Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category
“I’m telling’ ya, you’d better’d kick in a little more palm grease before I pull this duty again,” said Rathwalson, a bare-boned bot jerry-rigged from spare parts. “The way you sold this gig to me, I’d thought I’d wind up on the shores of Celestrasia, oiling my joints with some babe. Instead, I’ll be floating toward that rock there, crunching breccia and nothing else.”
“Oh, quit moaning,” said Biff Chesthair. “I’m maneuvering this bucket so close it’ll only be a leap and a step. Else, they’re gonna catch us and switch out your parts. Turn you into something you’re gonna regret. We both know why.”
“How can I not? My repeat circuit keeps showing Chrome and Pewter pissed because I mistook them for Dead Betas. What bot rests? Only boosted their Slether so I can sell it to buy more appendage junk. Hey, they’d do the same to me! And yes, I’m an idiot ’cause I didn’t think they’d have the sense to bury a tracker inside the Slether pack. So, I’m taking it…there,” Rathwalston said, pointing out the porthole to a grim, scarlets-shadowed planet.
“Look, R,” said Thurston Chiseljaw as he strapped a hefty transport box to the back of the unwilling robot. “We got to get rid of that Slether,” he said, referring to the blitz-quick addictive drug, known to bring down bots, babies and everything in between. “We can’t have both the cops and bots chasing us. Already they’re on to us. I’d do it myself if you didn’t play hide-and-seek with my helmet.”
“You lost it in that poker game last night. Now I’m wearing it,” he said, glancing at the lower part of his mechanical torso.
“Yeah, it’s your ass,” said Thurston, “and there’s no way I’m putting that back on my head.”
Meanwhile, Biff struggled with the primitive controls on their stolen ship, a hacked-together collection of gear shifting rods, a metal pegboard box passing as a control panel and a window with a target drawn on it. A few dials sporting unrecognizable symbols proved to be a complete waste of time, signifying nothing useful, to him anyway. He might as well fly blind. After much jiggering, he figured out the correct joystick to turn it towards the unnamed planet only meters away.
“If either of you loose screws wants to pay attention, we’re here. We got an hour, tops. Time to go,” said Biff to Rathwalson.
“I’m already gone. Catch you in five,” Rathwalson said as he slipped through the portal.
Biff and Thurston watched him stream towards the planet’s surface, leaving a faint trail of propulsion fuel in his wake.
An hour passed by. “Come in, Rathwalson. Come in,” Thurston hailed through the barely-functioning radio. “Come in, now, can’t hear you. Where you at?”
Nothing but a sizzle crack of dead air.
“Don’t like this,” said Biff. “Either he’s gone off someplace, or they’ve found us. I’m going down there.”
“I’ll keep watch. Not that we’re a tempting target or anything, but even if Pewter and Chrome are in a good mood, they’ll pick us off just for laughs. I mean, look at this ship,” he said, slapping the metal pegboard box that held the control panel.
Biff tugged on his spacesuit as Thurston readied the propulsion kit. “There’s not much fuel here. Might not be enough to bring back the bot anyway.”
Moments later, he disappeared into the dark abyss, floating towards his destiny.
Nothing works like it’s supposed to, thought Biff as he scrambled along the rough surface of the unnamed planet. The tracker’s sending me here, but I’m not picking up signs.
Without warning, the sky erased it stars, replaced by a great gust of wind, then darkness. After a few foggy minutes, he regained his senses and glanced at his biometer. Oxygen…that’s good. He slipped off his helmet and breathed fresh air. A clink, followed by a ka-terrk, ka-terrk, ga-wheee sound caught his attention.
No…
Leaving his helmet, he raced towards the noise. There stood Pewter and Chrome, disassembling a sizable assembly of bots. Among them was Rathwalson, his various pieces carefully arranged in categories: appendages, intelligence, camera, receptor, and others. That packet of Slether joined others in a bin.
“What took you so long?” said Pewter, as he turned toward Biff, pulling the head off of another bot while Chrome dissected its innards.
“That wasn’t our agreement. You know all the trouble I went through to get this stuff?” said Biff.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Pewter. “You’ve pirated more Slether than anyone this side of the sector. Our profits have vanished.”
“Time to go,” said Chrome, as he rose up from the ground.
“But…but…” Biff whimpered, until he felt the cold metal finger touch his cheeks.
Chrome unscrewed the cap that once served as Biff’s head, placed it on a shelf, and dug within his interior, scooping out the piles of packets of Slether that Biff held captive for far too long. It was time for him to go.
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A Close Shave
Damn them, thought Ranger Radsusky. Didn’t I tell them to go away?
It all started innocently enough. After tinkering around with an old electric shaver she found in the bathroom cabinet, inspiration struck fierce, sizzling her brain with concepts and plans.
“Hmm, let’s see,” she said as she held up the graphene synthesizer in her sunny, garden-girded laboratory. “I’ll put this shaver here on the 3D model conceptualizer, plug in an aerodynamics structure, maybe even a thruster or two. Then I’ll hit the send and blend button.”
Radsusky heard a tinny, unamplified series of musical notes in the distance. “Who’s calling me now?” she said, and turned to leave the room.
Mr. Widdles, Radsusky’s inquisitive cat, slunk into the lab through a slightly ajar French window. His feeding implementor Stood in the next room, talking into a small, flat slab of glass and metal. He sniffed around in the meantime. A flat tray under some kind of big box held a few items of interest. Say, what’s this? Food? Inching closer, he pressed his paws against a tab. Quicker than a flash, the box lit up and weird, strange buzzing noises rattled his eardrums. He ran off, seeking a quieter spot on top of the kitchen counter.
Without warning, the entire laboratory building shook, its foundations cracking. Radsusky threw down her phone and ran into her lab, only to notice four ginormous robotish razors rose from the 3D model conceptualizer. While their bodies resembled electric razors, the cord morphed into some kind of segmented legs. The on-off-clean now lights turned into eyeballs. The bits and pieces of an aerodynamic structure wound up as a kind of wing. Thrusters became fire-shooting appendages. She let out a sigh.
“Jeez, I can’t even leave for five to talk to my mother? By the look of things, it’s going to be rough from now on,” she said. “These guys aren’t going to play fair. Sheesh, I didn’t have a chance to insert the morals chip. Who’d even believe this? Can’t even think who to call to stop ’em. I’d better get out of here. This roof’s about to crash.”
Sure enough, as soon as Radsusky left the lab, immense bodies rose up from the tray and continued to grow in size and strength. As they did, the lab collapsed around them.
“Go away! Shoo! Beat it!” she yelled, “Go pick on someone your own size!”
One eyed her, raised its arm, set fire to the bushes, and headed towards her. Razor-Bot meant business, and she was its first order of destruction.
“KNOCK IT OFF,” she yelled back, and grabbed a piece of rubble. She flung it hard and fast, sending it directly into Razor-Bot’s eye.
“I’m fed up! Do you hear me–FED UP! I created you! How dare you treat me with such disrespect! Get out of here – NOW!”
One more fling of her lab’s foundation smacked into Razor-Bot’s face. It sent a stream of fire in response. Fortunately, its siblings took off for the field next door, seeing newer venues to destruct. And they were heading right for her friend’s anti-battalion defenses!
“Oh, god…I better’d tell Susie! She’s going to be really pissed if they mess with her nuclear rockets. She just finished putting a new hood on the silo, too.”
She picked through the rubble of her lab and managed to locate her phone. Thank goodness it remained close to the surface. Pressing the speed dial number, Radsusky reached Susie quickly and explained the situation.
“When are you gonna learn?” Susie said, sounding as if she’d had enough of her shenanigans. “I’m really sick of having to chase after your experiments.”
“This’ll be the last time,” Radsusky promised.”
“Liar,” said Susie, and hung up the phone. In her living room stood her munitions cabinet. She glanced at the most suitable tactical anti-bot devices and selected the perfect destroyer.
Not a moment too soon.
Her floor rumbled and wavered. China clinked in the closets. The swag light swayed. “Guess that’s my signal to clean up this mess,” she said, and headed out the door.
Razor-Bots lumbered at a quick clip across her field, heading directly for her nuclear armaments.
“Not today,” Susie said as aimed right for the intruders. She gave the Bot Blaster’s trigger a tight squeeze and shot four times.
The earth shook as their bot-bodies tumbled and fell, leaving welts in the field where they lay. For a moment, whirring noises could be heard from their insides, until a tall column of steam spewed forth.
“Guess it’s over with,” Susie mumbled as she headed towards them. She kicked the sides of each one of them, hearing only the echo of an empty body of graphene and the ruined promise of an ill-conceived accident gone awry.
—Copyright Gretchen Weerheim June 15, 2016
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Since I have nothing else to write about, I’d thought I’d come up with a flash sci-fi story written especially for you! Oh, don’t worry, it’s complete with illustrations, so if you don’t like my prose, you have pictures to stare at!
Ready? Here we go…
Pay Day
“You little weenie! I’m gonna blast the f—— s— out of your freakin’ ass,” Trish Walker muttered. Not one to mess around with unscheduled attacks, she wrapped her fingers around the zapper.
Alkazoid taunted, “You couldn’t hit the side of chettle dock if it sat on your face. Why dontcha show some sense and give up like your pal, there?”
“Jim? What’s he got to do with anything? He’s all wheezed out after sucking down that bottle of potato water he stuffed in his pack. Fell out of the lander and bashed his helmet. Idiot.”
“What, so you’re picking up his mess? What are you, the cleaning lady?” sneered Alkazoid.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna finish the job right…now,” Trish said, giving the zapper an extra hard squeeze as she let loose. Crackling streams of electrodes sizzled Alkazoid smack in the center of his eye.
“Jeez! That f—— hurt!” Alkazoid screamed. “For that, you’re gonna pay.”
Trish glanced at her colleague, Jim. A worthless sot, half the payload of their space cruiser hid his devil juice. Tossed out anything his drunken brain considered disposable, including food, munitions and air caches. Of course, she discovered this far too long into their misguided journey. They’d gotten word a wormhole existed only 37.65° left of Kronos. Jim steered the ship that many degrees to the right. Out of fuel and resources, they wound up on some hunk of rock with one insane piece of teal-shaded talking flesh.
“With what?” Trish yelled, continuing to lay on her zapper. “Buttons or good looks?”
“Ohhhh…god…my…head…” groaned Jim, entirely unaware of the jam Trish sought to end.
“Shut up!” Trish yelled, thrusting him downward with her unoccupied hand. She gave him a good, hard thunk on his helmet, hoping it inflicted even more pain.
“Aaaay…gimme a break…” Jim uttered as he passed out.
“No…you’ll pay with this,” Alkazoid said.
The last thing Trish saw was the reedy smile of his snaky lips as he tossed a red octagon towards her. Then…nothing…
She figured a couple of hours passed, maybe more. Her eyes fluttered open to an inexplicable vision of insane red madness. She and Jim were now babies, and instead of him sucking vodka out of a straw, he seemed to be ingesting it from the homelike teat of a maniacal machine. Its faint alcoholic odor drifted under her nose. He seemed utterly contented, laying on his back on the shelf lap of this metal mama. Its tentacles massaged Jim in a rather intimate fashion. Nearby, a kid played with what seemed to be a miniature version of their space cruiser. He chanted, in a sing-song manner, a little something about naughty people getting punished, becoming doomed and answering to karma’s deep, lingering force.
“Say…wait a minute,” she said aloud. She glanced down and around. “Something’s not right here. Am I…is Jim…are we…babies?” Her feet dangled in air, her body held captive by a mesh sling as her arms stuck out from its sides. Nearby, a mechanical gizmo resembling a machine with an arm, lay on the ground.
“Mmmmm,” said Jim, happily slurping on his tubular teat.
“What’re you so happy about? We’re prisoners in metallic nursery,” said Trish.
“No,” said Jim. “We’re living in my fantasy. You see, when I saw that red thing come crashing in my direction, I remember thinking about a dream I had back on home base. When I woke up, I figured that dream might’ve been running through my sleep time again. But you know what? It’s real. We’re here. And if I remember correctly, that thing you were zapping at said something just before you passed out.”
“Me? You were already history,” Trish said.
“No…that teal thing-man gave up a few more words. Said better race towards your dreams – whoever gets there first wins. So I guess I won. Pretty sweet, huh? I can go on like this,” he said, sighing with pleasure.
Trish pressed her lips in anger. That bastard wasn’t going to win. It was then she became aware of a hard cylinder in her grip. She raised her hand and read the tiny inscription on its side: to go out, pull here.
“Whatcha doin’?” asked Jim, noticing Trish pulling on an object with her teeth.
“Game over,” Trish said, and spit out the pin into the grass.
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On my Twitter feed, I follow all sorts of sci-fi creators. Writers, aficionados, artists, designers, editors, fans…everyone’s got my attention. While I simply don’t have time to click on every link I get, I do check out quite a few. That’s the beauty of Twitter – tons of information packed in a sliver.
It doesn’t take long to discover there’s a lot of people out there doing their literal best to breathe life into their loves. E-published works pop up all the time. So do gorgeous illustrations with nary a book to grace. But like many of us, the means to take these works to the next level is woefully absent. Let’s just say if .000000000000000000001 of the amount of money wasted on this year’s presidential was put towards good causes, including arts in all forms, this nation could nurture, educate and launch many artists careers.
So once that art teacher’s been let go, or the music teacher is split between 6 schools in the district, or grammar goes out the window when the English teacher teaches to the test, we all lose.
But I’m only slightly digressing here.
Determination will get you everywhere, and out of the ashes of worthy causes rose Kickstarter. For every project, there’s believers just like the you. Come up with a good idea, spread the word and eventually, if that project’s worthiness commands attention, Kickstarter investors will support even the most humble projects.
Two Tweets caught my attention recently, both graphic novel projects, using Kickstarter and other means to raise money for their projects. I like them both and thought I’d bring them to your attention.
“Paradox Girl” Credit: Cayti Elle Bouquin/Yishan Li
“Do you know what happens when you violate causality? By definition, nothing.” These are the opening words of the first “Paradox Girl,” written by Cayti Elle Bouquin, illustrated by Yishan Li, edited by Peter Bensley and published by Georgina Bensley. It’s the story of a girl who shifts back and forth in times so frequently, she runs into herself constantly…and therein lie the often humorous plot.
These dedicated artists wish to share Paradox Girl’s dream with all of you, but realize you might want to figure out who she is first (and actually, so would PG!). Their website introduces PG to you and shows the reader who charming she is. If you like what you read, there’s three different graphic novels to choose from available for purchase. They’d appreciate it if you bought a copy or two, plus left a little something in the tip jar. Join their mailing list and they’ll let you know when their next Kickstarter campaign begins.
Credit: Eric Gignac
“Have Space Suit – Will Travel” is the second Kickstarter project that’s come across my Twitter feed. Since I can’t explain it any better than their web page does, I’m quoting it directly below:
“Have Space Suit – Will Travel is the second graphic novel adapted from Robert Heinlein’s Virginia Edition, which is the complete and definitive 46 volume collector’s set of all of Heinlein’s works. This follow-on project is approved by the copyright owner, the Heinlein Prize Trust and will be produced with the support of the Virginia Edition Publishing Company. The purpose of the Heinlein Prize is to encourage and reward progress in commercial space activities that advances Robert and his wife Virginia’s dream of humanity’s future in space. The Virginia Edition Publishing Company is responsible for the production and distribution of the authoritative text of all of Robert Heinlein’s published fiction and non-fiction – The Robert A. Heinlein: Virginia Edition Collection.”
Click on the above link and you’ll be take right to the Kickstarter page. Eric Gignac only has until July 16, 2016 to raise fund for his project. He’s more than halfway there, and if you’re will to share in his dream, show your support and donate.
As with both projects, your donations will go towards an artistic worthy cause, support science fiction folks just like yourself, and leave you with the warm and fuzzy feeling that your money didn’t go towards a campaign run by people who neither understand nor appreciate just how otherworldly and bizarre this year’s campaign has become (or fodder for yet another graphic novel?).
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Basma Abdel Aziz (Credit: aalbc.com)
An article in the New York Times caught my attention today: “Middle Eastern Writers Find Refuge in the Dystopian Novel.” In it, the above-pictured author, Basma Abdel Aziz, goes on to describe her inspiration for writing her novel, “The Queue.” A psychiatrist by trade, she gained inspiration for this novel by watching people waiting for hours in a long line at a closed government building. “The Queue” takes this real-life situation and uses it the foundation for its plot: people forced to wait in an interminable line to petition for basic services…and never receiving them.
Other authors to watch, according to the New York Times article, include Yasmine el-Rashidi, author of “A Chronicle of Last Summer”; Ahmed Saadawi, author of “Frankenstein in Bagdad”; Shukri al-Mabkhout, author of “The Italian”; Salem Haddad, author of “Guapa” and Khaled Khalifa, author of “No Knives in the Kitchen of This City.”
Each of the above novels goes on to describe a situation that mirrors actual events in the Middle East, and incorporates the frustration and anger from both current and past events. Basra Abdel Aziz uses her writing to depict how much things have fallen after the promising Arab Spring and, in some instances, have gotten worse.
While the world has never truly known peace, we’ve had glimpses of it and know that life can be enjoyable if we show a bit more humanity towards everyone. For some reason, it seems that world leaders, as well as potential ones, believe we’re better off blowing each other off the face of the earth, kicking them out of a particular resident country, or engage in ethnic cleansing. While I’ve never quite understood how or why this philosophy makes any nation better, it certainly gives lots of authors something to write about.
We go on to fight our wars, exclude citizens from our nations because they look different or pray to a God we don’t quite understand, or what what the other country has, especially if they won’t share it. And with each episode of these international and domestic tragedies, there gives rise to authors whose means of protest is a science fiction novel that speaks the truth.
Perhaps on this Memorial Day weekend, as we munch on our burgers and shop for great savings, we should take a few moments not only to recognize that soldiers give up their lives to protect ideals, but the authors who take witness to these events and lightly shroud the truth in their writings. Buy their books, take them to the beach, and support their efforts. After all, they’re asking you to read between the lines and experience their real-life dystopia through sci-fi colored glasses.
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It’s easy to get caught up in your own thing: doing research, checking facts and seeing how it all fits into your work. But with some writers, it’s obvious that the richness of their plot comes from local history that surrounds them.
I live in New York’s Hudson Valley, an area steeped in gorgeous landscapes, lush vineyards, tasty apples, dairy farms, trout fishing, skiing on mountains friendly to learner, and more. Lots of celebrities move here. David Bowie, for example, loved his peaceful spot on the map.
But the underside of all this natural beauty is, if you believe in such things, is haunted with mystery. We’ve got our share of ghosts, UFOs and ancient sites settled by pre-Columbian people only barely studied.
Such things spark the interest of residents, naturally, but even fewer seek to scratch around and dig through forgotten fields and thick forests in search of what once was might still lurk beneath…or above.
Many local historians take inspiration from the embarrassment of riches surrounding them and investigate the truth behind the legend. They painstakingly dig into dusty files, read brittle microfilm on aging equipment, visit graveyards and historical societies, all for the sake of getting to the bottom of a story. These writers spend hours crafting the research into readable copy, submit them to the publication process, hoping you’ll pick up their books and become just as intrigued as they were.
Linda Zimmermann is one such person. A noted local historian, she’s interested in everything: history, mystery and lore. She’s investigated ghosts, UFOs, stone sites and science. She’s the author of many books, and if you see one of hers, pick it up. Linda writes with humor and insight, and before you know it, you’ll be headed down that certain road in Pine Bush, NY, looking for that certain lake where UFOs have been spotted many a time.
Another such person is a friend of mine, a teacher, local historian, journalist and all around interesting fellow: A.J. Schenkman. His personal biography is enough to fill several volumes, but he’s also one of those sorts who can’t resist researching and documenting a good story.
A.J.’s found all sorts of things to write about in Ulster County, NY. Leaf through these pages and you’ll find plenty of stories that’ll curl your hair. When you’re next at a cocktail party and the guests bemoan how terrible times have become, you’ll be grateful you live in the relative security of suburbia and modern times. Things in the past were pretty gruesome, as the pages of these books will attest.
Lastly, I have to give a brief shout-out to the masters of documenting the weird and strange, Mark Moran and Mark Sceurman, better known as the Weird NJ guys. There’s not a story too strange or a site too abandoned they won’t check out. Their publication, “Weird NJ” has been running for something like twenty years. They’re also in the process of documenting as many weird tales across the nation with their “Weird” series. They’ve had a show on the History Channel, too.
Perhaps the most important thing all of these writers are doing is documenting the past so it’s not forgotten, like the file cabinets from which they gather their research. If you’re thinking of writing a great novel of fiction, check these local authors out first. You’d be surprised what you’ll dig up.
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Since I usually write about books on Sunday, I’d thought I’d do a bit of a tribute to a book I absolutely loved, “Geek Love” by Katherine Dunn.
For those of you who had heard, the author of this book died last week at the age of 70, of lung cancer. Katherine Dunn leaves behind a cadre of fans and an unfinished, unpublished book, called “Cut Man.” As a journalist who covered boxing, Ms. Dunn based this book on the sport, and an excerpt appearing in The Paris Review in 2010 was said to bear similarities to “Geek Love.”
I first found out about this quirky book during a stint in advertising when I was little more than half the age I am now. I noticed this book sat on the desk of several of my colleagues, so I asked about it. “Read it,” said a person whose name I remember as Beth. “I can’t explain it to you.”
My sister Gwen happened to purchase a copy of it and after she read it, she loaned it to me. I couldn’t put it down.
It told the tale of a very bizarre family that raised its own freaks for its traveling carnival. The parents managed to give birth to piano-playing conjoined twin girls, a boy with flippers instead of appendages, and an albino hunchbacked dwarf. Throughout the book it tells of other freaks created and met along the way, including women purposely mutilated in order to concentrate on their careers instead of love.
I must have read this book half a dozen times, and with each reading, I grew more horrified at the prospect of parents willfully screwing up their kids so they’d have a future – as carnival freaks.
Still, the book makes you think about what’s acceptable in both nature and the human mind. Having read last week that a group of distinguished Harvard scientists discussed creating a synthetic human genome, perhaps Ms. Dunn wasn’t far off the mark when she wrote this book.
So if you’re in the market for a good read, check out “Geek Love.” You’ll be glad you did.
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See, when I think of women in science fiction stories, the above picture represents how I’d portray a character. She’s perhaps a little idealized, but still, she’s clearly an astronaut representing America. She’s brave. Tough. Not gonna take it. And she’s about to figure it all out, get behind the situation and blow it to pieces.
But mostly, I see an awful lot of images that fall in line with this:
Or this:
Credit: Concept Central
Either they’re helpless, scantily clad women or bitches with cleavage or melons for breasts. Sure, these space women are tough, gonna fight you, gonna kill you dead, if some guy doesn’t bring ’em down first and/or tame ’em into submission.
Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking. The vast majority of sci-fi lovers are males. Aren’t these the kids who yank on those joysticks and bang into VR mode so they can get a piece of action where there’s no real hope for any?
Well, I’d hate to be the bearer of bad news, but just as many ladies are latching onto the genre and things are pretty much evening out. Both sexes are totally into gaming now, with females catching up to males. Any visit to ComicCon will show you that, too, although lots of the female attendees still dress up in Princess Leia costumes from “Return of the Jedi”, and similar.
I belong to this club:
This is actually a calendar cover from 2013 (sorry, I couldn’t find an active link!)
We women are just a bunch of shameless, crazy geeks, not really beholden to any perfect idea except the one that says we have to be totally weird and strange. We might not be able to carry off the latest fashions with aplomb, but we can certainly tell you about SpaceX and Goddard and JPL. Why? Because that’s something that actually matters.
Though we might not agree with the sexist and doomed portrayal of women in Game of Thrones, we follow the story religiously. Anything from Star Trek (every series) to Star Wars (every episode, plus spinoffs), too.
And so on.
Here’s something most people either didn’t realize or forget: a woman invented science fiction. Do you know who that might be? Take a guess:
Can’t figure it out? She created one of the most enduring stories and characters of all time:
The Monster
That’s right – Mary Shelley and “Frankenstein.” Published in 1818, the story of a doctor bent on creating life from death has been told in countless ways. Its most notorious character, The Monster, has become synonymous with the title of the book and Dr. Frankenstein.
How many of you saw this movie and felt your heart race nonstop? Or…read the book?
Raise your hand if you knew the author’s name…aka Phyllis Dorothy James, Baroness James of Holland Park, OBE, FRSA, FRSL – from the British House of Lords, a Peer. Yup!
I could continue on and talk about J.K. Rowling, Suzanne Collins, Margaret Atwood…but you get the idea.
So…if you’re looking for a great read by a female sci-fi writer, or a writer of any sex, please visit Best Sci-fi Books. It’s a great website to find a great read.
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Yours truly, causing problems
Oh, what a day I had last Friday! I got to walk in the temple of literature amongst the gods. That’s right – I went to Penguin Random House.
So many distinguished authors have had the blessed fortune to be published by this institution, it’s mind-boggling. Seriously, one can’t take it all in. To wit: here’s a wall (and it’s only a partial view) of the Nobel Prize winners that have had their works published here.
PRH’s distinguished and honored literary lineup
Why was I there to begin with? To ask/beg them to publish my work? Pssh. If only. No, I went with my sister and a bunch of our friends (also writers) to their quarterly open house. If you’re interested in books, writing, publishing, or just stretching your mind, it’s the best place in the whole world.
PRH presents a lineup of great writers of all genres, plus a little insider stuff. The day started off with Questlove, best known as the bandleader for The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. He wrote this wonderful book entitled SOMETHINGTOFOODABOUT, a collection of essays and interviews with chefs who raise their culinary talents to the artistic level. It’s a beautiful book, full of amazing photos of food worship. I longed for a snack after gazing through its pages. He kindly autographed it.
Questlove chats with his cowriter, Ben Greenman;
Gretchen gets his autograph – very nice man indeed!
Later on in the morning, Justin Cronin and Pierce Brown held a discussion regarding their books. Both had such camaraderie, one might think they knew each other forever. They’d only met fifteen minutes before taking the stage. Still, their engaging conversation gave writers (like me) hope that even if you have 137 rejections (like Pierce Brown did), you still might get lucky. And boy, did he ever. Justin Cronin was a college professor whose daughter, quite young at the time, told him not to write boring books.
Autographing it up with Justin Cronin, listening to their chat (I know, bad photo) and chatting with Pierce
After lunch, two in-house art directors, Greg Mollica and Joe Perez discussed the finer points of creating a cover. They used several books for examples, some going through several dozen attempts to reach the right look. It’s really true that a book is judged by its cover, because without reading a word, you’ve got to attract the reader’s attention. My favorite story was that of Mark Maron – he’s a favorite of mine and I love his podcast. Mark loves cats. Getting a cat to cooperate proved to be an exercise in patience, as the cat wrangler tried very hard, as well as Mark, to get the cat to pose. I think we all know what comes next:
Some of the shots trying to get THE shot for the cover
PRH saved the best for last: Anna Quindlen. In case you didn’t know, a New York Times columnist and NYT bestselling author many times over. She was interviewed by no less than Lee Woodruff, an author whose husband, Bob Woodruff, was a correspondent for ABC news and suffered a serious head injury in the Middle East – a story in itself. She discussed her writing process and the fact that one of her sons thought it was entirely gross that she wrote sex scenes in her books (he was a kid at the time). Fortunately, she had the best snacks on the block and all the kids hung out at her place after school.
Anna Quindlen and Lee Woodruff, a little on the dark side
The day went by like lightning and was over far too soon. As I sat on the train, staring out at the window on my way home, reading Questlove’s book and feeling hungry, I thought to myself how lucky I was to have been in Random House, thoroughly enjoying the day. Who knows? Maybe one day my books will grace their library walls for all to see. But for now, I’m glad I went and can’t wait for the next one.
Me, my sister Gwen Jones and our friend Linda Parisi
My souvenir for the day
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I’m going to try to make this a weekly thing: a brief list of new sci-fi books or those that show up on my Twitter feed. I’d like to get the word out there to both my blog and Twitter followers that there’s some reads out there that deserve a look-over, as well as support these writers any way I can. Eventually, I’ll have more time to read these works, but at least I can promote them a little. I’ve chosen these books at random but perhaps one day I’ll get to yours, too!
Just in case you’d like to know, my Twitter handle is @gretchenweerhei
Kindle Edition
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Contact with a race of pacifists convinces mankind to lay down its weapons and keep the peace. The last Medal of Honor recipient, Trent Maxwell, trades glory for the comforts of a family after the U.S. Army disbands. All that ends when an alien menace attacks the New Earth colony, which forces a crash mobilization. Trent finds himself reactivated and traveling through space to distant worlds, in order to stop this new enemy. During the century long journey of death, love, and loss, he also deals with the law of relativity that wreaks havoc with his daughter.
Kindle Edition
$2.99 read on Kindle or FREE on KindleUnlimited
A post-apocalyptic romance thriller. The world of the future is divided by Perimeters: high-security gated communities where life goes on as normal. If you’re inside you’re lucky, if you’re outside life expectancy takes a nose dive.
Sixteen-year-old Riley is fortunate to have been born on the right side of the fence. But her life of privilege comes crashing down when someone breaks through the Perimeter and murders her sister. She forsakes her own safety to go in search of the killer. Luc decides to go with her otherwise she’ll be dead before she’s past the security gate. But what awaits her outside is more unbelievable than she ever expected. Cut to the present day where Eleanor’s world is falling apart. This time next year, civilisation won’t be quite so civilised . . .
Six people are awakened from suspended animation on a spaceship by a malfunctioning onboard computer in the middle of a 300 year journey to colonize a distant planet. They must fight through memory loss, paranoia, and a food shortage … and one of them is a killer. Cromartie, the unelected leader, is beginning to remember pieces of his past; he’s beginning to discover clues that may lead to their survival. But he must work fast to find the mind-blowing answers before it’s too late.
Kindle Edition
Sophie Radcliffe, a feisty Texan intergalactic agent, is a brilliant computer programmer with a photographic memory. She has worked for the Intergalactic Law Enforcement Agency for ten years and is considered to be the best human agent on the team. She works alongside two other humans, Tom Logan, a tough, ex-police cop from Chicago and Justin Adams, a talented British linguist, whose arrogant, superior ways get right under the skin of his colleagues. When the agents discover their nemesis, a Drogg named Zenzoris, has escaped his prison pod and is out for revenge, the mission to recapture him takes the agents on a terrifying, roller-coaster adventure. Will the Drogg succeed in overthrowing the Intergalactic Council this time? The agents battle against time to find the Drogg before he destroys the world.
Kindle Edition
Pre-order price: $3.49 or FREE on KindleUnlimted
Computer intern Avery Cole is about to learn the secret behind a strange device left in his possession years ago… While searching for his missing father in California, Cole sets out to complete a path already chosen for him: release seven bottles with seven messages into the ocean to help the world learn the secret to existence. Now seven lives will intersect while Cole searches for the ultimate truth. But can he give up the woman he loves to save mankind?
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Moon, Stars and Beyond 