NaNoWriMo

For those who don't know, November is National Novel Writing Month, otherwise know as NaNoWriMo.  I have never participated in this before but decided this year I would.  I had planned to write a SF novella, but after a couple of days being stuck on that, pulled out my old first novel, the love story I had tried to write two plus years ago, and decided to revisit it.  The NaNoWriMo rules say no previous words, so this likely won't count for credit.  I have copied a few dialogue sections from the old novel, but mostly rewritten everything else.  In any case, I don't care.  I love this story and believe it deserves to be told, and I've learned a lot about my craft since I first started to write it.

One of the refreshing things about it is the switch from my usual genres.  Having crafted science fiction and fantasy novels and dozens of speculative fiction short stories since giving up on this novel, I was getting burned out.  All I've written and read has been those two genres.  I feel very refreshed to be stepping away from that for a bit, and I hope that freshness carries over when I return to speculative fiction after this novel draft is finished.

9452 words in three days.  3 whole chapters.  Feeling pretty good.  I can tell the structure and writing is much better than the last time, although I definitely will need to do some more drafts to work on the descriptive prose and emotional arcs.  First goal is to get the story and basic character arcs down.  Once I know the themes, all the rest can fall in place much more easily.

Likely I'll take another pass at my fantasy novel before revising this one, but then I'll have to move on to a sequel for "The Worker Prince" as I prepare for its publication.  I will want to get that done and to the publisher by the time the book comes out next Spring so I can stay on schedule with that series for one book a year.

In any case, it feels good to be writing daily again.  It's taken some time away from job hunting and editing, but I need to do this for me.  Almost five months of barely writing has really left me depressed and discouraged about my writing career.  Professional writers can't afford that kind of time off and if I want to reach that goal, I can't either.

I'll keep you informed as I keep chugging along.  Whatever the case, it'll be nice to have three novels instead of one by the Spring next year.  I just hope these two have better luck helping me get an agent than "Worker Prince" did.

For what it's worth...

World Fantasy Report

I keep putting this off but I have to blog something this week and I really don't know why I haven't just gotten down to it.  Maybe it's because I don't want to acknowledge that World Fantasy Con is over.  So fantastic an experience was it that I wish it could have gone on much longer than it did.  As much as I did in those four days, it passed like a flash, and looking back it wasn't long enough.

Unlike many cons, World Fantasy is a literary convention focused on writers, editors, publishers and artists.  It leans heavily toward pros, semi-pros and aspiring pros, and it is all about one thing:  networking.  Sure, they have the World Fantasy awards.  Sure, they have panels.  But the heart of this convention is community.  And I felt a part of the community of Science Fiction and Fantasy in a special way.  I met some people I have long admired and wanted to meet, and I met others who are just getting started just like me.  Some of those were friends I'd already met on Twitter and Facebook.  Some were new faces.  Either way, it was a delight to be able to finally say "yes, I know these people."

I spent a lot of time just meeting as many people as I could.  In some cases, I used the excuse of books to get signed.  In others, I used my position with Tangent.  At no time did I try to sell anyone my work.  Instead, I focused on just making a good impression and getting to know them.  In the end, I found people often asked me about myself in turn.  One person at the TOR party, upon hearing my dream of one day being a TOR author, introduced me to Tom Doherty himself as a great new writer.  Mind you, this was someone who had never read my work.  Doherty asked me what I was working on and who I was going to send it to, then suggested I send it directly to one of his editors.  I could have pinched myself.

Another time, I got to chat with editor John Joseph Adams, who happens to date a friend of mine.  JJ is a really nice guy and I enjoyed picking his brain about editing and his approach as well as anthologies.  I pitched him an idea of my own to get his opinion and he thought it was a good idea, then suggested some potential markets.  I already have one publisher interested and want to approach another just in case.

I also spent several hours with Mike Resnick, one of my writing heroes.  I've befriended him on FB and Twitter, and though I didn't remind him of his promise to buy me a drink, instead we talked about my novel and how to market and he introduced me to several people who came by -- Kay Kenyon, Gordon Van Geller, and others since Mike knows everyone.

Lastly, I spent several hours chatting with Jeremy Lassen and the publisher of Brilliance Audio about publishing and other topics.  They were very kind to this ignorant neophyte and explained things, offering the wisdom of their experience.

I also got the chance to give out some copies of my book "The North Star Serial, Part 1."  Mostly to friends, including Mike Resnick, as a thank you for their support.   I attended readings of friends like John Remy, Sandra Wickham, JJ Adams, and Saladin Ahmed.  And I got autographs and brief chats with luminaries like Paolo Bacigalupi, John Scalzi, Peter Straub, David Drake, Gene Wolfe, David Hartwell, Gordon Van Gelder, and others.

With all the free food in the Con Suite and the free books, I was in unemployed person's heaven.  I still spent a bit of money on a few books and meals and luggage costs, but overall, I just got the chance to hang out and relax.  The two or three panels a day I managed to attend were informative and enjoyable.  And downtown Columbus turned out to be a great experience as well.

For me, as I prepare to release my first book, I got a better sense of what a con might run like, which can help me prepare to participate more fully as a writer next year.  And I got a lot of brochures on various cons to help me learn about what's out there.  Truly a memorable experience.  I'm so glad I went.

To Simon, Livia, Blake, Sam, Sandra, Erika, John, Christie, JJ, Saladin, Brenda, John, and the other new friends who let me hang out with them, such a pleasure.  I look forward to doing it again.

For what it's worth...

World Fantasy Con, Columbus, Ohio

World Fantasy is still a whirlwind for me, and I am in definite withdrawal.  I will post more reflections on this as I have time to process, but I will say that 30 minutes chatting with Tom Doherty in which he asked "when are you going to send us something," 2 hours chatting with Mike Resnick and being introduced to all of his contacts as well as getting his advice on marketing, publishing, etc., and an hour picking John Joseph Adams' brain on editing definitely justified the cost of the event.  Add to that meeting so many wonderful people from my Twitter and Facebook feeds and many new ones as well, just made me feel like a part of a big family and that's really encouraging.

More on the panels later, but they were wonderful, even though there were many I wished I could attend but didn't make it because of balancing sleep, panels, and networking.  The parties were fun, the free food unexpected, and the travel smooth.  I am so glad I got to go, and I so look forward to the next one.

Thanks to all who helped make the time so enjoyable and productive. Here's some pics of the relative people:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2085972&id=1085393457&l=10d94d796c

For what it's worth...

World Fantasy Con, Columbus, Ohio

In another day, I will be departing for World Fantasy Convention in Columbus, Ohio to meet up with 950 or so other authors, editors, publishers, artists and fans in the professional speculative fiction business.  This is only my second con and my first major con, so, naturally, I am very excited, but most exciting of all is the chance to meet people who have become dear friends via Twitter and Faccebook.  Some are well known like @ResnickMike and @PauloBacigalupi or @blakecharlton and @SamSykesSwears.  But others are up and coming like me:  @inkhaven @sandrawickham @johnremy @erikaholt @saladinahmed @inkgorilla @mosessiregar @johnklima and more.  I'll see my friend Eric Reynolds of Hadley Rille Books, and meet some new people, too, including, hopefully some editors who have worked on favorite books of mine and perhaps a few agents.

This convention is much more industry focused, so the panels and attendees tend to have stronger ties to the publishing side itself and be less general fans.  So it's a real opportunity for me to network.  I have postcards about my books to hand out, including URLs for this blog and my website.  I also have a few copies of "The North Star Serial, Part 1" to give away, and I hope to replace them with tons of books we are to be given free when we register at the convention.  Hopefully it's stuff I don't already have.

Dave Truesdale has asked me to extend his greetings to many people and Mike Resnick swore he'd introduce me to the rest.  It should be a great time.  And I hope to come away refocused and inspired to start a new project in November for National Novel Writing Month.  I really need to get back on the horse of my daily writing routine.  It's been pretty much since May that I did that, which is a lot of wasted time.  I did write in the interim, continuing to work on the first draft of "Sandman," and writing short stories as well as outlining some other projects and revising "The Worker Prince" in bits and pieces.  But what I need is to get back to the dedication I had before and churn out the pages.  I need to shake off this depression and anxiety and focus on my dream.  Being in the process of applying for MFA programs is helpful, and I think feeling a part of a larger community and making stronger connections with people who already support and encourage me will also be good.

Whatever the case, you know I'll report on it here with pictures and notes.  Maybe I'll even find time to blog a bit while I'm there.  Meantime, if you're going to be there, be sure and look me up.  I look forward to meeting you.

For what it's worth...

The Wronging of Elizabeth Moon

These comments very much address how I feel about the Elizabeth Moon controversy and unfair treatment and villianizing of her by other parties.  And in general, they also address how the Left browbeats anyone who doesn't agree with them in the name of intolerance, showing their own intolerance as they do so.  Both sides are guilty of this, but the Left in particular has gotten way out of hand.  If Moon had said the same things she said about Muslims about Christians, no one would have objected.  Which is just as wrong as saying it about anyone else.  The difference?  Christians are acceptable villians to the Left.


I did not make these comments, and I am lifting them without permission from a Listnet, so I will neither take credit nor offer it but I agree 100%.  I do not 100% agree with Elizabeth Moon, however, she does demonstrate how many Americans stereotype Muslims.  The way to address that is not with vitriol but reasonable discussion to reveal the falseness of the stereotypes and assumptions being made.  Her one point I do agree with is that groups often want special treatment they won't extend to others.


Here are the comments I endorse:


1. Moon's comments make explicitly clear that she is not talking about an
entire group of people.
 
2. It is true that the Convention has the right to do what they did, but
likewise those of us who do not agree with their actions have the right to
criticize them for political correctness (which is exactly what this is).


3. The comments weren't made on the convention's "dime," and there is not
reason to expect that she would make political comments at the convention,
so the "not on my dime" rationale doesn't hold up.

It is unfortunate that in today's America, the left/progressive side of U.S.
politics is the bastion of a new McCarthyism, where you can't say something
that is not-PC, or hold a view that is not an approved viewpoint. It is
particularly unfortunate to me, because I'm very progressive/liberal on
social issues, and when I was younger and first became politically active, I
bought into the idea that the left/progressive side was the side of
tolerance, free-flow of ideas, etc. It is anything but that. Both sides have
their villains in this regard, but the left is far worse than the right,
which strikes me as ironic.  

Lastly, when I read stories they stand on their own merit (or fall on it),
and I really couldn't care less about the person views of the author. So
an author is against homosexuality - that's may be somewhat expected given his
religious views. The fact that I am in favor of gay rights and gay
marriage, etc. doesn't prevent me enjoying one of his stories, if it is a
good story. Same for Elizabeth Moon. But this goes back to the sort of
McCarthyism I was talking about above, where it isn't just enough to
criticize or disagree politically with one's opponents, but where instead
they have to be vilified personally to the point that you can't even
separate the person's political views from a piece of science fiction.

 
Unfortunate.

[Disclaimer: I am not progressive/liberal but I do tend to be progressive/conservative and moderate on social issues. ]

It is indeed unfortunate and un-American when people handle controversies like this today, and I think it's ruining our country.  I pray daily that it will stop.  For what it's worth...

NOVEL EXCERPT: Prologue from The Worker Prince

This is the first chapter of my forthcoming science fiction novel The Worker Prince. It's a space opera in the vein of Star Wars and Star Trek. If you enjoy it, please spread the word.

Prologue

Sol climbed to the top of the rise and stared up at the twin suns making their daily ascension. Yellows and oranges faded under the increasing blue of oncoming daylight, leaving a red glow on the horizon.

For as long as he could remember, he’d started each day with an escape from the heavy, polluted air and the noise of people, factories and traffic. He’d hoped the peaceful, quiet sunrises would calm him as usual to face the day ahead, but today he had no sense of peace, and the silence of the city’s edge drowned beneath the clamor within him.

My precious son! My God, don’t forsake us now!

The wait had been interminable, punctured by endless prayers to God for a precious gift. Now they had to send him away—their Davi! Was there no justice in this universe?

He glanced at his chrono and sighed. Wouldn’t want to be late to serve the Borali Alliance! After one last look at the twin suns, he turned and hurried back along the path toward Iraja and the starport stretched out on the horizon near the city’s edge.

He labored more with each breath as heavy air filled his lungs. The depot occupied a strategic site at the center of the planet ensuring easy access from all regions. Ignoring the droning soundtrack of the city awakening, Sol timed in on the chrono and greeted Aron, his co-worker and lifelong friend.

“Regallis,” Aron said, smiling.

“Regallis?” Sol asked. It seemed so far away—one of the outer planets in the system.

Aron nodded. “It’s perfect. Good population, frequent tourists, fertile plants, peaceful, no pollution. Best of all, no slavery. Davi should find a very happy life there.” Sol smiled at the thought. “I plotted coordinates for the capital. Figured it would give him the best chance.”

Sol clapped Aron on the shoulder, as the idea blossomed. “Thank you, Aron. We knew we could count on you.”

Aron, short and bulky, filled out the blue-green uniform jumpsuit, leather boots and tool belt both wore more fully than the thinner, taller Sol. They moved across a hangar toward their workstation, despite the deafening racket closing in around them—the constant hum of machinery, men raising their voices to be heard over it, the roaring of engines, the staccato hammering of tools. The sounds, the chaos of starships in all states of repair and the smell of fuel and sweat combined to make the hangar a place most visitors preferred to avoid. Sol didn’t even notice.

“What do you have left to do?” Aron asked as their eyes scanned the daily work assignments on their terminals.

“Test the seals and navigation system, replace injector. Then I need fuel.” Sol sighed, ticking the tasks off on his fingers like always. There would be no time to work on the courier today.

“My friend at the fuel depot has left over military fuel cells. They almost never ask for them back. He volunteered some for the courier.”

Sol beamed. If he’d ever had a brother, he hoped it would have been someone like Aron. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

Aron shrugged. “Some people are luckier than others.” Sol laughed at Aron’s silly grin as they set to work on their assigned tasks.

As they commenced with their work, Sol stared through the hangar’s transparent roof at the clear blue sky overhead. Through a break in the gray, polluted clouds, the clean purity of a blue sky contrasted with his daily existence. He and Lura had adored every moment since the birth of their son. Every giggle, smile, or sign of personality sent waves of warm amazement coursing through him. There was not any more precious gift than that of this little creature who’d come from their love.

Lord Xalivar’s decree had taken the planet by storm. All first-born worker sons would be slaughtered for the gods. There were rumors that the crisis resulted from one of the High Lord Councilor’s nightmares, but no one knew for sure. Xalivar didn’t need a reason. Concerning the slaves, his word was law.

The gods! Gods our people don’t even believe in would dare to take away our Davi! Sol and Lura desperately wondered what they could do to save their precious boy. After hours of discussion, they’d found a single choice.

The next morning, Sol had begun modifying the round, silver craft designed to carry supplies and papers between planets in the solar system. Being a mechanic at the depot put him in the perfect position. He installed a vacuum sealer and oxygen vents and hollowed out the carrier cavity to hold the cushion on which he would place their tiny son for the journey.

Sol enlisted Aron, who had access to navigation charts for the entire system, knowing together they could find a place where Davi would be found and cared for. The courier’s sub-light drive would cut travel time to no more than a day to anywhere in the solar system.

Lura wouldn’t eat and barely slept, sitting with Davi and refusing to leave him. At least Sol’s work kept him occupied. He couldn’t bear watching her suffer, and if he didn’t act, Davi would be sacrificed with the others. Healing would come when they knew he was safe. Sol was, even now, working on a tracking device, which would send back a signal to the depot when the craft landed. They might never see Davi again, but at least they would know he’d escaped to a new life.

As the suns’ rays warmed the space where he stood, it comforted Sol to know their baby boy would see the same suns wherever he wound up. Shadows crept away like their quat, Luci, who loved to sneak around feeling invisible with her arched back and long tail. Luci would miss the precious little one, too. Sol offered a silent prayer of thanks for the time they’d had with their precious son then turned back to his tasks.



***

“LSP Squads are landing and moving toward our neighborhoods.” A co-worker appeared beside Sol’s worktable, his fearful eyes darting around like flies hovering over a corpse.

“We don’t have much time,” Sol said to Aron as the co-worker hurried off, and they abandoned the hulking barge to finish the courier.

Aron tested the navigation system, while Sol checked the seals. Less than thirty minutes later, the first reports of methodical killings came in—first-born males of all ages slaughtered by LSP squads moving from home to home.

“I hope Lura heard the news.” Sol couldn’t stand still.

“I’m sure everyone on the planet knows about it by now,” Aron replied as both did their best to hurry without making any mistakes. “She’s probably on her way here already.”

Sol nodded, fighting the tension rising within. She would follow their plan and head for the depot with Davi. With his supervisors watching, he couldn’t run home and warn her. He’d risk encountering the LSP squads, who tended to shoot first and ask questions later of citizens who interrupted them in action.

The supervisor was upon them within the hour. “There’s no courier on your worksheets.”

His gray jumpsuit bore not a blemish or wrinkle, unlike theirs which were covered with grease and grit. The stare from the green-scaled supervisor’s disproportionally large orange eyes might have been intimidating if Sol hadn’t already grown used to it. Tran hurried over waving the two lower arms extending from either side of his rounded, voluminous stomach. Two parallel arms extended out of his shoulders above them, one holding an electronic translator which translated his words from his native Lhamor—a series of clicks and clacks—into the common used standard, the official language of the Alliance.

Sol’s throat tightened, but Aron remained calm. “It’s the courier for Estrela Industries, Tran,” Aron said as he typed calculations into the navigation system’s computer. “We got notification they’ve moved up the testing. It’s for a top-secret program authorized by Lord Xalivar himself.”

Sol and Aron had long ago devised the story about the courier belonging to an important defense contractor. They’d seen too many other workers killed just for failing to meet their quotas. Since couriers were a part of their regular routine, it was easy enough to excuse their working on it from time to time if anyone asked. Before now, no one had.

Tran mulled this over, staring at them as if he could read their minds. “It’s almost done—a few minor adjustments.” Sol used a wrench to finish checking bolts on the courier’s hatch.

“Well, you can’t leave today without finishing your assignments.” Tran’s eyes reddened with suspicion before he whirled and marched away. At least they’d bought themselves time.

“If he goes to the manager—” Sol shuddered at the memory of past tortures for disobedience.

“He won’t. He flinches at the mention of Xalivar’s name,” Aron reminded him, as they hurried back to work on the courier. Sol’s breathing normalized again, and he hoped Lura was on her way there.

A clerk in a red jumpsuit appeared, handing Aron some parts for another project. As Aron signed the laser pad to acknowledge receipt, the co-worker looked at Sol. “They’ve started in your neighborhood. We just heard.”

Sol and Aron exchanged a frightened glance as the co-worker slipped away. Sol’s muscles tightened as his heartbeat climbed. He jumped at the communicator’s beep, then double clicked the talk button. “Station sixty-five.”

“Your wife is in the lobby,” the auto-bot receptionist responded. The line went dead.

Sol’s shoulders descended as he turned to Aron. “Get the pod to Test Pad Seventeen-A. We’ll meet you there.” Aron nodded as Sol hurried toward the lobby.

Lura waited with Davi wrapped in a blanket, rocking him in her arms. She wore a simple white jumpsuit and tan leather shoes, her long brown hair flowing down her back. As it had for fifteen years, her beauty took his breath away. The most perfect human he’d ever met had chosen him. He felt like a leprechaun from an Old Earth fairy tale grasping a pot of gold.

Sol hugged Lura, seeing the fear in her eyes. “Come with me.” Grabbing her arm, he steered her away from the four-armed auto-bot, which sat permanently affixed before a huge communications console. He tried to relax, knowing it was a mech but as they neared the door, Davi began crying.

“Is that a baby?” Tran’s voice came from behind them, and they turned to see him frowning as he approached.

“It’s our son,” Lura commented, then put a hand over her mouth as Tran reached for a communicator on the wall.

The clerk who’d delivered supplies to Sol and Aron earlier entered at a run. “Tran, Station Thirty-Four has no fuel.”

Tran stopped reaching for the communicator and turned to face him. “What do you mean they have no fuel?”

As Sol pushed Lura through the door, Tran whirled back around, scowling before the door slammed shut behind them.

Lura’s tears flowed as they zigzagged through the chaotic hangar toward the test pads. They almost couldn’t hear Davi crying above the din.

“I’m sorry...” Lura’s hand shook as she clung to his arm.

“Let’s hope Aron’s got the courier ready.” Sol tapped three numbers into a security door and it rose into a ceiling cavity with a loud, whooshing sound. He ushered her down a dimly lit corridor.

“I don’t know if I can let him go,” Lura said, as she had over and over since the decree’s release.

“If we want our son to grow old, we have no choice, love.” Sol’s practiced emotional burying failed and his voice cracked as they moved past numbered doors toward Test Pad Seventeen-A.

The dark walls and floor of the narrow corridor absorbed what little light the reflector pads overhead provided. If Sol hadn’t known the way, they would have progressed more slowly. They stopped before a gray door marked seventeen-A as Sol entered another key code into the security pad.

The door swung up and Sol rushed Lura and Davi onto the test pad, where Aron was busy double-checking the courier’s navigation system. Mounted on the launcher, the courier appeared bigger and taller than it actually was. Upon seeing it, Lura clutched Davi tightly to her chest.

“Lura, we must hurry!” Tiny daggers danced and sliced at the surface of Sol’s pounding heart.

“I’ve got the coordinates programmed. And I borrowed fuel for the sub-light drive from Station Thirty-Four,” Aron said and Sol winced. “It should take them a while before they miss it.”

Sol climbed a small ladder and examined the courier one final time. “Tran’s already been alerted. Why’d you do that?”

“There was no time to go anywhere else,” Aron said, his face registering alarm.

Sol motioned to the courier. “Let’s get the engines prepped. They don’t know where we’ve gone.”

Aron and Sol hurried about the final launch preparations as Lura held Davi and cried. After a few moments, Sol stepped down from the ladder to join her.

“He’s going to Regallis, Lura. Aron checked it out himself. He’ll be in the capital. Someone will give him a life we never could.” Tears flowed as his hands carressed the feathery down atop his son’s head.

“How can this be happening?” Lura said through her sobs. “We’ve waited so long for a child!”

Sol’s arms wrapped around her, holding his family for the last time. “We have to have faith, Lura. God will protect him. It’s time for him to go.” He reached for Davi. Lura resisted a moment, then kissed Davi’s forehead and surrendered.

His infant son lay so light in his arms—soft and warm. The eyes looked to him with total trust, but instead of cuddling with him as he wanted, Sol hugged the tiny boy to his chest and hurried up the ladder to the courier. Placing Davi in the molded cushion, he wrapped the safety straps around him, put the life support pad in place and turned it on. Its LEDs lit up bright green. The note he’d written for whoever found Davi rested secure in the info pouch on the side wall. Everything was good to go.

Lura rushed up the ladder beside him. She removed her necklace his mother had given her before their joining ceremony and set it beside their son. Since the ceremony, Sol had never seen her without it. Tucking the family crest emblem inside the blanket where it couldn’t float free and scratch their son, he reached for the hatch, bending down as he did to kiss Davi’s head.

“Always remember we love you,” he said, the last words his baby son heard before the hatch closed over him.

Sol clasped Lura’s hand and led her down the steps. He nodded as Aron entered the launch code in the computer, and they all moved out of range to watch. The courier’s engines ignited, humming as they rose to full power in preparation for launch. The room vibrated around them as the courier’s engines shot out twin columns of orange-red flame, rocking the pedestal upon which it rested, before launching into the sky on its journey to the edge of the solar system. Sol wrapped his arms around Lura as she collapsed against him, sobbing. Security forces arrived, surrounding them, and Sol glimpsed Tran’s orange eyes peering in from the doorway.