Feast or famine

So an email notified me that as an AHWA member, my free PDF copy of Midnight Echo #4 was ready for downloading.

Then, in my letterbox, I found Aurealis #43.

So I'm right for Aussie short stories at the moment.

Yay, Julia!

That I should live to see an unmarried, childless, feminist, atheist, red-headed woman become the Prime Minister of Blokesland no matter what the circumstances … well, I’m gob smacked. Congratulations, Ms Julia Gillard. You go, girl!

Of less amazingness is the news that editormum has used the 2009 Aurealis nominations to create a list of stories eligible for Ditmar nominations , and that two of my stories - The Six Solvers and the Mystery of the Sad Boy and Traitor - are on it.

The words snowball and Hell come to mind, but it’s nice to be included.

A Nice Day in the City

Some days just come together nicely. Yesterday, we arrived 15.45 at the Melbourne Museum for Titanic: The Artefact Exhibition, more or less reconciled to the fact that we might not get in (it’s a timed-ticket show), but despite the crowds, we got places for the 16.30 slot.

So we sauntered amongst the museum’s dinosaurs for half an hour before picking up our boarding passes – I was Mrs Thomas Potter, Jr. (Lily Alexenia Wilson) from Pennsylvania, a first class passenger, aged 56, accompanied by my daughter Olive and Olive’s school friend Margaret Hays. At the end of the exhibition, everyone was encouraged to ascertain whether they had survived or not. The exhibition quite effectively recreated another age and a more genteel way of life (for the rich, at least) then capped it with the terrible tragedy and somber displays about the recovery of the sunken liner, all of which made turning the final corner and stepping into the bright glare and acquisitive bustle of the gift shop a dreadful experience. Perhaps it’s just me, but I’d rather not see novelty ice cube shapes and Titanic together on a product label.

After, as we made our way towards the Arts Centre, we had no sooner decided that we should grab something to eat than a brochure wielding girl skipped up to us and ushered us down a narrow arcade to a small restaurant full of Asian students, cheap tables, plastic cups, great service and Szechwan food so delicious that I’m still regretting that I couldn’t eat all of mine. I would have shamelessly asked for a doggy bag if I’d had something besides a handbag to stow it in.
Then it was time for the ballet. Earlier in the week, I was lucky enough to secure tickets in the stalls for Coppélia. As is usual with the fairytale classics, there were lots of rapt little girls in the audience, most wearing sparkly headbands and flouncy dresses, each one a potential tiara wearing ballerina of the future.

The only blot on the day was the World Cup racket from roving bands of vuvuzela "players" that we ran into afterwards as we headed back to the car. For the record, I heartily endorse any efforts to rid the world of vuvuzelas. If there’s a petition somewhere that I can sign, just let me know.

I'm Number One ...

... in the footy tips at the Arvo Job.

I don't have a clue how it happened as I don't follow the footy (or the World Cup or golf or [insert sport of choice]) or even vaguely know what I'm doing (my technique is based on patterns and gut feelings). I'm in it because it's a free to enter, workplace morale booster and there are cash prizes at the end. Something for nothing (possibly) is a pretty good investment.

Anyway, I just thought I'd report this fact before I plummet from the heady heights of footy grace back down to the temporal plane below.

Signs of Sunday:Homemade

Galton revisited

I came home to some good writing news - but more about that when (if) it pans out.




Apart from that, my life was made easier today by the totally scientific discovery that, among other things:
-having high cheekbones means you're ambitious and commanding.
-a narrow nose means you're witty and engaging.
-a protruding breastbone means you desire to gain recognition.

Add that kind of information to the data extracted from a person's star sign and you have some pretty powerful knowledge about them at your disposal. HR departments all over the country are probably scrambling to incorporate these insights into their personnel assessments even as I write this.

Decorous dragons and daring deeds

I pray, ladies and gentlemen, do not endeavour to tempt me with volumes that feature hordes of undisciplined undead slaying the landed gentry in their country estates, for I will coolly rebuff you. I consider lady writers such as Miss Austen and the assorted Brontë sisters, if the qualities of their creations in any way reflect the temperaments of those who so skillfully shaped them, to be women of subtle wit and stout character, and so I cherish their literary efforts too much to risk sullying any future readings of Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice with unbidden images of fanged fiends and woolly werewolves leaping out at me from between their most well-constructed lines.

That said, I am not in the least averse to a spot of speculative fiction that is liberally salted with Regency manners and peppered with scathing indictments against Napoleon. Indeed, as proof of my pro-Georgian leanings, I submit that I have just finished Empire of Ivory, another novel by that highly esteemed lady writer Naomi Novik, featuring Temeraire, a most remarkable dragon, and his dear captain, William Laurence. This time, the well-mannered and wide-ranging pair journeyed to Africa. Suffice to say, along the way, they encountered ethical dilemmas, endured all manner of physical hardships, bravely battled fearsome foes, and resisted the common prejudices of their times, all whilst keeping themselves impeccably groomed and verbally decorous.

Alas, however, this particular adventure is now over, and I can but metaphorically clasp the closed book to my bosom (for I have already returned said tome to the library from whence it came) and pray that I shall soon be reunited with Captain Laurence and Temeraire, for I fear for their safety and would know their further fates.

Castles and Computers

There was nowhere I had to be this weekend, so once the domestic stuff was done, I pulled up the drawbridge, loaded the trebuchet, baked a cake to keep me fortified, cranked up ye olde medieval computer and pulled out a couple of dusty files (a.k.a. Big Projects, one of which is my YOSF&F novel) and set to work.

It was nice.

Now I have to get my head back into the "Real World" because I've got an early start at the Arvo Job tomorrow.

End of the Month Report: May

Submissions: 8 (SF:4/ Fantasy: 3/ Horror: 1)
Rejections: 6

Acceptances: 0

Published: 1 (A Sweet Story)

Stories presently out: 12

Mood: Wondering how I feel about so many stories being held for final consideration but ...

Here we go again

The first MS for the next YOSF&F session has arrived. I've put it aside for now.

This week is a designated non-critiquing, it's-all-about-my-writing week. To that end, I'm pottering on an almost finished, big SF story that I've been gently prodding into shape on and off for the past eighteen months. I'd like to submit it to the Anywhere but Earth anthology.

Remembering Douglas

I hope you all had a Happy Towel Day.

"If you want to survive out here, you've got to know where your towel is."
— Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Sludge stirring

The results of Saturday’s YOSF&F workshop are starting to sink in. At least 4 good points were made, and one particularly interesting remark which will definitely effect the structure of the book. Strangely enough, the particularly interesting remark was something that someone read into the text that I hadn’t intended, but now that I’ve thought about it, well, it solves a lot of problems.
That’s what workshops are all about – stirring the sludge and bringing something new to the surface.

And remember: tomorrow is Towel Day.

I think it needs...

So I critiqued, I was critiqued, and I will critique and be critiqued again in 2 months. For the moment, I’m all critiqued out. I just want to get back to my keyboard and work on my own stuff for a few days, preferably teeny, compact short stories.

Half way through the session, we had a guest speaker – Michael Pryor (Laws of Magic series) – which gave us all a nice break from scrutinizing each other’s texts.

Now my head needs a rest. Comfy pyjamas and not-too-complicated DVD watching, here I come.

Heigh-ho...

... heigh-ho, it's off to YOSF&F workshopping we go, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho etc. Well, once I've had a sleep, that is.

It's almost Saturday

Critiquing, critiquing, critiquing, thinking about a few stories that have been out for a looooong time and wondering whether I should send off queries about them, critiquing, critiquing, critiquing.

Sort of cheating

It occurred to me today that I already have a suitable story for an upcoming anthology that I'd like to submit something to. The story in question has been doing the rounds for the last 2 years, has garnered words of praise along the way, and even made it to the final round of another themed anthology. I’d like it to find a home soon, and it’s in much much better shape than the one I’m working on at the moment, having been honed by many post-rejection edits.

So, all I need to do is tweak a few lines and the terrible tale of RoboHussy can go out instead of the Egyptian Tart story. Deadline accomplished.

Now to complete the MS critiquing for the YOSF&F workshop.

Life's a beach

My sister and I went down to Anglesea yesterday, as we do a few times a year, and went horse riding first through the gorgeous bushland, then headed down to the Great Ocean Road beach (it's all about tide times). By the time we got to the coast, it was late afternoon, and apart from a few surfers, we had the sand and the sky and the crashing waves to ourselves. The horses, however, were quite tired, so we didn’t get any of the glorious gallops that we usually enjoy there, but even a bit of a canter and splashing about in the water is something special when the scenery is so stunning.

Today was a very slow and easy-as-she-goes, catch up day. I wrote a little, submitted a piece to one of the BIG publications, read the loveliest rejection (another near-miss, alas, like the ‘was held for the final cut but…’ that I received last week), sauntered down to the library for audio books (for lunchtime listening at the Arvo Job - it's amazing how many books my iPod and I get through that way, plus it's also a lovely little mental oasis that gives my eyes a rest), downloaded Carpentaria by Alexis Wright, The Fated Sky by Henrietta Branford and The Pelagius Book by Paul Morgan, baked bread, patted cats, did the ironing, and worked on a few of the Year of SF and Fantasy MSs. The next workshop session is on Saturday, so it’s been 2 whole months since the last one. Unbelievable. Time just isn't as stretchy and bendy as it used to be.

The Hooded One

Paying too much attention to critics is a surefire way to miss out on a lot of fun movies. Today’s movie is a case in point. From the way some people in the media have been bagging Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood, I was worried it was going to be a load of mediaeval cobblers. However, the prospect of warhorses thundering across the screen, sword-wielding noblemen got up in armour, precision shooting, yeoman archers, and impressive shots of landing craft discharging cavalry was all too tempting to resist. So, giving Ridley and Russ the benefit of the doubt, we took ourselves off to the cinema.

Within 2 minutes of ye olde manuscripts setting the historical stage, I was thoroughly enjoying myself and my head was firmly in rousing matinee mode. It all ended with the promise of more to come, which I, as an unrepentant sucker for epics, hope Ridley and Russ deliver. I was particularly pleased that they gave an eminently pragmatic Eleanor of Aquitaine, one of my favourite historical figures, a goodly part in the proceedings.

Whoosh!

Another anthology deadline will zip past me tomorrow - the third one I've missed lately because of recalcitrant stories, which is a bit disappointing. The story I've been slaving over for the past two weeks simply isn't good enough, so I'm putting it away for now in the vault of shame. Hopefully it'll sort itself out in a year or two.

"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. " - Douglas Adams.

There, and back again in 2D

Those who have followed my series of exciting getting-to-the-Arvo-Job pictures will be thrilled to know that today I begin the journey home.

Apart from that, the must share news is about a local brochure full of ever so handy products - things to organize other things, things shaped like animals or with animal pictures on them, things to clean and comfort and charm you, as well as glow in the dark pebbles to make your garden look radioactive . It included the most amazing, must-have product of all.

And what was this product? A unique mould made from silicone that “lets you bake a giant 3D cupcake.”

I’m getting one, because 2D cupcakes are so last year.