Ragamuffin running me ragged

Tobias Buckell is releasing chapters to his new book, Ragamuffin. I have the ARC (thanks, Tobias!). I'm in the middle of it (also reading Magic for Beginners at the same time, along with all the audiobooks at work). So far it's excellent, and given the end of Crystal Rain, I expect Tobias to make this one as good (heck, I haven't even gotten to the scene that's depicted on the cover, which kicks-butt BTW, a scene that I heard Tobias read at last year's Confluence, and the scene is also kicks-butt). My only complaints are I now sort of miss the "Caribbean Speak" from Crystal Rain (although I have a feeling it will come up later). Also, Tobias doesn't fully describe some action and detail, which works for his style of story telling, i.e. fast paced, but sometimes leads to my own confusion. This could also be my reading books when I'm dead tired. But it's been a fun romp so far. Nothing has bumped me out of the action, in fact it's been hard to put down.

So, go read someone who has excellent craft, and some really cool ideas. If you like big SF, you won't be disappointed.

Waterloo

So, last night I'm were I do my best thinking, and I realize just what was bothering me about those poetry lines from yesterday, and the muse (or that other being, it now no longer being winter we're going to be oblique about it) smacks me.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

Granted, is mostly a standard rhyme scheme and rythmn placement, but "D'oh!"

Postage Rates, Smack! Part 2

Todd Wheeler reminds me that postage rates are about to go up (to better serve us). My submission to Writers of the Future was delayed until I could get up to date postage on it. As I don't expect the acceptance letter (yes, please) until the end of June I had to take the new rates into consideration. But I forgot my submission to Weird Tales. Time to query and ask if I should send a new SASE with proper postage. This business, what a crazy lot it is.

Because the Muse demands

(in my best Igor voice) "Yes, master."

So, like I said, I've been thinking about poetry, and I ride in to work early, and LBB had these wonderful pictures of smoke on the water, here's some lines that came flying out of the blue. The muse demands they be posted. Here it is.

Down below the grindylow
swim though twilight dreams
the washer women prepare their folded hair
and tend to your shroud's seams.

It's too sing-songy for me. I've studied poetry. I love Ferlinghetti. But there it is.

The muse has been proflic today, once I wrote those lines down. So here's to major breaks after I post this (and hopefully my typing will get better, it's been going downhill all day).

On the Road, Again.

Sent in my registration and booked the room for Confluence. I had a fun time last year.This year I'm thinking of going the extra mile and taking a day off of work to get there early. I missed some good stuff that first afternoon. This con is a very well attended small but growing con that drew a lot of big names last year. I wish I had known more about con going and people then, I would have had a better time. As it was, Tobias Buckell kept going and going like the energizer bunny, and I was dead-tired from work. Sorry, Tobias. This year, I hope to be better (hence the taking the day off). Good folks, good panels, good parties, lots of nice energy. I hope to see everybody there again and have a wonderful time.

As a side note, I'm still working on going to World Fanatasy. If you're thinking of going, the deadline for $125 memberships is this month on the 15th. The main hotel is already booked (but they have a second hotel).

Hey, Ho, Let's Go

Kelly Link just kicks my butt. I'm in the middle of Magic for Beginners and enjoying it immensely. It's be a while since reading an author has adjusted my voice, but Kelly Link is doing just that (argh, that's not my voice! delete delete delete). So I need to finish that book soon. There are things of hers I want to take away, the ease of telling a lie. Seriously. She'll just walk right up to your reading eyes and say, "tricked ya." I've been trying to place where I knew her style from, and once it hit me, of course, it was so damn obvious. She's writing down stories like oral tradition. Now I know that, I can see the mechanics, the hard-worked simple presentation, the "breaking the fourth wall" style of including the reader. Understand that I think she's great.

A few years ago I was into oral traditions and went to a couple of storytelling events. They are exceptionally exciting, better than poetry readings, IMHO. You get both the story, the entertainment factor of someone standing up in front of you, and you get the real power of words and rhythms. And when storytellers try to outdo each other, stand back and hang onto something that won't give way in the ensuing tumult. There was a young guy who had audience participation by having us repeat "Ho" every time he said "Hey." As the story reached its climax (a Native American fairy tale with stone people) he increased the amount of call/response. It was very effective.

So now I'm on to you, Link. I'm enjoying every minute of the ride, too.

Better Second Drafts

118 words, the repetition is tighter, the sentence structure makes more sense. The frags work better.

"We planted another boy today, old enough to husband, not around enough to father. Small mercies there. We've practice so everybody knew what to do. We knew when to line streets and welcome him home. We knew the correct, repeated, so sorry words to say. Waited in line to say them to his parents and wife. We knew the honor guards' names from before. We knew to line the streets again as he went to rest. We could recite the well-worn words of commendation spoken before the open ground. We knew which casseroles we liked. We knew the precise moment to crack the right joke in the church basement. We were well practiced. Wars make for good practice."

Crappy First Drafts

Ever since LBB posted about her getting two (in the voice of the Count "Two. Two. Count to Two. Ha, ha, ha.") I've been thinking about short-shorts, and not the clothing kind.

One-hundred and twenty word short fiction. Just how the heck are you supposed to tell stories in less than 2300 words (my shortest "finished" piece so far)? I think it's in the implications of the language. So here's a crappy first draft, written mostly on the way to work ("Paper is for wimps" - Toby from the West Wing).

"We planted another boy today. Old enough to be a husband, but not around enough to be a father, small mercies there. We've had practice so everybody knew what to do. We all knew when to line the streets and welcome him home. We knew the right often repeated, so sorry words to say, waited in line to say them to his parents and wife. The uniformed honor guard we knew their names from before. We knew when to line the streets again as he went to rest. We could recite the well-worn words of commendation spoken before the open earth. We knew whose casseroles we liked for afterwards. We knew the precise moment to crack the joke in the church basement. We had all gotten well practiced. Wars make for good practice."

133 words. I had to stop myself from doing preliminary rewrites as I typed it in. The rythm breaks at points, I don't have some words in the right place for a good repetition. So there is the crappy first draft. I need to lose 13 words (I think I know which).

Mine, mine, mine, down, down, down, go, go go, mine, mine, mine

So, I'm writing some more of a story bone I put out there early in the month. That was:

"These are not my hands. My hands are warm and strong and meaty. These aren't my hands. These thin and shaky, couldn't harm a fly, not able to grip hands, diseased hands, non-feeling hands. See how they rub together with no warmth, see how the cadaver fingers weave around each other, no magic, no spark. I don't care if they're on the end of my arms, these just can't be my hands. These hands didn't play guitar or put together a thousand erector sets, touch my wife and make love or bathe in the ocean. These aren't my hands with pain filled fingers."

One of the newer sections:
"The good and the bad, always a minus with the plus. Never in balance, the minus tally was higher, until I became unreal, non-rational, imaginary. So you stick this needle in my arm and add to me I know you're subtracting a whole lot more. That okay, there's not much more to give. People have always taken more than I've given. Now that they've taken so much, I'm an empty vessel. But even now they ask for the vessel after all the piss and vinegar is gone. All the bad drains away."

"Freebird!"

Hey, Little Bird Blue, a frequent commentator, all around sweet person, whose currently traversing the US, and one more sub-clause, had two short stories picked up for an anthology. Woohoo! That's excellent, LBB. You all should go over and tell her just how wonderful she is! Short-shorts, those are a hard gig. Congrats, LBB. I knew you were a talented reviewer for the prestigious Greenman Reviews, and now this. So talented.

And she shares too. The antho she's in is still open, and she has the info on her blog.

'Cause I'm a Man

And in other medical news, turns out my testosterone isn't low after all. Second lab puts my numbers right in line. Well, there's one less thing to worry about.

Still need to see the endocrinologist about the insulin thing.

Mayday!

Happy May Day and International Worker's Day. Knock off early and dance around the May Pole. Blessed be.