Semaphore Magazine's second anthology has just started taking pre-orders. It contains, among other slightly more sensible things, a couple of my short stories in the form of "A Madder Scientist" and "The Apocalypse Factor". You can find more details of what's inside here
Apparently there are also three copies of the first anthology still unsold. Get them while they're, um... still rectangular things with pretty covers.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
Fencing
I popped in to the university fencing club last night, on the basis that I am technically still a student. Far too energetic. They're doing warm ups and things now, whereas my idea of warming up is usually to grab a weak foilist and fence them at half speed. On the other hand I did get to fence the university's new sabre expert, a nice young man from Japan named Kaito Azuma, over in Hull as an international student. Apparently he's already won the Coventry open, and I can see why. Talking of technically being a student, I now have a date for my viva. I'm not as nervous about it as I thought I'd be, but maybe that's because it's still a month off.
On the writing front, I'm still looking for homes for a few of my pieces, perhaps because there aren't that many places that look for the sillier sort of fantasy. Still, I have a list, and I shall work through it dilligently (with occasional blackmail where necessary).
I've also nearly finished a short historical article, which I'm hoping to submit to a journal that happened to send me (and, admittedly everyone else in my university. And probably several other universities. But they don't count) an e-mail asking for articles. The trick is finding a way to make something quite local seem like it might be of national importance. Or at least of importance outside a small corner of Nottinghamshire.
On the writing front, I'm still looking for homes for a few of my pieces, perhaps because there aren't that many places that look for the sillier sort of fantasy. Still, I have a list, and I shall work through it dilligently (with occasional blackmail where necessary).
I've also nearly finished a short historical article, which I'm hoping to submit to a journal that happened to send me (and, admittedly everyone else in my university. And probably several other universities. But they don't count) an e-mail asking for articles. The trick is finding a way to make something quite local seem like it might be of national importance. Or at least of importance outside a small corner of Nottinghamshire.
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Research and Planning
Just a short thought on research, and how much people do for various pieces of writing, because my friend Adam Wilson has been revealing over the last couple of days just how much planning goes into his short story writing process. For one piece, "Eight plus Eight" (largely about communicating without a shared language, through the underlying concepts of numbers) he spent an afternoon sitting a mile from his girlfriend, attempting to teach her the language used in the story over an internet link, through a programme he put together in QBASIC, without using a word of English at any point. Even for his normal stories, Adam ends up with bizarre mind maps that I can only make any sense of if I happen to have the story in question to hand.
Contrast this with my own approach, which hardly ever involves any specific research at all. Though admittedly, that's because I'll look into these things for fun, without the need for the prompting of a story. In that sense, I guess you could say that the research is pretty constant, and that the difference isn't quite as pronounced as you might first think. I've even been known to write page after page of notes on occasion. The only difference being that I then generally forget where I left the things and have to write from memory.
Even so, I think that the two approaches result in quite different types of story. Adam's short (ish, one of the things this seems to do is push up the length considerably) pieces are generally meticulously detailed, elegantly plotted, and quite deceptive up to the end. (Also rather good. Read them if you get the chance). They're like some delicately fitted together watch, where all the pieces fit perfectly so that nothing goes "spoooiiing" at an unfortunate moment. Mine are generally a bit more vague, they certainly won't count as hard sci-fi any time soon, and frankly I quite enjoy it when bits go "spoooiiing" in a suitably amusing way somewhere in the middle.
And the best bit, the absolute best bit, is that both approaches work. Which is just as well really, since I haven't got a clue when it comes to QBASIC.
Contrast this with my own approach, which hardly ever involves any specific research at all. Though admittedly, that's because I'll look into these things for fun, without the need for the prompting of a story. In that sense, I guess you could say that the research is pretty constant, and that the difference isn't quite as pronounced as you might first think. I've even been known to write page after page of notes on occasion. The only difference being that I then generally forget where I left the things and have to write from memory.
Even so, I think that the two approaches result in quite different types of story. Adam's short (ish, one of the things this seems to do is push up the length considerably) pieces are generally meticulously detailed, elegantly plotted, and quite deceptive up to the end. (Also rather good. Read them if you get the chance). They're like some delicately fitted together watch, where all the pieces fit perfectly so that nothing goes "spoooiiing" at an unfortunate moment. Mine are generally a bit more vague, they certainly won't count as hard sci-fi any time soon, and frankly I quite enjoy it when bits go "spoooiiing" in a suitably amusing way somewhere in the middle.
And the best bit, the absolute best bit, is that both approaches work. Which is just as well really, since I haven't got a clue when it comes to QBASIC.
Saturday, 7 November 2009
Themes
I was revising some short stories the other day, and I couldn't help but notice something. There were four of them: one about where evil fantasy villains come from (and no, it doesn't go "One day, when a mummy villain and a daddy villain love one another very much..."), one about where supervillains get their plans, one about what it's like guarding your basic stronghold of evil, and one about zombie furniture.
Now, I don't know about you, but I'm sensing a bit of a pattern here. Which is slightly interesting, because I've never really been able to understand how those themed collections that authors and poets produce occasionally come into being. I guess I thought that they sat down and said "right, I'm jolly well going to write a collection, and it's going to be about..." (because of course all authors speak like rejects from Wodehouse).
What yesterday seems to suggest, instead, is that they have a look through their work one day and think "Gosh, these short stories all seem a bit similar. I wonder what I should do with them" at which point they obviously call over their butler/manservant, who suggests the cunning plan of calling them a collection and pretending that they meant it all along. (Look, I'm sorry, I'll stop now.) That certainly seems to have been the case with Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, where the joining idea of all the stories being individual moving tattoos, while very clever, clearly came as an afterthought.
Of course, it might not be like that at all. It might be that people genuinely do sit down with a theme, a blank series of computer files, and the will to turn that theme into an amazing series of stories/poems. It's possibly slightly more likely that they think "that's a great theme", power through the first few from sheer inspiration, and then somehow scrape the rest together. I don't know. Maybe you do. Have you ever sat down and tried to write to a theme? Or have you found your work following the same theme without noticing you were doing it? Have you ever heard authors talking like something from the nineteen twenties? I'd like to know.
Now, I don't know about you, but I'm sensing a bit of a pattern here. Which is slightly interesting, because I've never really been able to understand how those themed collections that authors and poets produce occasionally come into being. I guess I thought that they sat down and said "right, I'm jolly well going to write a collection, and it's going to be about..." (because of course all authors speak like rejects from Wodehouse).
What yesterday seems to suggest, instead, is that they have a look through their work one day and think "Gosh, these short stories all seem a bit similar. I wonder what I should do with them" at which point they obviously call over their butler/manservant, who suggests the cunning plan of calling them a collection and pretending that they meant it all along. (Look, I'm sorry, I'll stop now.) That certainly seems to have been the case with Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, where the joining idea of all the stories being individual moving tattoos, while very clever, clearly came as an afterthought.
Of course, it might not be like that at all. It might be that people genuinely do sit down with a theme, a blank series of computer files, and the will to turn that theme into an amazing series of stories/poems. It's possibly slightly more likely that they think "that's a great theme", power through the first few from sheer inspiration, and then somehow scrape the rest together. I don't know. Maybe you do. Have you ever sat down and tried to write to a theme? Or have you found your work following the same theme without noticing you were doing it? Have you ever heard authors talking like something from the nineteen twenties? I'd like to know.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
Remember, remember...
It's Guy Fawkes Night over in the UK tonight, nicely timed for the rain, I think. Though I'm planning on fencing this evening rather than standing watching small figures in the distance blow things into brightly coloured smithereens. (I love the word smithereen, don't you? It sounds like it ought to be an alien from Dr Who really. A tiny one.) If I wanted to do that, I'd go to watch the efforts of a few of my more chemistry inclined friends as they worked. That's one slight downside to history, I suppose. You hardly ever end up blowing up your workspace by accident. Though it occurs to me that, since they can cover just about anything that has ever been done in the past, up to and including slightly pyrotechnic experiments, the words "experimental archaeology" might be my friends here.
On a completely different note, I've managed to find this old review of semaphore magazine's first anthology, and I rather liked it. In fact it's made my day.
On a completely different note, I've managed to find this old review of semaphore magazine's first anthology, and I rather liked it. In fact it's made my day.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Hang on, I like Hull?
I came to a rather bizarre conclusion yesterday, which is that I actually quite like Hull. Now, any of the inhabitants would understand the sheer oddness of this instantly, but for everyone else, I should probably explain. There is something of an fashion in Hull for regarding it as the worst city in the UK. Which is probably why it came top of the list in the book "100 c**p towns". Yes, that's right, people in Hull actually voted for their hometown as the worst in Britain. Even the name is generally depressing. I was on a train yesterday coming into the place and the driver was reading out the coming stops. "Selby" she said brightly. "Brough" was in a tone of voice that at least seemed reasonably happy. But when it came to "and Hull", things frankly went downhill a bit. She sounded almost apologetic about the fact that she had to take some of us there.
But the thing is, I was on a train, having just been to Horsforth by way of Leeds(a note to any southerners out there. Northern place names ending in forth are not pronounced as though they come after Horsthird. Instead, it's Horsfuth. This has been an announcement by the Yorkshire Received Pronounciation Initiative) . Now, I accept that nowhere looks particularly nice from around its train station, but Leeds in particular seemed to lack any character. It was just an endless parade of identical concrete and glass boxes, crammed to the brim.
It was at about that point I realised that Hull actually makes a real effort when it comes to preserving the character of the place. Or at least, so few people want to live and do business there that there isn't the same pressure to rebuild with a lack of style. (You see, we can't help ourselves.) Maybe it's also that Hull's smaller size appeals to those of us who don't really get on with inner city living. I've lived in suburbs, villages, small farms and one one occasion on an island, none of which really gel with sudden insertion into one of the busier cities. Personally, I'd like to think that it's because East Yorkshire is generally a nice place to live, once you get over the weather.
But the thing is, I was on a train, having just been to Horsforth by way of Leeds(a note to any southerners out there. Northern place names ending in forth are not pronounced as though they come after Horsthird. Instead, it's Horsfuth. This has been an announcement by the Yorkshire Received Pronounciation Initiative) . Now, I accept that nowhere looks particularly nice from around its train station, but Leeds in particular seemed to lack any character. It was just an endless parade of identical concrete and glass boxes, crammed to the brim.
It was at about that point I realised that Hull actually makes a real effort when it comes to preserving the character of the place. Or at least, so few people want to live and do business there that there isn't the same pressure to rebuild with a lack of style. (You see, we can't help ourselves.) Maybe it's also that Hull's smaller size appeals to those of us who don't really get on with inner city living. I've lived in suburbs, villages, small farms and one one occasion on an island, none of which really gel with sudden insertion into one of the busier cities. Personally, I'd like to think that it's because East Yorkshire is generally a nice place to live, once you get over the weather.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Stepping Down
Right, first thing's first. I've stepped down as fiction editor of Gloom Cupboard. I've been responsible for perhaps half a dozen prose issues (the last of which has just gone up, so pop across and look) and a nice interview with Gary Murning. I'd like to wish the best of luck to the magazine's remaining editors.
Also importantly, I've found the e-mail I was looking for, telling me where I submitted the short story. I'm glad I found it before I did something silly, like sending it somewhere else. (Or worse yet, submitting it to the same people. That would probably reach whole new heights of embarrassing). Just as a random question, do you ever set out to write pieces for particular markets? I don't, as a rule, but I've heard that some people do, and I find myself interested in how people manage to kick their assorted bits of inspiration into approximately the right shape.
I've started reading Toby Frost's God Emperor of Didcot. I just spent five minutes trying to locate my friend James' interview with him, but I can't, so you're going to have to do without the link. Read the book instead.
I have finished (that's right, finished! Hang on, why am I getting excited about 3000 words of short story?) my short story featuring the zombie sofa. Honestly, at least one of the novels was easier than this.
Also importantly, I've found the e-mail I was looking for, telling me where I submitted the short story. I'm glad I found it before I did something silly, like sending it somewhere else. (Or worse yet, submitting it to the same people. That would probably reach whole new heights of embarrassing). Just as a random question, do you ever set out to write pieces for particular markets? I don't, as a rule, but I've heard that some people do, and I find myself interested in how people manage to kick their assorted bits of inspiration into approximately the right shape.
I've started reading Toby Frost's God Emperor of Didcot. I just spent five minutes trying to locate my friend James' interview with him, but I can't, so you're going to have to do without the link. Read the book instead.
I have finished (that's right, finished! Hang on, why am I getting excited about 3000 words of short story?) my short story featuring the zombie sofa. Honestly, at least one of the novels was easier than this.
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