Nothing beats holding a contributor's copy in your hand!

 

One of life's greatest pleasures is receiving the contributor's copy of a magazine you're appearing in. This is the third time I've been in ANALOG, and the thrill is huge. I'm hoping to be there again, if not late next year (probably won't happen, due to the gapping between appearances -- I think it's sixteen months, so 2024 will expire before I "get my turn," which is absolutely fair) then in 2026. I have a longer story to pitch this time, and am unsure, as yet, if it's even appropriate to show the editors something that's better than twice as long as Firegrounds. We shall see. 

Work on my new novel, The Gift of Prometheus, ploughs ahead apace, and it's looking good. I have one or two smaller literary jobs to tidy up before I start writing, and then -- time to stop talking about this and, as the slogan goes, "just do it."

Announcement: Islands of the Mind will be in THE WAY OF WORLDS

a mock-up cover lashed up by me, for my story only:
has nothing to do with the actual anthology --
used here merely to illustrate this blog post

It's official. Islands of the Mind has just gone to contract and will appear in the anthology The Way of Worlds. This one is a piece about terraforming in a distant future where habitable, Earthlike worlds are difficult to find yet critical to human survival because our population never ceased to increase. An explorer fleet has discovered a glorious ocean planet with a sweet atmosphere and friendly gravity, right in the "Goldilocks zone" -- all this world needs is landmasses. The terraformer crew arrives for business and sets about the task of creating those landmasses. And then -- and then -- ah! That would be telling. I'll blog again, with a link when The Way of Worlds comes out.

Terraforming is a subject that interests me deeply. I actually do believe that our population will continue to grow. If I'm right, and it does, humanity has only one way to go: outwards. How long is it since anyone mentioned the term "population explosion," in any but a historical context? It's been decades. Now, countries like China (population 1.412 billon as I write this) are actually passing over the top of the population growth curve. Their numbers are about to fall .. result? Not relief, that the existential dread we all felt at the population explosion if over. Oh, no. Its's all bags of panic and blue lights. Why? Because constant population growth is the only way we (yet) know to power an economy that is also maintains an endless, infinite trajectory of growth.

Far be it from me to criticize the mechanisms of capitalism: I also would like to be floating away on oceans of cash, and buy a castle in Ireland. But at the same time, in the interests of powering economic growth essentially forever, we're certainly going to vastly overload this planet. In fact, specialists say we did that long ago. It's been estimated that around two billion people is the maximum this world can sustain indefinitely. So, the predictable outcome of economic growth without surcease is a dying, or even dead, planet, with a population of ridiculous size packed into artificial environments constructed and maintained by technology in a future where "let technology do the heavy lifting" will have become both our survival mantra and our curse.  Inevitably we'll see a mass return to the colonial spirit of old...

Go west, young man. Or south, and anywhere one can find open spaces, free territory, the opportunity to succeed for ordinary folks who were born outside the .01% of the community who control 99.99% of all wealth and resources. Well, we've already entirely run out of compass points. Every square centimetre of Earth is owned, and fenced ... there is nowhere go up but up, and out.

With physics coming right around to supporting the case for faster-than-light starships, it's becoming more appropriate to look at other worlds -- and I don't mean Mars, though Mars will surely be a steppingstone along the way. I've written many stories about the Martian colonial years, and the violent "troubles" between Earth and Mars (The Way Back; Collateral Damage; Happy Hour, all published to date, with several more still waiting for homes -- Dust Gets in Your Eyes, Home Soil, and so forth). I'm working on the first draft of a new novel, as mentioned in my last post. The Gift of Prometheus....

Now, Gift is about human endeavour and ambition crashing headfirst into human ethics and dreams, in the years when the great Einsteinian starships find the way to the true FTL ships that will eventually, almost inevitably, lead us to the future you glimpse in Islands of the Mind. I'll blog about the writing process as it chugs along. Gift is the first full-on novel I've written since beginning this blog, which shows how long, rotten, and tough to beat the writer's block has been. It hit me broadside the second time we all got Covid. The third bout of Covid turned into post viral syndrome and worsened it. Now I've begun the fightback, and The Gift of Prometheus looks like a great place to begin.

The novel is very possibly set in the same universal canon as my Martian stories and Islands of the Mind. Let me think about this. But I'm liking the idea.

Essay: A Pattern Emerges

It's worth reporting that I'm actually writing again. I'm at the treatment stage of a new novel that has the potential to either be huge or a trilogy, possibly both; and with about 25,000 words "on paper" at this point, it's safe to actually say that yes, I am writing again. This one is an SF piece called The Gift of Prometheus, and it's as far from anything I've written previously as could be imagined. Which might mean that it'll be the most saleable piece of writing I've produced in thirty years, lol. Sure, I had some genuine early success, circa 1990, but it wasn't sustainable -- not over the lifetime it takes for a writer to be successful unless s/he is going to sell millions of copies, which is highly unlikely. So...

Just lately, I've been listening properly to what readers are saying about the books they love, and matching those remarks to the books themselves, and to the success of those books. Because the success of a book at market is a geometric assessment of its saleability, yes? Yes. By looking at YouTube, and reading Goodreads, and then actually buying and reading the books (!), I can say, without hesitation or fear of contradiction, that the quality of the writing -- the prose, the structure of the narrative -- has nothing to do with the success of a book these days. Perhaps it mattered in the past, but not now. Today, it's all about the story, plus how and why the central characters strike a chord with the reader, and also how easy the book is to read. Ease of reading is more important, apparently, than good grammar. Characters with whom readers identify or empathize are more important than a well-written, well-structured book. 

O...kay. Like it or not, this is how the market shakes down in today's reading world. Publishers only exist to sell books, and they have to be able to sell them -- which means a writer has to be able to supply what readers will actually pay for (and this in a world where you could read forever without buying anything, because billions of words are archived online). And this, of course, kicks back through the whole machine, the train of reader - bookseller - publisher - agent - writer. It comes down to the inescapable bottom line: it's the reader, the end-user, who is driving the market. Publishers know this. They tell agents what to show them. The agents select from a never-ending Niagara Falls of submitted material, choosing just what they think (guess; judge; hope) will woo the reader to spend money on this book in a year or two. So --

Just what is it that this hypothetical end-user wants, and will spend a few bucks on? To answer that, you have to know who your end-user actually is. It might be a middle-aged man who wants a non-stop supply of Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler. It could be a septuagenarian lady who wishes there were a hundred novels on Colleen McCullough's backlist. But if you want the real money, today -- the kind of royalties that come from millions of copies sold, well...

The Gift of Prometheus ought to look more like this...

Any one writer can't write to all of those marketplaces. A twenty-something woman who writes romantic fantasy (a cross between any Harlequin Romance and Game of Thrones) probably can't write to Tom Clancy's readership with any hope of seeing the royalties we all need to pay the rent, and vice versa. A writer is pretty much compelled to pick a marketplace and write to it. There's an old saying: "A writer must write of what she knows." (Yes, I know the original saying was "he," but I'm not a guy, and in today's world, everything is trending female.) So, being a female, I started to look at what women are reading, and which women are reading, and how much they're reading. Hmm. This is where it gets interesting.

It turns out that the big-success sellers among female readers are aimed at the New Adult market, or the late-late YA range, where kids are so close to grown that it's difficult to draw a line. I chased down three recent, real successes: the Leviathan trilogy (not so much this one, actually) the Hunger Games trilogy (this was big), and the ACOTAR series. A Court of Thorns and Roses ... the one that's being banned left and right in school and college libraries in the US. Yes, that one. 

...but will probably end up looking more like this! 

Now, Leviathan was written by a middle-aged male, and after reading it -- and having various misgivings about the apparent "childishness" with which its mid-teen characters were written, I followed the book to Goodreads and -- whaddaya know? Young(er) readers are saying the same thing. Scott Westerfield is writing for the kids he remembers from 25 years ago, not kids as they are today. I thought Leviathan was really good, but it's the kind of book a parent buys for their 12 to 15-year-old, likely not a book kids would buy for themselves. This isn't to say it's not a terrific read -- it is. But it would suit readers several years younger than the age of the main character. However, 11 or 12 year olds are not the lucrative marketplace, where kids have bucks for books and are actively out there, looking for them ... hunting, in fact, for the books they're all talking about at school. But Leviathan is on the right track, centring as it does on a young woman coming of age and making her mark in a man's world -- in fact, in this context, a steampunk First World War scenario. 

Hunger Games, meanwhile, is the kind of novel that gives parents nightmares while mid-teens revel in it. Dark, dismal, cruel, violent, with a thread of awkward, dawning romance, hints of sensuality, though there's nothing overt in the first one, where the central character is 16. The violence and cruelty are deliberate, often heavy-handed. Suzanne Collins was definitely writing for mid-late teens, and knew her target audience. Really, seriously knew those readers. She was older than them at the time when these books were written -- I believe she'd have been 45-ish, whereas her readers would have been 16-23, either the same age as the female hunter/warrior who is central to the story, or just a little older and easily able to look back and remember being that age. Hunger Games was also filmed as a major movie trilogy, so, whereas Leviathan was on the right track, it's safe to say, Hunger Games nailed it. For a start, the first HG book ran to a five, possibly six book series that has, to date, sold 100,000,000 copies, which is off the charts. The lastest volume, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, sold half a million copies in its first week of release, and a film was in production at the git-go. Who could have predicted all this? I doubt Suzanne Collins herself could have dreamed of such a result coming from a book that is, in reality, "children killing children." The subject matter is not to everyone's taste; nor this model the only fiction experiment that can be, and has been done, by other writers in a similar vein...

Take it to the next level (meaning, 'as close to full-throttle mature as you can get and still be 'New Adult'). A Court of Thorns and Roses has several things in common with these other two projects. It's aimed at young and very young readers (Hunger Games scored a bull's eye; Leviathan missed the target by a whisker but skewered the parents and grandparents instead, meaning it would be gifted at Christmas and birthdays ... not enough to drive a monstrous bestseller, but not too bad at all). It's dark. It's violent. It's cruel. It's written in a prose style that is so stripped and bare, it's often gauche, clumsy, amateurish (indeed, in ACOTAR, one finds a blizzard of grammatical errors, wrong-word errors, non sequiturs, incorrect word orders ... the kind of mistakes any good editor should pick up and correct. This was not done, and one speculates that the sheer clumsiness of the narrative line is some kind of "youth speak." This is the language in which one speaks to, and with, readers aged 16 to 23 -- i.e.., the work's target marketplace).  And a young girl is the central character. In ACOTAR, the action pivots on Feyre Archeron, who is about 18, and who tells the whole saga, first person, past tense.

A pattern emerges. 

Highly successful fiction these days tends to have female heroes. Young female heroes. Very young. They're hunters and warriors, fighting against the odds. They're mostly impoverished, borderline starving, underdogs, struggling against the current in a male world. And it's a dark world, brutal, cruel, dystopian. War is either looming, is happening, or has happened. These teenage girls are without exception strong, athletic, also probably stunningly beautiful into the bargain, though they themselves don't (yet) know it. They're indomitable; they also appear to be indestructible -- which is a direct holdover from generations of movies and television, a trend that began with Leia Organa, continued through Ellen Ripley, Xena, Sydney Fox, Sidney Bristow, Peggy Carter, Natasha Romanov and even Rose Tyler, forged ahead through Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark and Tauriel, and the pedigree culminates in our own decade with the aforesaid Feyre Archeron and Katniss Everdeen. Young. Stunning. Indomitable. Indestructible. 

There is one more level that this archetype can be taken to, and Sarah J. Maas was the writer with the foresight and the guts to do it. Oh, it's been tried before, but the marketplace had to be juuust right before it was going to work like magic. You take the above formula, as explored by Leviathan (characters written too young, by a Dad figure who slightly misread his readers) and Hunger Games (the narrative explores romance; the writer pulls up short of crossing the line into more adventurous territory that might get the book(s) banned in school and college libraries), and yep -- you add sex. The explicit variety, which has been what teens have always really wanted, irrespective of what parents, teachers and priests have preferred to believe. Hey, I was a teen once myself. It was many, many years ago, and even then, my peer group was smuggling porn to school, albeit books and magazines whereas nowadays it's all about phone-driven images and videos, served by websites that may not even be legally available to younger kids. Legal or not, the stuff is circulating, and over the last decade, kids have lapped it up, with the result that teens are maturing faster and faster -- fast enough, in fact, for parents and teachers to be left behind and choking on their dust. Their kneejerk, in the US, is to ban the books. No surprise there 

(I'm not here to debate the merits of growing up fast, or at what age curious, hormone-driven teens should be legally entitled to access adult entertainment. I'm too old to intuitively know where teenage heads and hearts are today. Neither am I an educator, parent or even grandparent who has contact with them to learn where those hearts and minds are, and what they might want and need. All I would do is offer up an outmoded opinion, sound like the dinosaur I probably am (chuckles), while adding nothing useful to a debate that belongs to other, better suited individuals.)

You take Harlequin romance (the Mills & Boon style of frills and swoons love story). You hang it on an indomitable, indestructible, impoverished, starved, barely educated, stunningly beautiful 18 year old girl with a bow and arrow. Now, you set the story in a dark, dystopian, cold, muddy, male dominated future or past world, under the shadow of war. Last step: add sex. 

Did Sarah J. Maas invent this? No. People have forgotten than Daenerys Targaryen was about 14 when her brother sold her to Kahl Drogo. Sure, she went on to be the Mother of Dragons who burned down empires, but she began right where the others began, with such preplanning that it would be fair to say George R.R. Martin was the first who took fantasy to the next level ... except that A Song of Ice and Fire is not "frills and swoons romance." 

What Ms Maas did was to read her marketplace with genuinely awe-inspiring precision. Your readers are female, 16 and hormonal; they love Game of Thrones, Witcher, Carnival Row, Lord of the Rings; they're steeped in fanfiction, reading millions of words of largely-unedited amateur writing; this is their main source of sexy romance. Unpolished prose speaks their language ... either that, or they honestly can't see the grammatical gaffes, the errors in the writer's craft. (ZTF Zero Tolerance for Punctuation, remember?) Your reader is in the bookstore, looking for something that speaks their language, tells a vast, windmilling, fantasy or SF saga about an 18 year old girl who's (!) indomitable, indestructible, impoverished, starved, barely educated -- and whose feet are on the path that leads to tearing down empires. 

A pattern emerges. And it sells -- ooooh, a lot of copies. ACOTAR is five books long, and each volume has sold about two million, in 38 languages. Okay, so that's the formula. It's the formula devised from actually listening to readers, respecting what they say, and reading the books with an open mind. Sure, I can see every single grammatical and writing gaffe, but I'm not going to criticize, because Ms Maas is the one who has sold 38,000,000 copies while I'm still wondering if I can score an agent. No, I have no taste for sour grapes, and I'm not afraid of hard work, and I'm both adaptable and open minded. 

But I do wonder how The Gift of Prometheus should be crafted. Oh, yes, I do wonder. Craft it for me, or for the real, genuine readers out there in the bookstore? Because if I write it for me, it'll sound like Greg Bear and probably not even score agency representation -- and this is worth nutting this out before I settle down to turn a 25,000 word treatment into a 125,000 novel!

Firegrounds has been published in ANALOG for September - October 2024

 

It's a great pleasure to report that the September/October issue of ANALOG is available ... and I'm in it. My story is Firegrounds, an enormous idea condensed into a small space, the theme of which is wildfire prevention in a world that is becoming ever hotter, drier and stormier. I had a blast writing the story, and I hope it will not merely be enjoyed, but might also provide some food for thought. 

The link I can provide here -- at this time -- is to the print magazine's order page. Remember that after October 15th, this link will not take you to this issue. ANALOG's website carries only ordering information for the current issue plus subscriptions. In the future, if you want to track down this issue specifically, you'll need to Google it, specifying Sept-Oct 2024. 

Touching base ... with apologies to JRR...

 

Just a ditty to keep contact with this blog while there isn't much to talk about. Yeees, the art started its life in Bing, but I promptly cut it up, rearranged it, repainted it, did a lot of things to it. And yes, I would have painted from scratch, if I had the whole day to spend on this (I don't). And yes, I would have rendered it in CG, if I had a spare hundred bucks to spend on the props (I don't). So we'll embrace the concept of compromise: AI + digital painting.  And now the ditty --

With Apologies to J.R.R. ...

I sit beside the fire and knit
And all the sweaters that don't fit --
All the scarves that fall in mud --
Are made right here, although I could
Be off and roaming 'round the Shire!
But I'm afraid that something dire
Will happen if I leave this hill,
So here I am, and I'll be still:
Comfy by my hearth I'll sit...
And dream adventures. While I knit.

Poem: Wine Country Autumn (Fields of Gold)

Wine Country Autumn

Gold lies strewn to the horizon and beyond

As if some careless godling

Turned out the divine pockets and

Let the doubloons tumble where they may.

Fields of gold burn, lustrous in the westering sun

As evening settles ― but not for long.

In just a week or three, the next rapacious wind

Will gambol among these vines and loot the hoard

Till bare wood alone remains,

Enduring winter’s ire with never a hint

Of the transient splendour that was

These fields of gold.

Fiction: An Eagle's Flight

Yeeeees, there's a story burbling around in my feverish brain. I'm giving it the working title you see right here, An Eagle's Flight, but it could wind up called An Eagle Flies, or Where Eagles Fly, something along those lines. Don't hold me to the title you see here. But --

-- view this one full sized, and you'll see that this is the same character as the warrior on the cover. Call him Orel (at this point; the name might change later, along with the story title, though I doubt it for reasons that will shortly become clear). This is where the story begins: the reluctant hero, a man trying to outrun his own reputation ... thrice decorated by the Queen of Zarabia after extraordinary feats in battle. But those feats came at a dreadful price. Orel doesn't sleep, he dreams ... he feels possessed by the spirits of the warriors he's killed in the service of the Queen. She's old, and she dotes on him; she's like his grandmother, which is saying a lot. Orel is not native to this country. He's from the east, and arrived as an orphan boy just old enough to walk. He knew only his name. In the common tongue of  Vennia, Orel means eagle. Queen Isabeau gives him his ticket of leave from the regiment and a heavy purse, so  Orel can take his cats and his horses, take to the backroads in a Vardo like those belonging to his own people ... and find himself, get his heart and mind back into synch. But --

-- yep, it was always on the cards. He hasn't been on the road more than five or six months -- just long enough to watch springtime turn to autumn, and start to feel like a human being again (not because he's sleeping better or not dreaming, but because he and his ghosts have made their peace) -- when he runs into a couple of old comrades from the regiment. Gianna and Lynos have just left the service, and have taken soldiering work in the pay of a local thane, who advertised that he wanted border scouts. This was what they signed up for, but Count Radriq double-talked them with a binding contract ... they didn't read the fine print. Now, rather than just scouting up the source of trouble on the borderlands between Zarabia and neighbouring Kedd, Orel's old army mates are expected to root out the trouble. Since it's big trouble and they're massively outnumbered, they're up against a rather nasty wall. If they renege on the contract, they'll never get this work again, and it's all they're trained for. They're stuck, like flies in amber. So, when they meet Orel by chance, obviously they're recruiting. Or at the very least begging for help. The problem is this dude:

His name is Jevenni and he's baaaad. This Keddish warlord is building himself a rogue empire, and the bricks of its foundations are piracy, highway robbery, pillage, people-trafficking, whatever it takes. He has no scruples, and in this last twelve months has become the bane of the local thane's life. Count Radriq wants the Keddish land pirates gone, and he's holding Gianna and Lynos to the letter of a contract they signed too fast, in ignorance. Enter Orel. Help! So...

...they talk him into it, naturally enough. He's not the type to abandon friends in need. There's a couple of things he suggests: they must hire a good lawyer from Queen Isabeau's own staff, get him here, and have him reduce Count Radriq and his documentation to legal confetti. A lawyer from the capital will cost a great deal of money, but Gianna and Lynos know just where to get it. Jevenni has stolen wagonloads of valuables from the nobles of Count Radriq's fiefdom, and generous rewards have been posted. If they can recover even a tenth of what the warlord has taken, a lawyer from the city of Enashla will settle Radriq. Now...

 ...we launch into several episodic misadventures which are the meat-and-potatoes of true quest-fic, and it all leads eventually, inevitably, to this place: the land pirates' stronghold, in the ancient, ruined city of Ul-kedd-innu. To the horizon, the dead city lies smashed as a result of war, earthquake and plague more than a century in the past. Now, it is bleached bones and granite slabs. Jevenni has carved out his citadel in what used to be the palace and fortress, on the highest point, overlooking the fields of rubble-strewn desolation. According to everything his men divulge -- when captured and made drunk as lords -- he's so complacent, he doesn't post guards. In fact, it's a point of honour that he refuses to post guards: sentries and troops would only acknowledge that he is vulnerable in the heart of his own domain -- Jevenni would deny this to the death. With this information, Orel, the much-decorated veteran, favourite of the Her Serene Majesty, browbeats Count Radriq into providing a detachment from his household cavalry. But the force will hold back in the forest, waiting for a signal and letting the three specialists go in by stealth ... on the understanding that one man can pass where an army couldn't, and a specialist in creating havoc might bring the whole edifice tumbling down before the enemy knew it was happening. Under cover of darkness, in we go --

...long story short: subterfuge, stealth, swordfights and a liberal dash of strange sorcery, and by morning, the land pirates have scattered like roaches. Jevenni is extremely dead, and dawn finds Orel on the crenelated roof of the old fortress, right above the warlord's lair. Under the free, open sky, he is once again making peace with his ghosts and his father's old gods. The eagle -- for this is his name -- is trying very hard indeed to fly high and free, but will his flight carry him away from trouble, or right to the next battlefield? No one knows. Both Gianna and Lynos are injured, though not badly. They sent up the signal flare; the count's cavalry came in fast to scour the ruins for prisoners, and now Gianna and Lynos are only looking for the warlord's cache. They find it -- but in any case, they have actually fulfilled the contract. They no longer need a lawyer from Enashla. They take a portion of the spoils for themselves, as is only fair, and for himself, Orel takes enough to buy him the time, peace and quiet to begin again...

...and the story ends with a full-circle moment, right back where it began. At dawn, Orel hitches up his horses, stocks the Vardo, and is on the road again, headed away from anything remotely like a battlefield. In his ears, the ghosts' thin voices continue to whisper, but he has made his peace with some of them, and believes the others can be persuaded in time. The new sun is warm on his face, the open sky and moors lie ahead in the west, with snow-crowned mountains ringing a horizon so vast, it looks like the whole world. Now, perhaps the eagle can fly free after all. 

ooOOooOOooOOoo

So ends this basic plot. In the writing, the details will change; names will change; a map will be sorted out, and the episodic parts will be tied down into a tight-knit structure. But this is more than enough to get my muse quite excited, and I think I'll enjoy writing this one. The art is not new. These are all 2019-2021 renders, featuring G8 Dae as Orel, G8 Rex as Lynos ... and I can't remember the G8 Female character who appears as Gianna, but she's in the DAZ library somewhere. That's the good old Millennium Horse, plus the DAZ Cat, many, many foliage and furniture props, and the old Gypsy Wagon from Renderosity. Everything here was rendered in Iray; a couple were painted comprehensively in Photoshop afterward. I was messing about with images and ended up, by chance, with these open in Irfanvew, in sequence ... the story just popped out at me! 

Celebrating the beginning of something wonderful!

This is the time to mark the beginning of something: just as it gets underway. The well-known Sherlock Holmes author, Mike Adamson, and I have been talking about collaborating for some time, and in the last ten days we've made a strong start with two stories that are out on submission at this time. 

Of course, I have the highest hopes for those stories -- to begin with, I definitely believe that Mike and I do our best work when we work together, and it'll be interesting to see how this shakes down. (I designed, built and illustrated his website there, and I perform most of his editing.)

There's nothing firm to report at this point, sales-wise, but everything has to start somewhere. The acorn syndrome. The two stories we've produced recently are a horror piece and a climate change SF tale. 

If anything comes of them, I'll return to this post with an update, and if not -- there are so many more stories to be told, and I believe we have a promising future as cowriters. With no skerrick of doubt, something will bear fruit.

At the very least, this is going to be interesting. And there is a dreadful understatement! 

In other news, my shocking case of writer's block shows early signs of ending at last. Hurrying it along is the acquisition of a new tool (or toy if you prefer). We got a fantastic deal on powerful 10" tablet with its own Bluetooth keyboard, and I couldn't resist. If this doesn't restore my desire to actually write, rather than blogging and editing, nothing will! The stories are right there, burbling in my imagination, about one millimetre under the surface; they just haven't been able to get out in ... oh, a long time. Too long, in fact. Time to change that.

Announcement: Firegrounds will be published in ANALOG Science Fiction

The best possible news today ... Firegrounds will be appearing in ANALOG Science Fiction, probably early in 2025. This is my third outing with ANALOG, and I'm absolutely thrilled.

The story concerns a woman working for the RFS, or Regional Fire Service in South Australia's desiccated, ravaged mid-north, maybe half a century from now. Climate Change has happened. Past tense. It's not a question of stopping it ... now, survival is all about preventing fires, and this story examines ways and means of doing that, utilizing the cutting-edge Ai and robotics of the 2070s...

All of which falls apart somewhat when you've lost your husband to this job, and your teenage son is going so far wrong, you're haunted by the worst of all intuitions about him and his friends, some of whom are already incarcerated, others at liberty by a thread. 

Firegrounds is a story that's very close to my heart. Somewhere far, far down the track, I think there's a full novel to be derived from the foundations built by this little piece. In this incarnation, it's only about 4,000 words, but a lot of world building went into it, and one day ... one day ... So I took out half an hour and lashed up a cover to illustrate the story, and help to celebrate the sweet process of the contract signing. 

Watch this space, and when the issue is published, I'll blog about Firegrounds again.

Announcement: Root and Branch appears for the second time, ebook and paperback

What a great pleasure to announce that  Root and Branch is appearing in reprint! This is a slightly abridged version of the original text, but the cuts are by no means major. They don't detract from the story in any way; it's mostly a swatch of backstory and characterisation here and there that's been pruned away to make a large story fit into a smaller space.

The Sunshine Superhighway: Solar Sailings anthology is available via Amazon, from Jay Henge, in both Kindle and paperback editions. 

The story concerns the troubles faced by a living city who has contracted a disease. The city grew, and is still growing ... she's home to a million souls who have nowhere else to go. And she's dying. The race is on to find out why, and find a cure, but it appears there's no hope. Until the sky gypsies arrive with their living, flying showboat, Capricornia. Meet the charismatic and irresistible magician and stage manager of the greatest show in the sky who, quite by chance, holds out a skerrick of hope for the city of Waratah. 

Find Sunshine Superhighway: Solar Sailings at Amazon right here, and ... good reading!