Being An Recommendation:

At the beginning of this year I was privileged to read a novel called Judgement by GSFWC member Fergus Bannon. Now Fergus hasn’t written much in recent years and the book was actually written a few years ago, but some work has been done to bring it up to date (by Gary Gibson), and it’s now available as an e-book for the miserly sum of just $2.

Here’s the blurb:

It started with a few isolated incidents. A mob shootout in Las Vegas, a firefight in the Central American jungles – one apparently unconnected event after the other, hinting at a worldwide conspiracy of unprecedented proportions. But before long CIA computer expert Bob Leith realises it’s something much more than mere globalised terrorism, something literally not of this world …

For people that like Bournesque thrillers and science fiction that shifts scale at a dizzying pace.

You know, I find that I don’t have a terrible lot to say on the subject of World Fantasy Convention 2009. I mean, I had a fantastic time, but I didn’t really do much that would make really interesting reading. Sure, I went to one or two programme items – of which the highlight was Jeff and Ann Vandermeer’s double headed interview, which was revealing, hilarious and touching all at the same time. And I went to a fair few readings – of which Zoran Zivkovic, Jeff Vandermeer, Jeff Ford and Jesse Bullington were really top notch, and special mention to Jetse DeVries’s Daybreak/Shine event which assured all that attended of a rosy future through the medium of an outstanding 18yr old Highland Park. And the parties were good too – including the launches for Marie and Paul’s Hellbound Hearts and the wacky-as-you’d-expect Last Drink Bird Head anthology (and what a beautiful artifact that is now I have it in my hands!).  And I mooched around the dealer’s room, bought a handful of great new books to top off the 20-odd assorted hardbacks, paperbacks and magazines that came in the WFC gift bag. And I generally hung out with old friends and was introduced to some excellent new ones.

All of which is a superb way to spend four days.

But I didn’t see much of San Jose itself. I had no great dramas (once I was finally allowed into the country, was reunited with my bag and had persuaded my credit card company that going on holiday does not equate to fraud). It was just a Nice Time, but it’s difficult to convey that special superlative WFC definition of “nice” unless you’ve experienced it for yourself.

From a writer’s perspective there simply is NO equivalent on this planet. None.

…three days til I fly out to San Jose for WFC.

I cannot…CANNOT…believe it’s come up so fast. There’s been so much to do over the last few weeks (and so much still to do before I leave), but here it is. And I’m suddenly really looking forward to it. Looking forward to the LDBH launch. Looking forward to hanging out with old friends. Looking forward to the special WFC atmosphere. It’s all going to be great.

The only thing that annoys me is I had a breakthrough on the novel this morning and suddenly feel that the last thing I need at the moment is time away from the keyboard.

Ah well, it’ll keep. It’ll keep.

Found myself in the pub last night with various writery types discussing the rise of e-books and our fears for the diminishment of traditional publishing. The subject came up because one of our number has decided to open up an independent book shop and another is to run it for him, and they were tossing around the rather progressive idea of  selling e-books on site as well as traditional stock. Smart thinking, but we all agreed that the traditional stock was paramount, and not the chain/supermarket bestseller stuff either. They want to sell good books, unusual books, well-made and lovely books. The kind of books that demand that you pick them up. The kind of books you get from independent publishers like Eibonvale Press.

For, in fact, the reason we were in the pub in the first place was on account of having attended the launch of two new books from Eibonvale: “Once And Future Cities” by Allen Ashely and “Ultrameta” by Douglas Thompson. Both authors – Allen, who’d travelled from London and Douglas, a Glasgow native – read intriguing and entertaining excerpts from their books, and were good for a chat afterwards (and Allen’s story may now be among my favourites from this year), and the books themselves are lovely artefacts too, with covers and interiors beautifully designed by enthusiastic Eibonvale supremo, David Rix.

Electronic books may be an inevitability, but it’s a real pleasure to see new independent presses producing books by great writers, and putting so much love into the physicality of the book as an artefact.

October 1st = Support Our Zines Day, an initiative…um, initiated…by Damien G Walter, and one of which I wholeheartedly approve. I love fiction zines. I fell in love with Interzone in the mid-late 80s and used to read tons of the UK small press mags that flourished during the 90s, but I while still keep up a few subscriptions here and there I must confess that I allowed a lot of them to lapse. What was the point when I wasn’t getting to read them?

Well, today that trend stops because today is the day to celebrate all the people out there who are still busting their collective guts and labouring for the love of their magazines. If you want to support some zine too, here’s what Damien suggests you do:

1. List the ‘zines you have enjoyed this year, then subscribe / donate to as many as feel you can afford. You can be modest and keep your donations a secret, or you can show off and list your donations on your blog or elsewhere top help encourage others to show their support.

2. Send a message to the editor(s) of the ‘zines you like thanking them for their work. Editors make ‘zines happen.

3. Publicise your favourite ‘zines on your website, blog and elsewhere.

Today I’ve taken out new subscriptions to magazines that every one should be reading : Weird Tales and Electric Velocipede. And I’ve also taken an interest in Clarkesworld, which is free to read (and they do audio versions of some stories too!), but requires donations and general love. Go check them out and do the same. And while you’re at it: Black Static, Crimewave, Postscripts, StarshipSofa, EscapePod, Albedo One, Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet.

Two or three interesting blog entries in the last 24 hrs on the subject of connecting creative types directly with their audience. The first, from Amanda Palmer, is a stand-making shout out to the effect that she is pioneering a new model, combining her effervescent web presence with paypal to make money that goes directly into her pocket…and almost as quickly into that of her landlord and the woman who owns the grocery store, etc. Because when it comes down to it, creative people need a roof and they need to eat and can’t always wait til the money from CD sales or tours filters through the record company, the management company, etc.

I like AFP’s stance on this and indeed, since I am a Fan, have bought one or two of the items announced on her twitter feed (the LOFNOTC t-shirt, for example, is the ideal garment for its stated purpose, and I would not be seen alone in the house on my computer on any night of the week in anything else). She’s built herself up a fanbase who are into what she does and she’s got every right to benefit from that.

But Ms Palmer, she’s brazen, she’s shameless, she’s realistic and fearless. Not everyone is like that.

Take another example, but from a slightly less affirmative stance. This post by Agent Ribbons describes a heartfelt tale of woe that should not happen to any band. They’re nowhere near the stage of profitting from their income and the tone of their post is sweetly prideful and apologetic for asking fans to help them out of a hole, but there should be no need for apologies. Fans who love their music will find a way to help out, because it’s an investment in the future promise that the band will then be able to make more wonderful music in the future.

Music’s custom made for internet sales. It’s immediate, it’s ubiquitous, it costs nothing to send to people (eg “Everything Pomplamoose Has Ever Made for $9“). It should be easy to directly market to people who know where to go to get it. But what about fiction?

For the last ten years people have been experimenting with delivery methods of short fiction over the internet. They’ve had to because the steady decline of paper magazine sales indicates that at some point it may well be e-zine or nothing. The difficulty has been getting punters to pay realistic (or in fact any!) money for an ezine, and in turn making such venues realistic propositions for professional writers to submit work to. Unlike the music industry I’ve not been aware of much of an attempt by established writers to market their own fiction direct from their own websites. Some have had a “support your struggling author” Paypal button, but anecdotal evidence suggests  that these are ineffective. People will pay money for a product, or for a cause, but not just because there happens to be a Paypal button.

So, that makes this post by Hal Duncan interesting. Like Amanda Palmer, Hal’s got a fan base (and he needs to eat) so I’m hoping (in fact expecting) him to raise the total he requires to release the rest of the story to the public rather quickly. I love Hal’s fiction (and I’m kicking myself for not being able to make the reading at the weekend where this particular tale was unveiled), and if I came across a publication with one of his stories in it I’d buy it, irrespective of the rest of the contents. So, I’ve chucked a few quid – about the price of a magazine – into his Paypal pot in the hope that I get to read the rest of the story soon. Again, I see nothing to apologise for in this context – he’s a creator, I’m a consumer, where’s the shame in conducting a reasonable transaction?

In all of the cases here, we have artists appealling to their fanbase. And since fans tend to be loyal, these attempts at direct marketing, I have no doubt, will pay off to a greater or lesser degree. But this kind of model only works once you have those fans.  For the rest of us, we watch our myspace visitor stats and track plays creep up and scratch our heads at what to do next to garner those few fans into a nucleus.

And the answer to that?

Make better products. Catch a break. Work hard – REALLY hard. Continually. Just like the artists above did. Just like it’s always been.

No NAF today, cos I didn’t get out at lunchtime. But that’s okay because it allows me to drop in quick plug for a band I discovered via Chris Roberson’s twitter feed.

They’re called Pomplamoose, they’re from California and when I get home I’m going to buy everything they’ve recorded for $9.

It’s not just the songs. Which are excellent.

But I’m kinda hooked on the videos too.

Question What do Peter Straub, Caitlin R. Kiernan, Brian Evenson, Henry Kaiser, Gene Wolfe, Hal Duncan, Jeffrey Ford, Rikki Ducornet, Holly Phillips, Stephen R. Donaldson, K.J. Bishop, Michael Swanwick, Ellen Kushner, Daniel Abraham, Jay Lake, Liz Williams, Tanith Lee, Sarah Monette, Conrad Williams,  Marly Youmans and sixty odd other contributors have in common?

Answer They were all asked the following question: What is Last Drink Bird Head?

Each of these writers considered this question in mandatory seclusion and, after literally many minutes of  thought, wrote down their answer in 500 words or less.

If you’re thinking: this sounds like the sort of crackpot scheme that Jeff and Ann Vandermeer would cook up, you’d be spot on. And you’d also be right in supposing that they’d enlist the talents of their regular artistic comrades – Scott Eagle, Eric Schaller and John Coulthart – to turn their crackpot scheme into a stunning looking artefact (that also functions as a flip book!). And while you’re riding the Supposition Express, let’s take it to the terminus of logical conlusion. Given only the tiny germ of those four words to work with, every single writer has come up with something unique. These stories are surprising and powerful and entertaining and funny and…well, yes, short. And best of all – it’s all been done in support of an excellent literacy charity.

Last Drink Bird Head is being launched at the World Fantasy Convention on October 29th, and I’ll be picking up my own copy of what is certain to become a hugely collectible item there. If you’re going, I’ll no doubt see you there, but if you can’t make it you can pre-order the book direct from the publishers at a $5 discount.

You want a sneaky peak to see what I’m talking about? Check out this Last Drink Bird Head action, right here for Astounding! Images! and Tantalising! Excerpts!

What’s that? What was my answer to the question? Well, I’m flattered you should ask, but all I can say is it surprised me as much as anyone. Here’s a taster, but you gotta buy the book to find out what it means.

Margueritte reties her cloak, clutches the flask, and climbs. The steps are slick, but the tread is deadened by gravel and ash, supplemented by ropes of wrack, screes of shells and delicate bird bones.

Her steps crunch only softly. Buoyed, she runs, reckless of the wind, but as she ascends she gains gravity. Wrack pops, shells crack, bones snap. A gust billows the cloak into a sail, but she’s still too heavy. Margueritte’s instinct is split: to control the cloak or to let it flap and drink from the flask. Safety wins, and only once she is secure does she heft the flask.

Just a drop and save what remains.

It occurred to me this morning, in a dull flash of latent stupidity, that I’ve not done a terrible amount to point visitors to stories of mine that can be found lying around the web. These were all fanfared when they were first posted, of course, but time has seen the links trampled into the mulch of blogdom. So, I’ve updated the Published Stories page with some juicy linkage:

The Bone Farmer at Albedo One

Amber Rain at Serendipity

The Happy Gang at Infinity Plus

Harrowfield at Infinity Plus

The Apparatus at The Virtuous Medlar Circle

Bric-a-Brac From The Bargain Bin at Farrago’s Wainscot : Behind The Wainscot

The Last Note Of The Song at Keep To The Code

I’ve been going to conventions a long time now, certainly long enough to have the occasional bum one. The event that you turn up to feeling out of sorts and where you never manage to engage with the event. Where you linger on the periphery while everyone else is having a ball or trawl the dealers tables too many times just for something to do or sit through a programme item you have no interest in or stay in your hotel room until the biscuits run out or spend hours out exploring the environs of some dismal district of a town you would never otherwise have chosen to visit. I’ve not had many conventions like that, but they do happen. And sometimes you ask yourself why you go to them at all.

Well, it’s the people, obviously. The old social networkings is brilliant for keeping up to date with friends, but nothing beats the Saturday night conversations that encompass everything (yes, I went to Fantasycon and had excellent conversations about football and songwriting, bite me!) and swallow the hours. Nothing beats seeing one friend win an award and then hearing that another has sold their first story, and being equally pleased about both. Nothing beats HAVING to break your own limit on how many books you were going to buy because there are so many beautiful, intriguing ones there and the people selling them are so persuasive. Nothing beats those truly original  thoughts that spark out of those long conversations:

SOUND EFFECT: A long, lazy, snuggly, underwater  yawn.

VO: “And when Cthulhu wakes up, all his friends wake up. Hastur, the rag doll. Blind Azathoth, the carved wooden bookend in the shape of an abomination. And all of Shug-Nigurath’s thousand young on the mouse organ wake up too.”

Everyone looks at the found “thing” that has been placed before Bagpu… Cthulhu. The “thing” screams in unimaginable, mind-shattering terror.

But there’s more. It’s the creative boost too. The recharging of the writing cells, the topping up of the story tanks. And there’s the occasional shot of nitrous to the mix too, the belt that sends you home fizzing with ideas, with the knowledge how to fix this story, how to complete that one, and the germs of five or six more.

At FantasyCon this year, my nitrous came afterwards, when I read a story from Patrick O’Leary’s new collection from PS, The Black Heart. I love O’Leary’s work but he is published so disparately that I miss a lot of his stories when they come out, so this was a must-have for me. And on the homeward journey it was my first choice for inflight reading. Spurred by James Morrow’s introduction, I picked a beautiful, gentle story called “The Dreaming Bird”, that would have enchanted me enough on its own even without the *incredible* four-page paragraph at its heart that encompasses much of the tragedy of modern living in one gorgeous feat of writing skill. After I finished the story, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the simple act of thinking about what I’d read.

And I stepped off the plane with such renewed ambition you wouldn’t believe. And that’s why I go to conventions. They heal the writer’s soul.