Posts Tagged ‘Fantasy’
This one’s a new tale, set in the far-future world of my novel-in-stories, TOMBS: A CHRONICLE OF LATTER-DAY TIMES OF EARTH. But it’s also a variant on a fairy tale, Charles Perrault’s “Bluebeard.”
The call: Return to a future full of mystery, magic, and malevolence. How can you tell friend from foe when faced with the cold darkness of outer space? The asteroid belt holds as much danger as the darkened woods, and the huntsman may be just another bounty hunter. The same warnings and concerns that were whispered over baby cradles and guarded by knights in shining armor can be found in the far reaches of space, but just a bit more . . . alien.
But not necessarily just outer space. The future is as expansive as the universe and full of untold stories. Rumors whispered in the dark of night and legends shared throughout the day. . . . There are as many tales as there are stars in the sky and now is your chance to share yours, once upon a future time.
Thus, ONCE UPON A FUTURE TIME, VOLUME 4, the fourth anthology installment based on fairy tales retold as science fiction. . . . upon a fairy or folk tale (Include title of the original tale after author name on the manuscript.) And on with details about unpublished stories only (no reprints allowed), lengths, formats, etc., but all seemed to be leading to one thus far unsold story by me, set in the universe of my TOMBS series (see also, e.g., “The Last Dance,” though in its case a reprint, lead tale in my new AVOID SEEING A MOUSE collection), a tale of two sisters and a chance to marry a reputedly wealthy but hideous man — in fact in his entirety colored blue. Of course, one can get used to just offbeat complexions. . . .
But what of that secret room, the one a bride-to-be has been given a key to, among many others, but told under no circumstances to open?
The word came Friday from Editor/Publisher Logan Uber: Thank you for submitting “The Blue Man” to ONCE UPON A FUTURE TIME, VOLUME 4. We enjoyed your story and would like to publish it in our anthology. After we hear from you we will send the contract for your review and signature. After receipt of your signed contract we will share a Google Doc for editing.
And thus, as we learn coming details together, perhaps we shall all find out for ourselves.
A stormy morning and gloomy, if pleasantly warm afternoon may have kept the crowds down for this month’s “Bloomington Writers Guild’s First Sunday Prose” (cf. April 2, March 5, et al.) in the back conference area at Morgenstern Books. But, even if mostly confined to nine or ten listeners in all, the quality of the work read was high.
First up was a Bloomington fixture of sorts, retired Unitarian Universalist minister and peace (and other causes) activist Bill Breeden with two essays from his ongoing memoir, BILLY PILGRIM AND THE BLACK FEMALE JESUS, on a visit by Batman to Owen County and, at age 13, learning the true meaning of pacifism. He was followed by fiction, memoir, and history author Wendy Teller, currently working on the third of a novel trilogy set in Hungary, reading her earlier Richard Eastman Prose Award winning short story, “Dusting the Towels,” along with an excerpt (also touching in part on pacifism) from her coming-of-age novel BECOMING MIA.
Following a short break, a majority of the rest of us — five in all — filled the “open mic” session, of which I was fourth, reading the final of my own short story trilogy, “Mermaid Vampiress Unlucky In Love,” followed by essayist/MC Joan Hawkins to close the session for spring. Then, after a three-month summer hiatus, the next “First Sunday Prose” will be in August.
A play on words this time. Have you ever wondered? Anyhow this month’s Bloomington Writers Guild “Third Sunday Write” offered prompts the fourth Saturday, Earth Day, April 22, the day before today. So today is a cold day, unseasonably so (freeze warning this morning!), and guess what? The heat is off.
Today being Sunday, it’s wait till tomorrow to call the repair folk, whilst meanwhile leaching heat from the laptop and perusing topics, one of them having to do with “Sunlight!” (at least at the start). Thus:
(prompt 4, respond to the poem “I Was Told the Sunlight Was a Cure,” by Hanif Abdurraqib)
Line 3 (taking the title to be line one): “. . . but tell that to the lone bird who did not get the memo”
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What does the bird know? A small, flying creature who makes its living by beaking bugs, notably from the air. A feathered dive bomber of fluff and cuteness. Good for outsmarting cats in cartoons, but that’s only when caged. (Going “tweety-tweet-tweet,” yeah — you ever heard real birds? Ear shattering “Caws!”) But here, silent marauders, sweeping the skies of life. Insects. Smaller birds. Little heads near-brainless, at least for the purpose of solving riddles.
Full little bird-bellies, that’s avian cognizance. Sunlight for marking time, but in a crude way. A non-intellectual counting cadence: Eating time. Drinking time (flit off to find one a pond or a birdbath). No sunlight? — sleepy time! Time to usurp a branch, make it its own digging in with sharp talons. Fluff up those warm feathers. Tuck its head solidly into an armpit. Or is that its wingpit?
Is “wingpit” a real word?
Maybe the bird knows. . . .
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(Atlantic Puffin guest portrait courtesy of Ray Hennessy)
Or actually today, Monday, the fifth Sunday plus a day, but the prompt this time wasn’t till the fourth Sunday — March 26 — although still in the same month. So then a week later, April 2nd, I drafted my opening, answering the third of a quartet of springtime (more or less) oriented suggestions.
Thus, for March’s Writers Guild’s “Third Sunday Write” (cf. February 27, et al.):
3. a perfect picnic. . .
It’s the ants that did it. Picnics are generally fraught with danger, they being outside. Wandering skunks; the occasional zombie, in season; one’s freeloading neighbors. And trees, of course, squirrels pelting us with acorns. But what saved us was ants.
Ants are nature’s miracles, small, unobtrusive, but with wee biting parts that are embrued with fire. And a vacuum cleaner with an extra-long extension cord were the tools to capture them. Those who did not have vacuum cleaners could borrow from their wives. But with millions of ants captured now in dirt-bags, we had our weapons.
It took only starving them a single season, and then they were ready.
So, picnics restarted, we bided our time, vacuum cleaners humming, our thumbs hooked and anxious, hovering over the machines’ “reverse” switches. We waited. . . Waited. . . The menaces slowly approaching our blanket.
And then it was time! Thumbs toggling blowers, a fire-hose stream launched — of ANTS! Gnawing through skunks, zombies, like they were Jello. Taking down neighbors, shredding treed squirrels. And when they were done, generously sharing with us the leftovers.
A perfect picnic. . .
Time again for The Bloomington Writers Guild’s “First Sunday Prose and Open Mic,” at Morgenstern Books on a lovely, sunny, warm afternoon (as opposed, say, to Friday night’s tornado warning — such is spring weather in Indiana), though this time not adjacent to the coffee house but relocated to a conference area in the store’s back. Nevertheless, with a healthy audience of, for the main part, about twenty people.
So, first up this time was cultural anthropologist and IU International Studies professor Stephanie C. Kane, currently specializing in research on the political ecology of water and ice (though earlier publications include THE PHANTOM GRINGO BOAT: SHAMANISM AND DEVELOPMENT IN PANAMA and AIDS ALIBRIS: SEX, DRUGS, AND CRIME in the 1990s) with several selections from her latest book, JUST ONE RAIN AWAY: THE ETHNOGRAPHY OF RIVER-CITY FLOOD CONTROL (2022). Her readings were followed by human bevavior observer and essayist Darrell Stone with four writings on the recent and not-so-recent past, “Birth Announcement,” “The Box,” “Ode to a Squirrel,” and “The Visitor,” combining poignancy, humor, and a keen eye into the workings of the world around us.
Following these there were five walk-on readers out of about ten remaining for the post-break “open mic” session, with me next to last. My part was the second of three tales, begun last month with “The Mermaid Vampiress” (cf. March 5), “Mermaid Vampiress Dates Octopus.”
It came late this morning, under the tagline A Hero of a Different Stripe contributor copy. The message: Here’s the USPS tracking number for your contributor copy of A HERO OF A DIFFERENT STRIPE: [tracking number redacted, but it said that “it,” whatever it is, would come today]
Thank you again for contributing to the LTUE Benefit Anthologies!*
Say, WHAT!
So a little detective work on my part — these mysteries aren’t as rare as one might think — and the tale led to a another “mystery” of sorts, but one published by me, a year and a half old entry here for October 6 2021 (yes, 2021, books sometimes take unexpected time to be actually published), under the headline Mystery Acceptance: Contract Signed, Scanned, and Sent Back.
The email came earlier this afternoon, but with one deviation from how these things usually go. It was an acceptance, but what it was an acceptance for was to remain a secret.
Thus: We would like to use your submitted story _____ in the _____ anthology. The contract is attached to this message. Please read through it carefully and let us know if you have any questions or concerns. If you do not have any questions, please sign it, scan the full document, and send it back ASAP.
Please do not publicly announce any specifics regarding this yet. . . .
And that was that. Hearing nothing else, I more or less assumed at some point the project was cancelled — these things happen too. But, by golly, a check with Amazon revealed it has indeed now been published, on February 16 2023, by Hemelein Publications, Joe Monson and Jaleta Clegg, editors. The Amazon blurb: Not Your Standard Hero
We all know what heroes are like, right? Brilliant smiles, superpowers, above average beauty, love to pose for the cameras and bask in the limelight? The heroes found here are not your standard hero. Here you’ll find shapeshifting (but ditzy) detectives, considerate sidekicks, avid romance readers, lunar garbage collectors, and more!
In other words, the unsung heroes, the unappreciated sometimes but who do the real work. With my story in it (a reprint originally published in NIGHT LIGHTS by Geminid Press, cf. April 1 2016, et al., as well as SPACE OPERA LIBRETTOS, Digital Science Fiction, February 28 2020): “The Needle-Heat Gun,” the comic tale of a sidekick, yes, but not only just unsung, but also the one who, at every step, pulls the “official” hero’s fat from the fire.
And who also has his own tastes in music (while as for the book and this morning’s message, yes, as of 6:00 p.m. it has arrived!).
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*LTUE stands for the Life, The Universe, & Everything Symposium, an annual conference in Provo UT aimed at authors and artists new to the SF/Fantasy field.
It seemed like a relatively small, but attentive crowd at this afternoon’s Bloomington Writers Guild “First Sunday Prose” at Morgenstern’s Books (see February 5, et al.), despite a high-powered lineup of featured readers. But then it was also a sunny and not-too-chilly afternoon starting a week forecast to get colder, so that may have provided a competing draw.
Of the featured, first up was poet, story, and essay writer John Irvin Cardwell, with multiple books as well as a career as (among other things) a policy advocate and member of numerous private boards and public commissions, with two stories: the first, “Misery,” exposing the plight of the urban homeless, followed by “Hanging Out with Frank,” a memoir of times spent with one-time Indiana Governor Frank O’Bannon when he’d led the Indiana Senate Democratic Caucus, as illustrative of the meaning of friendship. Then he was followed by multi-published short fiction mystery writer, as well as Edgar and Derringer Award nominee and Bill Crider Prize, et al., winner, Joseph S. Walker, with a just released piece in the current ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE, “Moving Day.”
After the break, the “Open Mic” portion was also small, with Walker drafted in as third of three readers with another brief story, “Kindling Delight,” following usually final place MC Joan Hawkins, with me — also unusually — leading off with “The Mermaid Vampiress” (who, as we found out, does not wear a seashell bra). Also of the mermaid, taking a lead from my “Casket Suite” of five related-tale readings on successive months at the Guild’s “First Wednesday Spoken Word” (cf. March 2, below), this was the first of a three month series to be continued in April and May.
For February the Bloomington Writers Guild First Sunday Prose was on the first Sunday (cf. January 8; December 4 2022, et al.), at Morgenstern Books, with past IU Alumni Association and Department of African American and African Diaspora Studies publications/PR worker and author of mystery novel BLOOD TERMINAL, with a second in the editing stages, Carol Edge as first featured reader, with two memoirs of childhood/teen life in Birmingham Alabama in pre-integration days, one, “Whistling Dixie,” on events around her — including the assassination of President Kennedy — and the other, “Daddy’s Knife,” on more intimate relations with family and, especially, her father. She was followed by Literary Representative for the Arts Alliance of Greater Bloomington and Writers Guild coordinator for Last Sunday Poetry, as well as author and poet of numerous works including JOYCE & JUNG: THE “FOUR STAGES OF EROTICISM” IN A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN and poetry volumes ICARUS BURNING and ICARUS REDUX, among others, Hiromi Yoshida, reading a series of prose poems (including two, of two parts each, on the fairy tales “Bluebeard” and “The Goose Girl,” of which more in a moment), followed by a personal narrative originally published in THE BLOOMINGTONIAN in 2021.
Then came the break and, after, a group of five “Open Mic” readers with me at number four, followed by moderator Joan Hawkins ending the session. A bit nonplussed as we would be using a hand-held microphone this time instead of our usual one on a stand, but happening to have as well as my book, THE TEARS OF ISIS, that had the story I’d planned to read, a more juggle-able text in manuscript form of a different story, but also of an appropriate length, I made a last-moment substitution. And by sheer coincidence, given Hiromi’s fairytale-based poems, the story I now read was a jaundiced account of a hopeful, but vain young lady named Cinderella, titled “The Mouse Game,” in the voice of one of the mice temporarily transformed into horses to draw her heavy pumpkin-become-coach to the prince’s ball and her subsequent triumph.
But you may be sure, by the end, that the mice will have their own agenda.
So it’s a little late, but when not? This month I was intrigued by the fourth prompt for January’s Bloomington Writers Guild Third Sunday Write (cf. December 19, et al.), to “for the New year” respond to a poem, “Have Knowledge,” by Paisley Rekdal (on immigration questions and the Lunar New Year). From the poem, I chose this line:
How many water buffalo/ does your uncle own?
My uncle never owned any, to my knowledge. He may have seen them aplenty, however, when he flew a PBY* in World War II, in the Pacific Theater. Maybe even bombed one. I think he owned cats later, in California, or maybe those were his wife’s. And I think it was from him I got a Chinese-English dictionary — for just a few useful phrases, however, that came with the life raft if you had to ditch, along with to-the-point information no matter what island one might end up on: “Don’t mess with the native women.” (I was too young then to know exactly what that one meant. It was not about counting water buffalo.)
For me, however, I’m now the family “eccentric uncle.” My nieces know I have cats — serially, that is, just one at a time. As for water buffalo, though, I have no idea what they would guess.
Then on another subject, another short note Wednesday brought a followup to Sunday/Monday’s VAMPIRICON proof (see January 23): Here is the link to the PDF download of proofing copy #2 (and the last that will be sent). As before, search by your name or the title for your work — I’m still working on the TOC.
The book will publish on January 31st.
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*re. the “Cats” in the headline, the Consolidated PBY flying boat used by the Navy was also called a “Catalina.”
Another month, another Bloomington Writers Guild’s “Third Sunday Write” (cf.November 25, October 24, et al.), this time posted right on time Sunday on Facebook and answered (by me) today, Monday. The prompt of choice this time:
2. The first resolution I will break. . . .
The obvious resolution to break is: “I will not make resolutions.” Easy enough, one might think, to break. But wait! If I kept the resolution instead, how would I even have a resolution to break? Or to keep, for that matter — or anything. That is, doesn’t the resolution itself require its already having been broken to even exist? But if that’s the case, does even existence itself have a meaning — at least in the case of resolutions?
*This* resolution.
But then if existence, even in one single, limited instance, no longer has meaning, does that not call all existence into question? There can’t be two classes of existence, can there: (1) existence that exists, and (2) existence that does not? How does one divide them, existent existence and the non-existent kind? Does not that which exists de facto fade into the simpler, non-existing kind? (That is, non-existence can’t very well, itself, exist, can it.)
“Cogito ergo sum” — I think, therefore I am. But if I am, therefore I must exist, which means in turn that I must be contained in the ever-expanding class of the non-existent kind.
Have I disproved Descartes?
(If interested, you can check out 3rd Sunday Write for yourself by clicking here.)
jamesdorrwriter 