, Janet Freeman Davis, Caren Gussoff, Mary Robinette Kowal, Nancy Kress, Nick Mamatas, Mary Rosenblum, Michael Swanwick, Stephanie Weippart, whose surname I think I have misspelled, and Duane Wilkins. Particularly loved the Beneath Ceaseless Skies reading, which featured so much very good stuff that it was alarming.
Pippa’s Smiles, which I read the beginning to at the BCS reading, is now up on Daily Science Fiction.
I participated in the Locus Roundtable discussion of awards, and the first part of that is up on Locus.
Next up on my con agenda is Penguicon!
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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."
(horror, short story) At the end of the song, a ghost is waiting. It ripples in the air. It is a hint of iridescent blue, so subtle it can scarcely be seen. If it makes any noise it’s not audible over the music. He is listening to the first verse, the one he wrote the first day he saw her. He wrote it down on a napkin in ballpoint pen. Then he went and introduced himself, because a woman who could inspire words like that was worth keeping around.
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