over the cliff

I could try to explain why there’s been a 7 month lapse in posting, or I could launch into a review of the movie I saw last night.

I read His Dark Materials trilogy after seeing the preview for what looked, judging by all the pretty colors and the relative cuteness of polar bears, to be an excellent fantasy movie of the first installment. Surely this would surpass The Chronicles of Narnia which I found, despite the relative cuteness of talking woodland creatures, to be rather costumey and short on logic. And while I had complaints with the book (mostly with POV) I thought there was enough stuff–namely talking polar bears–to warrant an excellent film. Lyra, the main character, was not particularly well rendered in the novel, but I believed a good director would be able to smooth her out–or at least make her consistent. Mystery and bad guys and witches and flying mechanical contraptions abounded. And when you didn’t have a talking polar bear on screen, there would be more than enough talking other critters.

Hopeful, and dare I say enthusiastic, my friends and I went to the 10:10 PM showing of The Golden Compass. The best way to put our experience is with a quote from one Alex Lumans who said, “I don’t need an alethiometer to know that’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”

Another way to put it would be to say that in the great ranking of fantasy films, Eragon is no longer at the bottom.

Nor are the Star Wars prequels.

First off, the story had no pacing. In essence it felt like one really long trailer. Scene after scene of ominous foretelling and exposition. But the reason we go to movies and not trailers is so that we can, occasionally, and if it’s not too much trouble, get some development. Sections from the book that offered the best chance for this were skimmed. Characters appeared out of thin air–literally–to give crucial information that wasn’t that crucial just so that when the same character randomly showed up in the nick of time, we wouldn’t be too surprised.

Second, the script. How these actors managed to say their lines with straight faces, I’ll never understand. According to the trivia page from IMDB Tom Stoppard wrote a draft which Weitz, the director, rejected so he could adapt it himself. Idiot. I think the worst line was, “You mean to ride me?” But it was mostly bad in context.

Third, the logic. Or lack thereof. At one point in the film the giant talking polar bear claims that his armor is his “soul”. He becomes an alcoholic when the people of a certain town trick him and steal it from him. So what does he do as soon as he gets it back? Leaves it behind every chance he gets in order to carry Lyra to some random location. Right. And if Lyra is this ultra-special child for whom lots of bad guys are hunting, why is she left on her own so often? Apparently every adult character graduated from the Britney Spears House of Daycare.

Oh well, maybe the sequel will be better.

“In the religion of flame, heaven comes when all the world is ash.” -James Maxey, Bitterwood.

Bant Bitterwood is not a hero. For 20 years he has wandered the world slaying dragons fueled only by his hate and lust for revenge. He has no higher purpose, no lofty aspirations and when he tells people his name, they don’t believe him.

When Bitterwood kills the dragon prince, King Albekizan orders the slaughter of all humans. In any typical fantasy, this would be the point where Bitterwood rallies all of mankind in a fight for survival. There would be great battles and speeches. There would be an old man who gives guidance and is eventually killed off in order to harden the hero to his task and tell the reader This is really serious. And the dragons would be standard winged lizards who all look, sound, and act pretty much the same.

Fortunately for us, James Maxey is not a typical fantasy writer. Bitterwood is not a hero. Albekizan is not just a blood thirsty evil doer. And most of the novel is told from the point of view of other characters. The dragons themselves are artfully rendered and given specific characteristics to explain their function within dragon society. And Mr. Maxey is also not afraid to include biological specific effects of an individual’s death.

Mr. Maxey also has a singular talent for creating characters that are not perfect, nor does he try the old trick of making a mostly perfect person with one tragic flaw. They’re human, or in some cases, dragon. They make choices, some bad, some good and deal with the consequences. But they are always interesting and captivating and, even when they’re ordering the genocide of an entire species, sympathetic.

Unfortunately for you, this book won’t be published until July. But when it is, you should buy it and, if you’re like me, you’ll finish it in one sitting. Because to be quite honest, I think James Maxey could write a grocery list and I’d still want to read it.

To find out more (and read the first chapter), visit http://bitterwoodnovel.blogspot.com/

Sorry faithful readers (that means you, Mom). It appears that I have neglected this blog for quite a while. So let’s get through some quick and dirty updates.

Received my contributor copy of Margie. It’s gorgeous.

Received my contributor copy of MYTHIC 2. It’s gorgeous.

Wrote my first short story in over a year, submitted it to Clarkesworld Magazine and got a really nice rejection from editor Nick Mamatas. Some have said that his rejections (which come in the form of critiques) are unusually harsh, bordering on cruel. Many more have said that his comments are incredibly accurate and helpful–often pinpointing the errors that the author doesn’t want to face.

As for my rejection, he called my story “funny, charming and sharp at the same time, very engaging”. I know it’s still a rejection but I can barely suppress my desire to dance around. He also gave some suggestions to strengthen it before sending it on to the next market. They were general comments about fleshing out details and characters rather than major restructurings so I have high hopes that I’ll be able to place it somewhere. Oliver thinks that I should try for lit markets, but I honestly don’t know. It’s not uber-speculative, but it’s also not uber-realistic. Mamatas didn’t say anything about the speculative element or seeming lack thereof, so I may go ahead and exhaust the list of spec markets before I start sending out to the literary ones. If Oliver’s reading this, he’s probably shaking his head. Shake away, boy. Shake away.

Oh and in other news, my poem Bluebeard’s Third Wife is live on Strange Horizons, and my poem Apple Picking is live over at Ideomancer.

Today I received my 12th (give or take one or two) rejection from a literary magazine.

Still no word from AGNI. And I have other poetry submissions out at Strange Horizons, Asimov’s, and The Georgia Review.

According to the website, Margie Volume 5 (with my poem “The Love Boats”) will be released on October 30.

MYTHIC II (with my poem “Bluebeard’s Second Wife) is available for order from Mike Allen’s website.

Dreams & Nightmares 74/75 (with my poems “Aliens Built Table Mountain” and “[Insert Title Indicating this is a Poem about Bluebeard the Wife Murderer, not the Pirate]”) will be going to the printers soon.

On a somewhat interesting note, the two Bluebeard poems were written and sold roughly a year apart, but the second poem has beaten the first to press. When/if you read the poem Second Wife, you’ll know why this is so amusing to me.

On Wednesday, October 18th I’ll be reading my poetry with two other grad students in the Student Center. Not that anyone who reads this blog lives near Carbondale and could come. Or would want to.

Mythic II is now available for preorder on Shocklines and the Margie Review website now says that Volume 5 will be released in October.

I don’t expect all of you to run out and order them. Except for you, Mom. I’m thinking copies of both would make for great Christmas presents for the whole family this year

In my defense I went on vacation for a couple of weeks. Then I had to spend a week or two getting my life back in order once I returned to Carbondale. Then I had to get ready for the new school year.

I can’t even use the excuse of ‘Well nothing happened so I didn’t have anything about which to write.’ LOTS happened.

I went to Trinoc Con with Oliver where I finally got to meet Lee Kontis, Steve Savile, James Maxey all of whom I have previously only known through Codex. I got to see Ed and congragulate him in person for taking over as Editor for Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show–and I think I deserve extra points for not bursting into green flames of jealousy.

I took Oliver to the Sound where he witnessed the carnage of mullet fishing. He gets extra points for meeting my entire family and seeming to enjoy himself.

Oh and I sold a poem to Margie.

Oh and today my poem went up at Strange Horizons with a new title (some people were thrown by the phrase ‘Lower Schoolers’): Elementary Students Explore the Universe.

Also today I started the semester. I teach at 8 AM Monday thru Friday. I ordered my students to bring caffeine with them to class. Diet coke, coffee, or vivarin. I don’t care what it is so long as it’s legal. They seem bright, and enthusiastic, and they laughed at my dumb jokes. I’m excited about the class. For now.

8 AM. Dammit.

My mother has been complaining that I don’t update my blog enough. I don’t know what she’s talking about…

No doubt you (all 3 of my faithful readers) have been wondering what I’m up to. Perhaps you thought I was busy writing of the great American novel.

Curing cancer.

Alphabetizing my socks.

Shaving “Raketenpanzerbushethunk!” into Demos’ fur.

No, it’s not a real word, Oliver. Stop fretting that I knew something you didn’t.

In truth I have been doing none of these things. Instead I house-sat for my Aunt and Uncle, wrote lots of bad poetry at Starbucks, went vineyarding with Adam and Elena and helped (very little) them move into their new house, read the first 10 pages of half a dozen books, and did NOT go to Katie’s wedding.

One of my best friends from High School got married. And I didn’t go. I think I officially fail as a human.

I’m also not really quite sure if I ever told her definitively that I wasn’t going to be able to make it. [Insert expletive and plague on both of my computers here]

In case she ever googles her own name and comes across this: Katie Brinkley I adore you and I hope you and Jonas (ha! I didn’t call him Sven for once) are very, very, very happy. And tell him that he better treat you right or I’ll drown him.

In other news… Sara and Elena came over the other day and we had a submissions party–hopefully the first of many. Because I am psychotically OCD, I created a Poetry Bible filled with information on journals (stated response time, average response time, ranking, and manuscript guidelines), contests, market statistics, submissions log, and copies of the poems I’ve sold. To give me hope in my many hours of despair.

The sad thing was in the 4 hours we spent drinking wine and eating cheese straws… all I managed to do was print out everything I have, spread it out on the floor, and wish that I’d written better stuff.

But today I printed, stuffed and mailed packets to Poetry, Missouri Review, Mid-American Review, and Margie.

I also sim subbed the heck out of everything. I had to print out a sheet with a list of the poems that are at multiple places so that when I get rejected from all of them… I can check them off one by one. Double points to the journal if I cry.

And that has been my life. But for now, I must pack.

Longer update later. For now: Just sold “Lower Schoolers Explore the Universe” to Strange Horizons. This makes me happy since now I can pretend that my first sale to them wasn’t a fluke.

Some cute pictures, so I don’t lose them.

Puppy
Kittens
Kitten
Baby Seal

…do not collect $200.

I received my first ever rejection from a literary magazine. As far as “We hate you and your writing sucks” slips go, it was pretty polite. It wasn’t a torn off corner of a sheet of paper with the word ‘No!’ written on it as if I were some puppy trying to grab food off the table. They didn’t send back my manuscript with cat vomit or coffee stains on it. They didn’t say “Save the literary world. Die now.” Just a simple “Thank you for sending us your work, but we cannot use it at the present time.”

They were also relatively fast. 32 days. Pretty damn snappy for a lit magazine. I sent batches of poems off to Ploughshares and CrazyHorse at the end of March which I probably won’t see again until September. By then I’ll probably hate everything I’ve written and crawl back to my parents to see if Medical School is still an option.

In other pseudo-writing related news… I read book 3 of Goodkinds Sword of Truth infinitology. I still hate the names he gives groups of people, and his dialogue reminds me of that play in Kindergarten we did about Egyptians making bread, but it was readable. So I ordered book 4 and told Oliver that if I don’t like, it’s his fault. He doesn’t seem to think this is very fair.

I want to say that I put this in my blog ages ago, but I couldn’t find it. So I thought I’d post it again.

Querying the New Yorker