The Kickstarted anthology of SFF short stories framed as Kickstarter campaigns is out!

HELP FUND MY ROBOT ARMY is now stomping around, demanding your attention.

It features a passel of amazing authors — Mur Lafferty! Tobias Buckell! Kat Howard! Seanan McGuire! Veronica Belmont! Scott Sigler! Jonathan Howard! So many authors, too many to list (check out the table of contents to see all the wonderful what-the-fuckery going on in this book). Edited by the inimitable John Joseph Adams

Oh, and apparently I’m in the book, too. Who knew?

(Spoiler warning: I totally knew.)

I wrote a story about a woman who wants to become a lioness.

So maybe check that out.

You can find some of the stories free right here.

You can nab the e-book at:

Amazon

Thanks to JJA for having me in the anthology!

What Else Is Going On?

The Blightborn pre-order to win a Kindle Paperwhite contest is ongoing until the end of the month. The e-book is pre-orderable for $3.99. Details on the contest here!

If you want to request a review copy of Blightborn — you can now do so through Netgalley.

I also just finished writing the third book this week — The Harvest (tentative title). Had a 9k last day, book ended up just shy of 100,000 words. (The first book was around 70k, second book is around 120k, for comparison.) I’m really excited about it, though man, ending a proper trilogy is hard. You wanna cram so much in there but you also don’t want it to read like you’re cramming so much in there. You want to satisfy the story hungers, but you don’t want to force-feed, either.

(Now I move onto finishing Zeroes, and then… well, who knows?)

Blackbirds is still a hair cheaper than usual right now — paperback at $6.89 at Amazon, or $6.90 at B&N. People always ask me what book of mine to start with, since I’ve been fortunate enough to have a handful of books out in a fairly short time — and I always say that they might as well start with Blackbirds, provided they don’t mind reading adult fiction. (If they’re more into YA, then obviously — hey, start with some of my YA stuff, instead.) You can also grab Blackbirds at Powells, through Indiebound.

I have other news I wanna announce soon, but I caaaaaaan’t yet. *vibrates*

Oh! Finally, you’ll find that my Angry Robot editor, Lee Harris — who is now moving onto the digital imagination emporium that is Tor.com’s new imprint —  said something very nice about me and other authors in the Washington Post:

Pressed to named some of his favorite authors, Harris mentions Chuck Wendig, “one of the most exciting new talents out there”; Kameron Hurley, whose “God’s War” “shows how good a debut novel really can be; and Ramsey Campbell, “the best author working in the horror genre for decades.”

Considering shorter fiction, he praises Joe Hill, Robert Shearman, Catherynne M. Valente, Kij Johnson, Aliette de Bodard, N.K. Jemisin. “And there are so many others,” he says. “It’s a very exciting time to be working in genre.”

Thank you, Lee! And congrats to him for his move.

Child of A Hidden Sea is the story of a 24-year-old videographer from San Francisco who goes looking for her birth parents and discovers they come from another world. When Sophie Hansa interrupts an attack on her newfound aunt, she ends up on that world, and finds a place filled with not only intrigue but magic.

Stormwrack is almost entirely covered by ocean, and populated by people from tiny island nations, each with its own microclimate and form of government. There are democracies, military dictatorships, kingdoms, and even barely-reformed pirate cooperatives… and each country uses a form of magic based on the unique natural resources of its home island. Stormwrack is a treasure-trove of new species and scientific questions, in other words, things she could research forever… but everyone seems to want Sophie to leave, and as quickly and as quietly as possible.

1. Even when I set out to write a book that isn’t too talky, I still write a pretty talky book

My books are–I think anyone would agree–dialog-heavy. Some of this comes of being such a fan of mystery fiction. In mysteries, the detective usually needs to pry information out of suspects and witnesses by interviewing them. They then go to other people–experts, friends, reporters–and talk about what they’ve learned, juggling the facts until they figure out what it all means.

Seriously! Pull up a standard piece of mystery TV and do something else while it’s on. There’s probably a pile of ironing in your laundry closet. You’ll be surprised how little you have to actually look at the television, especially compared with something visually splendid, like Game of Thrones.

I had meant for Child of a Hidden Sea, with all its action and swashbuckling and sailing around, to be less talky than my previous two novels, Indigo Springs and Blue Magic. In those, the characters are trying to figure out how magic works with no information whatsoever.

In the end, it didn’t really work out that way. I suppose this vindicates my belief that whatever you already are, you should be that thing emphatically. Blabbermouth protagonists for the win!

2. Huge cities composed of hundreds of seagoing vessels are terribly hard to get around.

The capital city of Stormwrack is a massive collection of sailing ships, some magical, called the Fleet of Nations. Basically, 250 countries have each sent their best ship to serve a in an international peacekeeping navy.

Added to that are civilian camp followers: merchants, manufacturers, hangers on, fishers, you name it. If you imagine each vessel is a city block, and then think about the logistics of getting from your apartment to the courthouse, it is a bit of a nightmare.

On the one hand, it didn’t take much imagination to come up with the idea of a fleet of ferries that would sail routes between the big ships and a second fleet of flying taxis, magical hang gliders, essentially, to ply the skies. The real technical challenge as a writer is in keeping all the scrambling around from getting boring or repetitive.

3. Other things about Age of Sail technology

Travel times are very slow. Communications are very slow. Nothing can unfold at a pace even remotely resembling the one we all move at now. Time crunches are very different things in a book like this.

4. Some fantasy readers assume that the minute you go to a world with magic, all technology stops working.

This is a bit of feedback that caught me off-guard. My working assumption is that if you have fire and the wheel still works, some technology will too.

I can see, in retrospect, that a line might be drawn between purely mechanical objects and electronic things. (Though I can’t really say–how different would the laws of nature have to be to make the transistor or silicon chip fail without rendering the planet unfit for carbon-based life?) In theory in a portal fantasy where electronic technology stops, you could take a Model T car through and it would run. How about a gun? An old camera? That’s simply chemistry and optics.

I did in an earlier draft of the book consider having Sophie import a mechanical camera to Stormwrack instead of her digital SLR. My thinking was that the batteries wouldn’t run out and the chip wouldn’t need to be taken to her home in San Francisco for unloading. But developing chemicals and darkrooms are not easily come by, when you were improvising on a world whose capital city is a bunch of sailing ships full of people uninterested in photography.

5. I may be more of a pantser than I thought

I set out to write most of my novels with a pretty decent outline. It’s not pretty, but there’s something written out saying what I plan to do with the character and the story. In a series (and this is true of my short fiction series as well) my writerbrain seems to be okay with creating interesting story problems for myself on the assumption, the blithe, blithe assumption, that I will eventually figure out the answer. In fact, this has worked out okay for me so far, but it means I spend a lot of time pondering little unanswered questions, things I desperately need to figure out.

A little tiny example: cats, on Stormwrack, are cursed. Because they are such an effective predator and because so many island nations have species that would be extinguished if cats got loose in their microclimate, someone has laid an inscription on the entire race of cats. It confines them to their native habitats and to sailing ships. If they leave one or the other, they die. (There’s a way to move them from ship to ship.)

Because because of the way magic works in this universe, this means that the race of cats must have a name, and someone found it out. Do I know that name? Do I know who figured it out, and how?

Nope, not a clue.

Often the way I go about answering these little questions is by writing a short story. In theory, my future holds a story entitled “The True Name of Catkind,” or perhaps, “It’s Pronounced Meeooow, Dammit.” It will almost certainly be a very talky story.

* * *

A. M. Dellamonica has recently moved to Toronto, Canada, after 22 years in Vancouver.  In addition to writing, she studies yoga and takes thousands of digital photographs. She is a graduate of Clarion West and teaches writing through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program.

Dellamonica’s first novel, Indigo Springs, won the Sunburst Award for Canadian Literature of the Fantastic. Her most recent book, Child of a Hidden Sea, has just been released by Tor Books. She is the author of over thirty short stories in a variety of genres: they can be found on Tor.com, Strange Horizons, Lightspeed and in numerous print magazines and anthologies. Her website is at.

Alyx Dellamonica: Website | Twitter

Child of a Hidden Sea: Amazon | B&N | Indiebound

Today, at the Holy Taco Church, I give you a recipe for:

TEQUILA SLAW.

It is, par usual, a recipe that spits in the eye of God and Good Taste.

It is a NSFW recipe.

Which seems to be my modus operandi.

Tequila slaw could go well with (hat-tip to Delilah): BBQ pork sliders.

Or, it could go well with fish tacos.

In them.

On them.

Around them.

In your mouth at the same time as them.

Now, though, I beseech you for a recipe. A little quid pro quo, Clarice. I have some family coming this weekend and am thinking about various cold salad products — noodle salad, potato salad, carrot salad, salad salad, slaw (slaaaaaw), etc.etc.

Nice side dishes. Cold.

So: care to share some? YOUR TURN.

You’re a writer, so maybe you go to conventions and conferences.

Winter has relinquished its icy grip. The Day God has grown angry, which means the year has yielded to summer. And that means it is now con season.

Which means you will, at a con, either:

a) go to a panel

or

b) be on a panel.

Which leads to the question of, what makes good panel etiquette?

As always, this means I have thinky juice. If it is a topic — really, any topic will do, from breeding bears to drinking beers to bedazzling beards (aka “beard-azzling”) — then I will have thoughts because I am deluded enough to believe that my opinion matters. (Spoiler alert: it don’t).

So: let’s talk about panels and the things you might wanna know.

1. You Are Not A Walking Talking Advertisement

Some writers will go to panels, and they will set up what looks like some kind of storefront, some library-shaped battlement. They will place their books all around them. They will put up signs and business cards and pull the little clicky-cord on a neon sign behind them. And then they will proceed, during the answer to every question, to say things like WELL IN MY BOOK even when it is woefully irrelevant to the query queried.

Listen: you are an advertisement for your book. Not all that extra fiddly marketing shit. Not the castle of books you built around you. Not the mobile of postcards or the pinata shaped like your protagonist or the ventriloquist dummy who interrupts every other speaker to say BUY MY BOOK.

Just say cool stuff. Be honest, earnest, helpful, funny if you can manage it. As with social media, be the very best version of yourself. Talk about your book, in brief, when it is relevant.

You are not a Spam-Bot that uploaded itself to reality out of the Matrix.

2. Panels Do Sell Books

If you’re an author: being funny, engaging or informative on a panel can sell books. I’ve done it. I’ve seen others do it. People walk up, and having been unfamiliar with you, they say: “I liked you on your panel, ‘Gender Memetics and Gun Control in Sword & Sorcery Fiction,'” and then you chat with them and they buy your book. It’s amazing. They don’t buy it because you threw your book at their faces during the panel. “My answer to that question is –”

*throws book-shaped fastball into audience member’s face, breaking their nose*

If you’re an audience member: hey, when you go to a panel, and you dig what some of the authors are saying, at least consider buying a book. It’s not a requirement. It’s not the price of admission. But maybe kinda sorta pleeeeaaaase consider it? That is, in part, what we as authors are hoping you’ll do. If we can’t sell books, we can’t go to cons in the first place.

3. Equal Time, Motherfuckers

Do not dominate the proceedings.

I know. You have shit to say. This is your time to shine, you crazy diamond.

It is. It really is. They’ve passed you the mic. The audience is captive. Maybe you’re on the panel. Maybe you’re asking a question from the audience. But please, let me caution you:

Keep it brief.

Not so brief you stammer out some blurted burp of information:

URBAN FANTASY AHHH LOS ANGELES INTERSTITIAL UHH I THINK EPIC FANTASY IS ROTHFUSS *flings sweat-slick microphone to the next author*

But brief enough so that you get to the point and execute on the question at hand.

Translation: don’t make it all about you.

A panel is, what, maybe 50 minutes? The river needs to move. It can’t get dammed up with too much garbage. Make a case. Present information. Move on. Let all the authors speak. If you blather on for 17 minutes about “reverse worldbuilding in the splatterpunk genre,” then the moderator might just move onto the next question.

A good moderator will skip your chatty ass next time, hoss.

It’s up to you to watch the clock. Set your phone in front of you, run a stopwatch display.

4. The Celebrity Effect

Sometimes a panel will have what you might think of as a “heavy-hitter.” Some major bestselling author like Patrick Scalzi or Seanan Patrick Hearnethfuss, and you need to recognize that a lot of the people in the audience are there to see the heavy-hitting bestselling author. They just are.

That’s a good thing, not a bad thing.

Usually.

If you’re on a panel with an author of such Deep-Seated Bad-Assery, that’s an opportunity to talk to that author’s audience for a minute. They get to share that with you, and you get to share stuff with that audience. It’s a nice coming together moment, and also means you might be speaking to a larger audience than you might normally rate.

I have heard horror stories where the Celebrity Author is aware of his own status and proceeds to do exactly what I told you not to do, which is Dominate The Proceedings. Thankfully, I’ve yet to experience this, but, seriously, I’ve heard tales. Horror stories. It is what it is, I guess.

5. The Fine Art Of Moderating

Moderators: this is an important job. I know — you’re not being paid for this gig, I get it. You’re a volunteer. I am sympathetic. But about… at least 25% of the moderators I see are not precisely ideal, and a kick-ass moderator is the key to a kick-ass panel. You’re equal parts carnival barker and pitch-man and fight ref. You need to steer the discussion. You need to give equal time to participants. You need to be amusing all your own and know how to ask the questions the audience wants to hear. You are a juggler-of-chainsaws. I don’t envy your role, but you were given the wheel just the same: don’t steer us off the cliff, kay?

Speak up. Move the discussion along. Visit with all the speakers.

And, Cardinal Sin time? Do not take up more time than the panelists by answering your own questions. I’ve watched panels like this. I sat on one, once. Ugh. The moderator has a book — or just has feelings — and asks questions only to answer them himself, first or last, taking up scads of time away from the panelists. No, no, no, ew, no.

It’d be like watching a referee suddenly jump in the game to score a goal unit with the ball.

Stop that.

Just… stop it.

(One of my favorite moderators ever: Patrick Hester. He of SFSignal and Functional Nerds. He of the Scrivener Wisdom. Great dude. Amazing moderator, aware of his role at every moment.)

6. The Diversity Tango

A lot of panels end up being a bunch of dudes. White dudes. And, hey, that’s fine, as long as the panel is called “WHAT STRAIGHT WHITE DUDES THINK ABOUT MILITARY SCI-FI,” but if it’s not, then that’s a smoldering hunk of buffalo dooky. The best are when panels about diversity are completely non-diverse (“HEY PANEL OF WHITE GENTLEMEN, WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ABOUT LADIES AND POC IN FICTION? YOUR OPINIONS ON THIS SUBJECT ARE VITAL”).

It is your job, as audience and authors, to look at the panel composition beforehand and contact the cons/conferences to demand they do better. And the cons may respond with some fol-de-rol about how there aren’t any women who write this genre or any people-of-color who write that genre, and then your job is to write them with a list of names who do.

Listen, stuff like this is hard, but it’s important. We have to get a little agitated, a little angry, to make changes in this space. Change is happening, but it requires action.

As the government says in order to make us more paranoid:

IF YOU SEE SOMETHING

SAY SOMETHING

7. A Note To Dudes

Sometimes, I have noticed an effect where men at panels talk over the women at panels.

It’s like they’re just waiting for them ladies to shut up so they can get to their point.

Don’t do this.

I mean, nobody should do this to anybody, but it seems of particular prevalence in this direction.

Oh, and if you sexually harass someone during that panel, you should be Tasered. (I mean, obviously, don’t sexually harass anyone anywhere, but on a panel? Really? Ugh.)

8. How To Be In The Audience And Ask Questions

If your goal as an audience member is to get up to the mic and then say:

“My opinion about Victorian dragons is that –”

*15 minute diatribe ensues*

You’re a bad audience member.

*swats you with phone book*

Stop that. Your job is to ask questions.

You are not a panelist.

I know. It’s hard. YOU HAVE OPINIONS. Now is not the time. People paid to be here. They are sitting in the audience waiting to hear the wisdom — sometimes, “wisdom” — of the gathered participants. You are not a participant. If you didn’t show up, you know what would happen? Literally nothing. They’d still open the doors. No one would say, “Hey, where’s Dave, that guy who wants to bore us with his lecture about steampunk appetizers?”

9. Self-Publishing Isn’t Usually Represented

Usually, the only time you’ll see a strong author-publisher presence is when it’s a panel on self-publishing. This is both a shame and somewhat understandable. 

It’s a shame because, hey, lots of great self-publishers out there. They have lots of vital things to say about their experiences. Excluding them means to exclude their POV.

It’s understandable because the rotten apples in the self-publishing bushel have made it hard to include those authors, even the good ones, because of the sheer weight of self-published shit-slurry that gets flung through the door once you open it. By which I mean, once you open to self-published authors, you will be besieged by them. And often not the good ones. Anybody who published any dungbucket on their own suddenly wants to sit on every panel, and given that cons and conferences are often volunteer-run — it’s just too much. (Being a hybrid author is usually a good way to end-run around such wariness and forbiddance.)

10. “I Don’t Know” Is A Perfectly Valid Response

You don’t have to answer a question.

No, really.

If you aren’t prepared to answer it — it’s okay to shrug and be all like, “Man, I have no idea.” It’s doubly okay to then pass the mic to someone else who you feel is more qualified. “I think Anastasia Smock would have a better answer since she wrote about incontinent pirates in the third book of the Scumbeard Cycle, THE WEE-WEE SEA.” Equal time matters, but also deferring to experts and not filling up space with hot breathy irrelevance has value, too.

11. Communicate With Panelists And Moderators Early

If given a chance, chat with the panelists beforehand — maybe even over email a week or two before the event — just to get comfortable with folks. Moderator, too — it’s better to talk about the panel long in advance rather than, like, 30 seconds before: “DON’T ASK ME ABOUT TOPICS RELATED TO BIRTH CONTROL, PONIES, LIGHTNING STORMS, ACAI JUICE, ABORTION, TERMINATORS, AND INCONTINENT PIRATES.”

12. Get To Your Panels A Little Early

Don’t be that sloppy fool who comes in like, ten minutes after everything has begun, making a racket, eating a sandwich noisily. This is true of authors and audience members. Come in. Sit down. Panel starts when the panel starts.

13. Project Your Voice

You won’t always have a microphone. Make yourself heard. Speak with confidence —

Or, at least, clarity.

People came to hear you and the others.

They didn’t pay to watch you stare at your hands and mumble.

14. Pay Attention

Don’t be fucking around with Flappy Bird on your phone while others are talking. Listen. Respond. Ask questions of your own. This is a dialogue, not a “tune out until it’s your turn to speak” event.

15. My Favorite Thing About Panels…

… is when the moderator is no longer necessary. No harm no foul against the moderator, but the coolest moment in a panel (and more rare than you might prefer) is when all the participants evolve the straight-up Q&A into an outright discussion. Folks ping-ponging back and forth in conversation rather than reading rote-feeling responses one after the other?

That is priceless, and what all panels should aspire to, in my humble, worthless opinion.

* * *

500 Ways To Write Harder aims to deliver a volley of micro-burst idea bombs and advisory missiles straight to your frontal penmonkey cortex. Want to learn more about writing, storytelling, publishing, and living the creative life? This book contains a high-voltage dose of information about outlining, plot twists, writer’s block, antagonists, writing conferences, self-publishing, and more.

All this, straight from the sticky blog pages of terribleminds.com, one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers (as named by Writer’s Digest).

Buy ($2.99) at:

Amazon

B&N

Direct from terribleminds

Or: Part of a $20 e-book bundle!

And right now, the Kickstarter is counting down.

If they get five million dollars — and they’re close — they outreach to 7500 classrooms (up from 1500). That sounds like a worthy goal to me. They’ve got new rewards cooked up and under 48 hours left to get to the stretch goal.

So: consider pledging?

This is an actual conversation I had with the toddler the other day as we stood at the bottom of our driveway in his ride-on pick-up truck. He got out of his truck, went to the side of the driveway and into the woods, then decided he was going to pee in the weeds.

B-Dub: I’m peeing.

Me: I see that.

B-Dub: *walks back with his pants not entirely pulled up*

Me: You forgot something.

B-Dub:  *sees what he forgot* Oh ha ha ha.

Me: You need to put Mister Winky back in his house.

B-Dub: I need to put Mister Winky in my butt!

Me: That’s not how that works. Besides, your butt is in the back, your winky is in the front.

B-Dub: Mister Winky and the Butt are neighbors.

Me: Y… yes.

B-Dub: Does Mister Winky have a dog?

Me: Uh. What?

B-Dub: Mister Winky has a dog! And he keeps it in my butt. A BUTT DOG.

B-Dub: *cracks up for like, five minutes straight*

B-Dub: *laughing dies down*

B-Dub: …butt dog.

And, scene.

* * *

Your turn. If you have kids or have ever met one of these tiny little randos, feel free to share with us something completely hilarious / cuckoo bananapants / disturbing that this children has said, or some conversation you’ve had with them. I think every parent has these, so, y’know. SHARE.