CBI CONFERENCE

I had a wonderful time at the Children's Books Ireland conference yesterday. I shared a podium with some fabulous writers in front of a friendly and expert audience. Sitting in the high seats, in no particular order, were: 

Conor Kostick (moderator)
Sally Nicholls,

I've been rereading my own novels lately as an aid to my writing of the third and final book in the series. It almost certainly inspired a bizarre dream I had on Friday night wherein I was being chased by an ostrich. When I asked why, I was assured it was nothing to worry about. "At this time of year, they just need a bit of meat in their diet."

Anyway, I'm reading other stuff too. Guy Haley's Champion of Mars was particularly enjoyable, as it pulled me through 70,000 of glorious and tragic Martian Civilization. Recommended to those who have missed traditional SF with its mix of adventure and sensawunda. Both are delivered in spades here along with tremendous world-building.



I've also been working my way through Lore Magazine Volume 2, Issue 1, which contains my own story "Fairy Gold". It's great so far and I'll probably polish it off before I go on to...

...The Dodo Dragon and Other Stories by my friend Sheila Crosby. She's a talented short story writer, so I'm expecting to enjoy this one.

I may have missed some major life-changing events here on LJ over the past week, as I've been chasing the Nork around Switzerland and other places. But I'm back now. I'll have a few updates for tomorrow, I hope.

I just skidded in mud and fell back into a lovely soft cushion of nettles. Sadly, my shirt wasn't tucked in properly and I got myself a nice refreshing cluster of stings.

How do you normally begin your summer?

OUR HERO JOINS NETFLIX

So, yes. For reasons I won't bore you with, we were suddenly desperate to watch a movie in Italian for reasons, and this led to me, finally, joining Netflix.

"So," you might ask, "what was the selection like?"

Apparently, in the US, it's great. Here in Ireland and over in the UK, it's pretty appalling. As I said, we went looking for an Italian movie and found a grand total of 11, many of them absolutely ancient. The same paucity of choice goes for any other genre in which you might be interested. Sparse, I would call it.

On top of that, Netflix suffers from a dodgy search function. Dodgy because half the time it reports itself to be unavailable and suggests you try again later. But don't worry. There are few enough movies that you can scroll through everything in a given genre in minutes.

"Ooooookay, so, Peadar, you think we should steer well clear of Netflix if we don't live in the Western Hemisphere?"

Actually, that's not what I'm saying at all. You need to look on Netflix as a small DVD rental store. They will not have the movie you want. I can guarantee it. But there is always something good to watch. The service pays for itself if you stream even two movies a month. See below for my mini-reviews of the last two nights viewing.

So yes, the stock may be sparse, but even at that, there should be enough good stuff to last most of us several months at least. By then, Netflix should have acquired a lot more properties. If not, they'll lose all of their customers very quickly indeed.

I'M NOT SCARED (IO NON HO PAURA)

This was one of the 11 Italian movies on Netflix and it's an absolute beauty. Set in the 70s, somewhere in the deep south, the scenery, the acting and the characterizations will blow you away. The movie focuses on the life of a young village boy who makes a gruesome, but fascinating discovery. If there were any supernatural elements I'd compare it to a Steven King story. Well worth seeing.

NO IMPACT MAN

This frank documentary follows a New York family as it tries to eliminate all waste and to live sustainably. Enjoyable, but not essential.

JERICHO

I watched three episodes of this TV series, which follows the lives of those living in a small town cut off by multiple nuclear strikes against the US. It's watchable in a popcorn sort of way, but it could have been so, so much better. The male lead is supposed to be an enigma, but I really don't care very much. He is always popping up everywhere and saving everyone. It's a bit yawn-inducing to be honest. The female leads have even less character to them. Only Hawkins with his shady background elicits any real interest.

Most disappointing of all, is the fact that this series was made well-after 9/11. I remember my shock when the planes hit the towers, watching it on TV. I remember how the numbness lasted for days and how nothing seemed real. That feeling must have been ten times worse in the US and a hundred times worse in New York.

Now, imagine how you would feel if you saw Denver wiped off the map and suspected that the same had happened to every other city in North America... The inhabitants of Jericho are so strong-willed, it barely seems to affect them at all. Sure, there are scenes of mourning etc., but it sits on them no more heavily than a little puddle on the road. They should be washed away by it IMHO.

So, why have I kept watching? Well, the situation itself has so much dramatic potential and it has yet to sink to such depths that I throw the book at the wall. 

Not that it's a book, you understand? Maybe that's the problem ;)

The soon-to-be-reborn Lore Magazine has a new cover up by the great Richard Corben. Personally, I love it, and it makes me even more proud to be involved. The table of contents is here. 



Black Gate also has an interview up with one of the editors.

The golden age of short stories is long past. Once upon a time, say, back in the 1930s and '40s, a young go-getter could make a good living out of writing them. Nowadays, however, forums are full of people who claim to only ever read novels. Publishers steer clear of anthologies. Collections are a tough sell and even well-known editors in the genre fields seem to have to paddle very, very hard just to stay afloat.



And yet, with the rise and rise of ebooks, I've come across several people over the past few years who claim that short-story salvation day is juuuuuust around the next corner. In these fast-paced times, they argue, a short story is perfect for dipping in and out of. It's exactly the right length for commuters or for those whose attention spans have been decimated by video games and the internet. Also, the purchase of a single short story, or finding one for free on the web, has never been easier.

Well, I can't speak for everyone, but I would argue that if the general populace struggles to concentrate these days, then the peril in which the shorter form finds itself is even more dire than that of its longer sibling.

You would know this to be true if ever you went swimming off the coast of Ireland.

The sea is cold here. Actually, no. It feels freezing when you first step in and only gets worse as it rises about your neck, numbing your body and causing your ears, which have yet to be submerged, to ache abominably.

Unlike a swimming pool, where this feeling lasts mere seconds, it takes a full two minutes for an evolved ape like myself to adapt to the Irish marine environment. And after that? Why, after that, it's lovely! Your body is in such shock that it starts to think it's nice and warm and the whole experience becomes enjoyable. Hurray!

We readers of fantastic fiction plunge into a disturbing new environment every time we start a story, and sure, it's nowhere near as awful as a winter swim in Donegal or wherever, but learning the ground rules and getting to know the characters definitely costs a certain amount of mental effort. With a novel, or better yet, with a series, this price of entry, need only be paid once and after that, it's enjoyment all the way.

I don't know about you, but when I am reading a collection, the good stories make me want to linger in their world, while the bad ones, only make me reluctant to start another.

What do you think? Am I talking out of my backside? I love short stories, both reading and writing them. I am a buyer of anthologies, but I wonder how much of an endangered species I am?

Farewell to The Loft

This is on Facebook today:

Sad to announce that The Loft Bookshop will be closing its doors in mid May. It's been quite a year. Thanks to each and every one of you for all of your support and encouragement. As of today we'll be running a 50% OFF clearance sale until doors close. Come say hi.

Yes, it is very sad indeed. I love eBooks,

1. I love the ability to download something new and wonderful late at night, or when I'm off travelling.
2. I carry an entire library in my pocket.
3. I find the paragraphs I've underlined in seconds; I can search an entire book for important keywords.
4. My aging eyes rejoice at fonts that are willing to meet them halfway.
5. My groaning bookshelves have sent me letters of gratitude.

All of this is quite wonderful, but while I much prefer electronic text, I just don't have the same success rate for discovering great books online as I get when wandering around a bookshop.

There's nothing like hopping from Romance to Politics to Cookery, scanning the covers, snorting at blurbs...

You see, the thing is, for me personally, I don't know what I want to read until I find it. The internet seems to be set up to help you buy what you're looking for if you already know what it is. Want something similar to Harry Potter? We have a list for you. Urgently need the latest Ian McDonald -- and who doesn't! -- we'll mail you as soon as it's up for pre-order...

All very nice. But when I don't know what I want, I find myself scanning endless lists in the Amazon kindle store. 27,000 fantasy books, 25,000 SF books, almost all of which are vomit to me*. Page, after page, after page of crap. And maybe I don't even want SF. I don't know what I want.

In a bookshop, my stone-age eyes are trained not to see the stuff I don't like and to pick out beautiful surprises like Barbara Ehrenreich's Blood Rites.

There are few experiences more relaxing and rewarding than drifting around well-stocked shelves or chatting with staff as knowledgeable and friendly as those in The Gutter Bookshop in Dublin. And yet, here I am, killing them with kindles. I make myself sick and I'll really miss civilization when it's gone.

Honorable Mention

Lucky me. My only horror story of last year, The Drowner, got itself an honorable mention from super-ed Ellen Datlow in her Best Horror of the Year Volume 4. It's always a great privilege to be included in her list.

If you haven't read The Drowner in Albedo 1, you can listen to it as one of three stories podcast by the magnificent Pseudopod here.




*It's all a matter of very personal taste. Such is life.

I was very lucky to be a guest at the Dublin BookCrossing Convention 2012 in the Camden Court Hotel on Saturday.

I myself am not a BCer and before the weekend, only counted one of the species among my friends. How lovely then, to give a talk on WorldBuilding in SFF at 10am to a large, cheerful audience. Not only were they more appreciative of the material than I might have expected from a non-SF crowd, but their openness became very apparent whenever I chatted with them. For example, I had an approximation of the following conversation twice in a row with two different people:

Me: It's very SF, you mightn't like it.
Random BCer: Oh, I'm a BookCrosser. I'll try anything.

If you are as curious as they are, you can find out more about BookCrossing here.

I've missed a lot of posts due to having so wonderful a time that I forgot you all. But now I'm back and have nobody to play with.

Since I last saw you, I have been to EasterCon.
I have interviewed a soon-to-be-famous actor.
I have sold raffle tickets.
I avoided death-by-sword.
I listened live as the Hugo Nominations were announced.
I remet old friends and formed life-long bonds with people, who think themselves free of me. Fools!
I went bowling with a mythical beast.

I have only now returned. Renewed. Refreshed. Reinvigorated. Remortgaged.

On Saturday, I enter the fray again as a guest at the 2012 BookCrossing Convention.

Can't wait!