I’ve found, over the years, that I cannot usually write about things as they happen, except in an unvarnished journal. The things I collect must mature, or compost, or maybe age like cheese, in order to be useful to me. As I grow older, though, I find this less true–maybe because I’m not experiencing as many brand-new things, or maybe because the things that are new are not wholly new the way they were when I was very young. For example, I went climbing on Thursday for the first time, and although I had never climbed before, I still had a frame of reference: I’ve tried new sports before, I’ve joined new gyms, I’ve climbed to high places, and I’ve fallen off stuff, so combining those experiences didn’t feel shockingly strange. What I’m actually writing about now–in a story that has no title yet–is Chicago. I’ve been there a dozen times, or so, almost always in autumn; I know the colour of the sunshine and the breadth of the streets, and I’ve owned these memories long enough that there’s something I need to say about this place. The new thing, the thing I only experienced recently, is the feeling of […]
Jim Carroll: 1949 – 2009
I began reading Jim Carroll as a teenager in the late eighties. My father saved me a newspaper clipping about Carroll’s life and poetry. I don’t know how my father knew that I, good daughter, would adore Carroll, bad son; but he did, and I did. I read Jim Carroll all the way through the long year of my growing up: from boot camp to my dorm room to my boyfriend’s squalid flat to the wakeful hours of my nightshift summer. I saw him read, once, in Toronto. I remember, for some reason, these lines in particular: “The positions we use when making loveDetermine the next day’s weather” That’s from “Sick Bird” in Void of Course. And this, at the end of Forced Entries: “…red to green…stop to go. Walk. Wait.” As I write this I’m aware these lines, stripped of context, might not sound to you the way they do to me. I can’t unread them. They changed me. He changed me. […]
Sale!
Yes, my temperamental heroine Gus Hillyard of “Who in Mortal Chains” will make her debut in Strange Horizons in the new year. (Since very few people read this journal, I shall confess here that when I read the acceptance letter, I cried out loud like a little child. No one was home but the cats. I got cat fur stuck to my face. It had been an amazingly awful day up to that point; and then it was something else.) This story, which I thought weaker than its predecessors, made the cut; goes to show that I’m not the best judge of my own work, I suppose. For the first time since I began this project, I have more than one completed story in the kitty, as well: I’m going to be in SFWA by Christmas, at this rate. And I’ve given myself a deadline to finish the somewhat related Not-a-Werewolf book, so that I’ll have something to show the agents who will doubtless come calling 😉 Good Lord, but I must work faster! Accepted for publication:“The Tongue of Bees”“Who in Mortal Chains” To submit:“The Duellist, After Her Prime”“The Oracle of the Dashboard” First drafts complete but in need of […]
In which I break radio silence
Back-to-back trips have the salutary effect of frustrating my writing desire enough that on my return, I am more than ready to solve the problems I planted on my departure. To wit: the backstory of the not-a-werewolf; the timing of the magician’s history in the Dickensian Fantasy rewrite; the presence (or not) of Augusta in Toronto. Back-to-back trips also furnish me with so many opportunities for pleasure, not the least of which was yesterday’s exploration of Boston. I had a half-pint at a pub which opened in 1765; I photographed architecture; I coveted, but did not buy, a number of wonderful pairs of boots. And early in the morning I ran, up the mall on Commonwealth Ave, through the Public Gardens, and around the Common. When I am in doubt about the quality or direction of my craft, I must remind myself of this: half of my writing is done with my feet. […]
honest author bio
I came across this a long time ago and found it completely hilarious. The bios of many authors seem to follow a certain pattern. They include quirky job histories that show what a unique character the author is (rag picker, hand model, mule trainer, UFC commentator). They include references to the author’s long-suffering spouse, and usually numerous cats. I, clairification, have a long-suffering spouse and currently two cats, and my job history does include some quirkiness (reservist in the Canadian Forces; tree-planter; night manager at a fast-food drive-thru; portrait photographer). However, none of this really, to my mind, encapsulates who I am as an author. Herewith, the first instalment of the Honest Author Bio of yours truly: clairification always wanted to be a boy, until she discovered that boys are expected to play T-ball. Or: clairification has failed her driving test four times. She still does not hold a license. When her husband wishes to leave the car parked illegally, clairification will not accept the keys, and until he returns, she will walk about nervously, pretending the car belongs to someone else. […]
A storm has beaten all the petals from the roses, and still wrings water from the clouds. I’m indoors, and I’m finally alone. The list of things to accomplish this weekend is a grand one, but as usual, I’ll be content so long as I have a few hours in my worlds. The rest is silence (and laundry, and avoiding the telephone). […]
In which I am a superhero named Galvan
…fighting the forces of parental oversight with my friends Mercuria, Skew, Quiksilver, Spectaculo, and Princess Kicking-Ass. Much wine was consumed, once the parental oversight was vanquished. Yes, we’re in our thirties and even forties, and we still can’t get drunk in front of the fam. In important writing news, however… Accepted for publication:“The Tongue of Bees” On submission:“Who in Mortal Chains” To submit:“The Duellist, After Her Prime” First drafts complete but in need of more work:“Bleaker Collegiate Presents an All Female Production of Waiting for Godot““A Sovereign Cure for Pneumonia”“The Oracle of the Dashboard” First drafts in progress:“The King of Bramble Heights”“Forty-Nine Days in the Intermediate States, with Extracts from the Great Liberation by Hearing”“Seven Postcards from the Garden of Earthly Delights”“Rush Lane” Novel progress:Not-a-Werewolf: still on Chapter 5Dickensian Fantasy: Chapter 11 of Draft 4 (6 more chapters to go) Vexed questions of the day:Which thing to finish next? And will someone order my pizza for me? […]
In which I succumb to temptation and relate a dream
I know, I know… I’ve been told before that no one finds dreams interesting. But since I’m the only one here: I was paddling a dragon-boat with Elizabeth Bear. We went around a lagoon for a while and then braved an open channel, where we capsized, but quickly recovered. When we returned to the dock, we adjourned to a barracks, where we did pushups with a number of other people. A skinny, pale man with no legs was doing handstand-pushups, with amazing balance. A young, dark, bearded man instructed me on a better placement for my hands when doing tricep-pushups. Finally I was resting and I said to Bear, “All this exercise is great, but this doesn’t seem like a regular gym; what are we here for, anyway?” She said, “Viking school!” I am, as you can see, immensely charmed with the idea of Viking school, and would like to begin my instruction post-haste. […]
More from the pillow-book
Silences: the many kinds thereof. The silence that follows an awkward pronouncement. The silence that follows love. The silence of the city when all the power is out. The silence of the country when the weather is still. The silence under water. The silence between stars. The silence of a lover injured. The silence of a child asleep. The silence that follows a great gun. […]
In which the night is sweet
It is, you know. Sweet and spicy and warmer than the day was. My cat won’t come inside. I will be meeting with my writing group in a couple of weeks. So that I don’t show up pantsless, I need to take an inventory: Short stories accepted for publication:“The Tongue of Bees” On submission:“The Duellist, After Her Prime” First drafts complete:“Who in Mortal Chains” Back to the drawing board:“Bleaker Collegiate Presents an All Female Production of Waiting for Godot“ First drafts in progress:“A Sovereign Cure for Pneumonia”“The King of Bramble Heights”“Forty-Nine Days in the Intermediate States, with Extracts from the Great Liberation by Hearing”The talking fish story“Seven Postcards from the Garden of Earthly Delights”“Rush Lane” Novel progress:Not-a-Werewolf: halfway through Chapter 5 of what I believe is partial draft 10Dickensian Fantasy: Chapter 10 of Draft 4 (7 more chapters to go) If only I felt more like writing. At the moment, after a rather grueling week of looking at the books of others, I only feel like masticating potato chips in front of some Criminal Minds. In other excellent news, though, I will shortly begin reading slush for Ideomancer. […]