Tanith Lee

When, after over a quarter of a century of scrabbling up the writing ladder I was finally taken on my Macmillan, I started to get invites to ‘author events’. At these I met various authors, but generally they were fairly new ones who I didn’t really know. At one such event (I believe it was the launch of Cecelia Dart-Thornton’s ‘The Ill-Mad Mute’, but I could be wrong) Caroline and I installed ourselves in an upstairs room of the pub The Princess Louise (nice history there – it was, so I was told, Dennis Neilson’s hunting ground).
We were quite new at this game and quite nervous of it all. We sat chatting to some people, but I couldn’t help but notice one guy who sat up at the bar by himself: very slim, looked to be about seven feet tall, long black hair down his back – if you wanted to get contemporary about it he could have been a member of the Jacob’s gang in Twilight.
After a little while, he came over with my boss at the time, Peter Lavery. We chatted and he was very pleasant and all I learned at the time was that his name was John. Peter later informed me that his full name was John Kaiine and that he was Tanith’s Lee’s husband. He’d come over to chat to us because we seemed to be some of the few people in the room not disappearing up their own bottoms.
Subsequently, when invited to Peter Lavery’s Victorian abode on the South coast I got to again meet John and to meet Tanith for the first time. Extreme fan-boy moment. Tanith Lee is a writer whose work I’ve enjoyed for most of my reading life. Here was a giant of fantasy fiction, a quick glance at her Wikipedia entry gives you some idea of what I’m talking about:
She is the author of over 70 novels and 250 short stories, a children’s picture book (Animal Castle) and many poems. She has also written two episodes of BBC science fiction series Blake’s 7.
I got hooked into her writing by The Birthgrave, probably not so long after it was published in 1975, and I read her stuff constantly ever since. I list Volkhavaar as one of my top ten fantasy books (on the Guardian website I think) and really, I don’t see it ever dropping out of that list. Her books are ones I’ve returned to in later years and found have lost nothing by either them aging or me aging. I recommend you check some of them out. All of her Tales From The Flat Earth are good, I can also recommend books like Elephantasm, Vivia, The Storm Lord, East of Midnight, Heartbeast … actually I’ll stop there. Better to say that I haven’t read one that I haven’t enjoyed.
An enjoyable time was had by all, involving copious quantities of alcohol and then a curry. All the time I still could not dispel that ‘Wow, that’s Tanith Lee sitting there.’ At later events I’ve met and briefly chatted to Harry Harrison and Michael Moorcock and, even though those too were fan-boy moments, they weren’t quite like the first time.
Anyway, John and Tanith could not have been nicer, despite what they were going through at the time and which she’s now revealed on her website. It seems even the immortals cannot avoid cancer, though it has been knocked back.

Skype Interview

I just did a voice-only Skype interview with (I think) an English lecturer and a few of this students at the University of Wisconsin. They are the producers of this (please correct me if I’m wrong on any of these points – if you check here Wisconsin people). As usual I babbled as I tried to get my points across (if I had any) and was noticing a tendency to forget the question before I’d finished speaking. Ah, the depredations of age. Anyway, I’ll let you know when the interview becomes available.

M is for Moorcock

MICHAEL MOORCOCK
THE MAD GOD’S AMULET
THE KING OF SWORDS
THE BANE OF THE BLACK SWORD
THE RUNESTAFF
THE VANISHING TOWER
THE FORTRESS OF THE PEARL
THE STEALER OF SOULS
PHOENIX IN OBSIDIAN
THE QUEEN OF SWORDS
THE STEEL TSAR
THE JEWEL IN THE SKULL
THE OAK AND THE RAM
THE SWORD AND THE STALLION
THE KNIGHT OF SWORDS
THE QUEST FOR TANELORN
THE CHAMPION OF GARATHORM
COUNT BRASS
THE ETERNAL CHAMPION
ELRIC AT THE END OF TIME
ELRIC OF MELNIBONE
STORMBRINGER
THE JADE MAN’S EYES
THE SWORD AT DAWN
THE WARLORD OF THE AIR
THE BLACK CORRIDOR
THE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WOLF
THE TIME DWELLER
THE ICE SCHOONER
THE FINAL PROGRAMME
THE SHORES OF DEATH
THE RITUALS OF INFINITY
THE DRAGON IN THE SWORD
THE BLOOD RED GAME
THE BULL AND THE SPEAR
THE WINDS OF LIMBO
THE LAND LEVIATHAN
THE GOLDEN BARGE

Eclipse — Stephenie Meyer.

Once again an enjoyable read, but much less so now. Yeah, okay I get that she loves him and he loves her, get on with it now please. I found myself starting to skip bits near the end out of either boredom or irritation. When that starts happening the illusion created starts to break down, the critical faculties begin kicking in again and you lose that vital ‘suspension of disbelief’. So this ninety-year-old vampire is profoundly in love with a selfish brattish teenager too stupid to realise that the “but we can still be friends” line doesn’t really work on someone who wants to get her bent over doggy style. The whole toing and froing with her werewolf love interest was thoroughly wearing. It also occurs to me that perhaps Edward is not only a vampire but a pervert? This would explain many decades of always going to school when he could have said, “Really, I’m twenty – I just look young.” It also seems to me that Meyer has fallen into the ‘I made my heroes too powerful and now I’ve really got to contrive dangers to have a story’ trap. Really, much of the writing and story-telling grabs, but when you step back, you see it for what it is. The whole thing is one of those American high school flicks with a wash of supernatural to give it some glamour, all wrapped round a rather prudish romance. I’ll read the next one, but rather suspect I’ll be skipping a lot of that too.

Interesting Post Chain

I just had a look at Whatever, John Scalzi’s blog which often has interesting stuff about the business of writing. I read this and was intrigued, so went over to the post by Charlie Stross. This then led me to further interesting posts. You can learn a lot here about the processes involved in getting a book into your hands.

About rejection.

Becoming an Editor

Marketing.

M is for May and Morgan

BARRY N MALZBERG
GUERNICA NIGHT
THE FALLING ASTRONAUTS
THE MEN INSIDE
HEROVIT’S WORLD
GEORGE R. R. MARTIN
A SONG FOR LYA
JULIAN MAY
THE GOLDEN TORC
THE NON-BORN KING
THE ADVERSARY
INTERVENTION
JACK THE BODILESS
MAGNIFICAT
JOHN MEANEY
TO HOLD INFINITY
R. M. MELUCH
JERUSALEM FIRE
CHINA MIEVILLE
KING RAT
PERDIDO STREET STATION
THE SCAR
THE IRON COUNCIL
RICHARD MORGAN
ALTERED CARBON
BROKEN ANGELS
WOKEN FURIES
BLACK MAN
PETER MOORWOOD
THE HORSE LORD
THE DEMON LORD
THE DRAGON LORD
THE WARLORD’S DOMAIN

What Now?

So, last year I finished The Departure, second book of my last three-book contract with Macmillan and at the time due to be published this year. I immediately got on with the last book of the contract, which then had the provisional title Gabbleducks, and polished off quite a lot of it. Once I was back here in Britain, Julie Crisp (senior commissioning editor for Tor UK) told me she really liked The Departure and, since it was the first book of a new series (The Owner series), she would like to publish that series consecutively. This was a break from my usual  habit of books from a series alternated with something else i.e. the order of publication from the start with Macmillan has been: Gridlinked, The Skinner, The Line of Polity, Cowl, Brass Man, The Voyage of the Sable Keech, Polity Agent, Hilldiggers, Line War, with Prador Moon, Shadow of the Scorpion and The Gabble coming in through a route separate to my main contracts. I said okay, let’s give it a try.

This now meant that I had to get Gabbleducks ready for publication this year, which I’ve done. It transformed somewhat in the telling and has now turned into The Technician. Julie now has that book and I’m chewing my fingernails waiting for a response on it. But this also means I’ve hit a bit of a hiatus. I am, effectively, a year ahead of schedule, so what do I do now?

Here are the choices I’ve considered: I could begin the next book in The Owner series, I could produce some short stories, I could pull that fantasy trilogy out of my files and start work on that, or I could set to work on writing a book about mine and Caroline’s adventures in Crete – based on my journal entries – for which I already have the title: Cicada Scream.

I recently got an email from Jeremy Lassen at Night Shade Books in which he wondered if I might consider having a crack at something else for them: a new series, maybe a fantasy – something different to help me penetrate the American market. The fantasy, which I’ve always wanted to rework but have never got round to, falls into that category. So, if I set to work on that I’ve got a target market, though frankly I wouldn’t expect difficulties selling it elsewhere.

So, right now I’m typing into my computer all my Crete journal entries in preparation for writing Cicada Scream. This will be a project I’ll work on with no finish date in mind. This evening I’ll print up the first book of the fantasy, The Staff of Sorrows, read it through and begin working on it with a pencil. More needs to be done than tidying up the English. The whole thing needs to lose its hackneyed fantasy clothing and there’s some big structural changes that need to be made too.

 These I’ll work on until the time comes for me to edit The Technician. After that I’m not sure how I’ll proceed, just a case of wait and see.

You see, I can make plans.

Dexter Ominbus — Jeff Lindsay

The language of the first page of this hauled me up, but I persevered and was soon in territory I recognized from the excellent TV series. I was a bit dubious about the somewhat camp depiction of Dexter and the emphasis on his ‘Dark Passenger’ which only kicked in in the TV series when he was pretending to have a drugs habit, both as an alibi with Rita and a way to put Doakes off the scent. I really enjoyed the first two books of this, noting the differences and being quite happy with them – there were quite simply things that happened in this only suitable an X classification and would have cut down on the success of the TV series. The last book I hated. Lindsay took Dexter’s ‘Dark Passenger’ into supernatural territory, Dexter himself became a soppy ineffectual mess, and I felt it was wrong wrong wrong.

Thing is, whilst there were a couple of really enjoyable books here, and the idea of Dexter is all down to Lindsay, I find the TV series a lot better. I think that the TV version nailed the essence of it, of Dexter, which was in the first two books, and definitely not in the last one. You may think it odd me feeling that straying into fantastical territory was the wrong thing to do here, if you do, then go read my post about UFOs again.

Beware the Bottom Probes.

I remember, before I was taken on by Macmillan, getting cornered at a house party by a woman who, upon hearing that I wrote SF, wanted to talk to me about UFOs. I remember, when I was in my twenties, seeing something up in the sky out the back of my parent’s house: a sphere, silver on top and black underneath which, when I saw it, shot off at great speed. But now, I need to let you in on a secret: I don’t believe we have been visited by aliens.
I don’t believe flying saucers are playing peek-a-boo with airliners or having races with Airforce jets. I reckon that object I saw was a weather balloon caught in a high wind, or maybe, just maybe, it was some sort of military drone. I don’t believe a spaceship crashed at Area 57 and that the US military has some bug-eyed monsters on ice. I don’t believe the greys, with a technology capable of propelling themselves across a distance of a minimum of four light years, have come here to stick probes up the bottom of an Arkansas yokel.
You see, I’m a science fiction writer, which means I don’t buy into crap. I buy into logic, emphiricism. Crystals don’t heal, homeopathy is bunk, the only way anyone can predict the future by the stars is if that person sees a monster meteorite on a collision course with Earth. Faith is not proof; there is no invisible friend in the sky. Any theory that doesn’t adhere to Popper’s dictum is not a theory. A tin-foil hat will not stop the mind control rays from Alpha Centauri and walking under a ladder is only unlucky if someone drops a pot of paint on your head.

And these will maybe contain some interesting, rare or even unknown natural phenomena. They will contain delusions, sad attempts at attention seeking, lies, and maybe some truths about just how suggestible is the human mind. Sorry and all that.

Who Reads My Books? Barry Arrowsmith

Since Barry hasn’t been able to supply a picture of himself, I’ve found one for him.

Wotcher, Neal.

My name is Barry Arrowsmith and I’m a Science Fiction addict.
How did I sink to this degraded state?
It all started so innocently….

Imagine…. it’s the late 1940s and a small boy has his ear glued to to a hissing, crackly radio. For what? For Dan Dare on Radio Luxembourg of course.

That was me, and it was the start of a life-long love, bordering on obsession, with SF. The obsession got fed too, what with beeb radio pulling in massive audiences with ‘Day of the Triffids’ and ‘Journey into Space’, and when TV started becoming the broadcast medium of choice, with ‘Quatermass’. All quality stuff, but then there was a bit of a gap until 1963 and ‘Dr Who’. How to satisfy the cravings?

Well, there were the Saturday morning matinees at the local flea-pit, the ‘tanner rush’ as it was known, for the weekly dose of Buster Crabbe as Flash Gordon. You could see the wires holding the model space-ships up, and the smoke from the rocket-ship engines always rose vertically, even in the depths of space, but who the hell cared?
Next Monday in the playground you too could be a Clayman.

Next step, comics. The Eagle (more Dan Dare) and then there were those oh so rare and coveted imports from the US. Then books. Those started with a Christmas present – ‘Death of Metal’ by Donald Suddaby (wish I still had it, but it fell apart decades ago). With strictly limited pocket-money real hardbacked books were beyond my means, but at the local market there was a stall that sold the trashiest second- hand SF paperbacks you ever did see. I loved it. Covers plastered with panicking girls in brass brassieres and everybody wearing goldfish bowls. The local library also helped fill the gaps with (among others) those wonderful old Bleiler & Dickty short story collections. Grabbed every one I could as soon as it appeared on the shelves, ‘cos with a bit of luck there might be an Eric Frank Russell story in there.

Of course as you age and cash isn’t so tight, discrimination kicks in. (It’s either that or the fact that brass brassieres on covers went out of fashion, though the reaction to Carrie Fisher as a chained Princess Leia showed that there’s an eager market for this stuff out there. Yummy!) So, it was time to switch to Penguin SF, the Gollancz SF yellow-jackets and the more sophisticated stuff.

Then in 1981 I inadvertently went sort-of cold turkey on SF. Working out in Saudi for 9 years, and back then there was no SF available out there. That’s not why I went of course, but it was one of the consequences. Worse, I’d cleared my bookcases of all fiction prior to storage for the rest before I went. Wish I hadn’t. Impossible to replace some of those books, at least for a price I can afford.

Back home in 1990, the cravings still persist, and 20 minutes away is a place of pilgrimage – Rog Peyton’s Andromeda bookshop. Oh, bliss. All those lovely imports – Vernor Vinge, David Weber, Greg Bear, Gibson, plus the new generation of UK authors when they came along – Reynolds, Stross, Morgan, Stephenson and that Asher feller. Shelves looking healthy again now, about 1500 SF titles, half of them hardback. So I’m main-lining again.

One thing, when you accumulate a lot of books you need to add them onto your contents insurance. Replacement would be bloody expensive, just work it out. But – and this is the good bit – you’ll probably be asked to value them (they like titles worth over about £50 to be listed) and that’s when you find that a volume you bought for the cover price 20 years ago is now worth a bomb. How nice. Gives you a really fine glow. Signed, dated 1st/1st ‘Revelation Space’? signed 1st/1st ‘Altered Carbon’? 1st/1st Touchstone ed. of ‘The Prestige’? Add a few more and your bookshelves are more valuable than your furnishings. Not just the new books you bought, either. Try pricing a VG+/VG+ Compton Russell hardback of Niven’s ‘Protector’, it’s slightly more than the 69p I paid in Oxfam. Rarer than hen’s teeth; rarer even than ‘Mason’s Rats’. Do I have a copy of ‘Rats’? Erm… yes, got one from an Amazon re-seller last month. Cost me a tenner – but what the hell, it’s only money.

No photos, I’m afraid. As a tech fan I’m a disgrace. No camera, no mobile phone, not even a TV. I spend so much time lost in books, you see.