On the bright side, I totally scored on the presents!

Which begs the question: will there be THREE of those fantastical statues to present?!

Fine company to be had in the list, with Paul Haines, Kaaron Warren, Jason Fischer, Felicity Dawker and other fabby writers. Hurrah!

As an early birthday present, I scored an invitation to be part of the fabulous Poe’s Deadly Daughters blog this weekend (this weekend in Canada, which is a few hours behind the Sydney weekend). The awesome Sharon Wildwind made me think really hard about everything the Australian landscape has ever meant to me (namely: something horrible) after some comments I made on a WFC panel some years back. People have largely ignored me when I’ve complained about the creepiness of the landscape before, so this is a great leap forward.

Lemme know what you think.

In this ultimate issue Dirk Flinthart delivers a rollicking good tale with pirates & Patti Kurtz has a rotten time with elves (“Really, the last thing I wanted to do was trudge through a raging thunderstorm with an Elf” goes the first line, so you know you’re in for an adventure right there.) My AA-winning story A Scar for Leida (with witches!) is reprinted along with an interview where the editor asks me why people keep thinking I write YA fiction.

Step up for Shiny 6, guaranteed to float yer boat.

Would you mind emailing me at deborahb AT livejournal DOT com?

Tah!

Edit: got it, thanks.

Then you get through that, a little, & you’re enjoying the relative quiet in your brain. You find yourself humming. You don’t think too much about things. You’re enjoying the mental downtime.

And then one day you think, “Gee, I hope this eye of the storm can last.” By which you mean: you hope you never, ever have to hear the reactions of people to what you’ve just done. Or, at least, the reactions of the disappointed people. That’s the toughest bit. The disappointment. The rest, well, you’ll probably hear from those guys sometime soon.

But the next thing that happens is, the quiet goes on. The humming stops. There’s a whole lotta silence in the top of your skull where the buzzing used to be, the buzzing that signified too-much-to-do back when. It is soooo quiet. And still. Inside your head and out of it. You think, “Gosh, I kinda wonder what people think of that collection we did. Maybe.”

But you don’t wonder too much, in case they don’t like it. People tell you not to worry, these things are a slow boil. Especially single-author collections, especially if you’re not marvellously famous yet. You sit back & wonder what that means, slow boil. I mean, just how long is a boil usually, anyhow? Don’t things just either boil or they don’t?

Casually several people will mention they’ve read your book & you’ll apologise automatically. Then you’ll enquire, “You read it? You don’t mean the whole thing, though, do you?” Sometimes they actually claim they do! This is astonishing.

You’ll apologise again & say, “Well, it’s really the buying that’s important. You shouldn’t've felt obliged to read the darn thing.”

It’s all about shifting the stock, see.

And THEN not only will someone read the book, they’ll review it. Sometimes in detail. Embarrasingly detailed detail that makes you admit, ‘er, yes, that really was a sexualised image I used in that story, I’d forgotten all about that & I’d probably kinda thought nobody had noticed’.

“Oh,” you’ll think. “That’s one helluva review.” And then a little later, “Huh.”

This, then, is that review. Dan Hartland & Strange Horizons: thank-you.

To me, a debut collection is almost a declaration, a promise. Of battles won and of wars to be waged. Or of lessons learned and skills developed and new challenges to be taken up. A debut collection says to the world “Here I Am!” It also says, “Judge me now.” A debut collection is a calling card, a cv to submit to bigger and brighter job applications. It says, “This is what I can do, let me try that now…”

Fortunately I didn’t realise the import of A Book of Endings (aBoE, for the lazy amongst us — namely me) when we were working on it. I thought of it as just my foot-stamping tantrum, my I-want-I-want!, my barbaric yawp, my adolescent assertion of my need for some goddamn space in a noisy, crowded world.

I guess it really was about me making some room for myself. And if there was an element of ’screw you, world!’ in my work on the project, well, it’s probably not intentional. But it’s not misleading either. The book is a kind of take-it-or-leave-it thing, really, isn’t it. Like painting a target on my head, I wanted the book to say ‘this is me, come get me’. So I could run like hell towards the challenge of a world that seemed mostly to be ignoring me.

I don’t mean ignoring me in terms of my writing (though every writer must feel it: the wide gaps between the small bubbles of response you get whenever you put something ‘out there’, the sunk-like-a-stone sensation of losing a story to the clamourous silence of the audience, reviewers, family, colleagues who, like Pavlov, will occasionally and collectively ring a bell to say ‘here’s some food or maybe some kind words, lemme measure your salivation’, but might just as easily electrify your cage to study your budding sense of learned helplessness). No, I don’t mean that, because critics largely have been very gracious about what I call ‘my stuff’. I just mean … in general.

I mean, in general, the world hasn’t given me enough of what I want, despite my own inarticulate attempts to work out what that is. The world has often disappointed me in random ways and, yes, it must be admitted, delighted me in surprising ways & so I figured, hell, I’d throw my hat in the ring. If that was to be the game, I’d put my stamp on it or stamp my foot on it, whichever. I’d see what would happen if the maelstrom of the world was flung a book with my name on the cover, and forced to swallow or goddamn gag on it.

It’s been, I admit, wholly satisfying (though sometimes in perverse ways).

Hello world. Here I am.

Come get me.

As I said, concentration not working, eyes not much working either, so both took their time digesting what was in front of me. But the brain, fritzing randomly, kept spitting up a message about the woman and her female neighbour. It kept saying, ‘no no no’ and then ‘not unless her neighbour is moving down the escalator by moving THROUGH THE WALL’.

Which is about when I realised: to the left of the woman was not a neighbour but a mirror.

There’s fine company to be had on the list: Twelfth Planet shows its spine, with Horn & Siren Beat also getting mentions. Paul Haines’ Wives is (are?) there — a story I’m still too nervous to read. Also Nix, Ball, Lanagan, Strahan, plus Klages, Lake, Link, Valente, Griffith, Irvine …. I could go on but it seems crazy. Just go read the list.

In other Tuesday highlights, you’ve got a chance at (psychologist & sceptic) Richard Wiseman’s site to pledge your soul to the devil. Go on. Give it a go. What’s the worst that could happen?

* “Home Turf” in Gillian Polack’s CULTURAL BAGGAGE anthology
* “No Going Home” in Alisa Krasnostein’s SPRAWL anthology
* My first novella, a contemporary urban fantasy in Mark Deniz’ ISHTAR anthology. Not sure the pieces from Kaaron Warren, Cat Sparks and myself are individually titled, but the working title for mine was “And the Dead Shall Outnumber the Living” — a quote from some of the Ishtar reading I did in preparation.

Stay tuned for more news. And hope to see y’all there!

Some of the local Hugo interests:

* Tansy Rayner Roberts talks Wives & other Hugo recommendations
* Robert Hoge sets up the Homegrown Hugo Nomination Group on Facebook
* Twelfth Planet releases some free reading, including Horn, Siren Beat & some stories from yours truly
* Following Twelfth Planet’s lead, you can also get your free copies of some of my new stories for 2009 right here, including the BSFA long-listed “Diamond Shell” and “Problems of Light and Dark”, plus two other stories that have made it to favourite lists, “Coming up for Air” and “Hush”. Email me at deborahb AT livejournal DOT com or via my website addie, rous AT deborahbiancotti DOT net if you’re interested. Or buy the book via Twelfth Planet Press.

And a huge thank-you to the kind British people who took the time to read & request my stories. I didn’t make the BSFA shortlist, but I’m still thrilled I got onto the longlist & wish all the best to those heading into the final straight.

In not-so-local Hugo reading, Cheryl Morgan’s very important post at the Feminist SF blog is a must-read. Sriously. Read it. It’s wonderful.

So I paid $1.20 & had a Honey Roll & it was good for all the mouthfuls that it existed. The chocolate filling my mouth and the honey snagging on my teeth as I rolled it around my mouth.

But directly after eating that chocolate bar I experienced a sensation that began in my stomach & progressed from there to fill my whole body with something that feels remarkably like regret.

I’m assured the readers are ‘very picky’, so a heartfelt *hug* and congratulations to fellow short-listers, Kari Sperring (LIVING WITH GHOSTS), and Ali Shaw (THE GIRL WITH GLASS FEET — wow, I love this title) and an even bigger *hug* for Jedediah Berry. Not just for his passionate guitar-playing at the annual WFC cheese party. But also for winning the Crawford Award with his book, THE MANUAL OF DETECTION.

Been meaning to read THE MANUAL for a year — many rave reviews have been directed its way.

Many thanks to Gary K. Wolfe & the whole crew for taking the time to consider my book. Very cheered!

Plus: gotta love an award where the winner is announced at the same time as the shortlist-ees. Really takes the stress outta the thing when the race is run before you realise you’ve even been running. Thank-you, sophisticated Crawford-ites!

To no one’s surprise, Greg Egan took out Best Collection. But the real intrigue of the evening lay in discovering what would happen when he did. Egan has famously removed himself from award lists for long enough that I forget why he ever did it in the first place. And he’s so notoriously private that I’ve only ever met 2 people who claim to have met him. (This fact amused my non-fandom bf so much he later used it to claim that HE, in fact, was Greg Egan & he’d been looking for a way to break it to me for the past several years.)

But since neither of the 2 Egan-witnesses can actually describe him, I figure Egan a) carries one of those Men in Black memory zappers, or b) moves in complete darkness.

So: what would happen at the moment his name was called? Would he spring from the audience on legs like pistons (a la Burton’s apes from his awful re-imagined Planet of the Apes movie), screaming his disapproval at the audience, smashing the award on the back wall of the hall and disappearing wrathfully into the night? Would he instead descend demurely, accept his award & apologise for never calling or dropping by, while we all sat mutely thinking, “So THAT’S what he looks like?”

And, did he actually DO either or both of those things before donning dark glasses and holding up his MIB memory zapper?

Because what I *remember* happening is a petite female publishing rep descending to the microphone & accepting the award on behalf of the publishers (not, notably, on behalf of Greg) & commenting that Gollancz was pleased we liked Greg’s stories.

(Those of us with more acute hearing picked up the unuttered phrase that followed: that she was maybe a little sorry that Greg didn’t like that we liked his stories.)

There were some other marvellous moments in the evening: Haines getting TWO best horror awards & giving my favourite speech of the evening (my favourite speeches are almost always the shortest ones , the establishment of the Chris Hembry award for promising new writers; and the granting of the Peter McNamara award for service to the community to Justin Ackroyd. Much deserved & long overdue! Justin’s support of the community is outstanding. For me alone he’s encouraged my involvement in fandom, he’s babysat me at my first couple of WFCs, he’s added my name to his ‘best of 2009′ book list — AND he’s personally sold (& sold out) of A Book of Endings in Melbourne, where he’s been selling books for 33 years.

That, my friends, was a blast to witness!

Also there was drinking & carousing (even if those 2 words mean the same thing) & laughs & catching up with fabulous people & then collapsing for about 24 hours straight in our free upgrade of a hotel room. All of which was a delight & a wonderful start to the writing year. Happy Year of the Tiger, everyone!

Now, back to work.

But first: Australia is BIG, people!

See, I told you.

And so I’ve now borrowed Liz Argall’s cool widget & added Skribit to my Wordpress blog. Skribit allows people to suggest blog topics for the blog owner to blog about. Which is blogging good news for me, ‘cos frankly I’ve been struggling to come up with that stuff myself.

Skribit also allows me to moderate your suggestions. ‘Cos I know there’s a few funny buggars in the audience, & some of your suggestions will be impractical if not physically impossible.

As a default, Skribit makes the first suggestion, & it’s suggested I blog about Skribit. I *was* going to blog about Albert Camus, but this seems easier.

So if you’re feeling suggestive … erm … hop over to the Skribit widget at deborahb.blog (the other one) & let me know what you’re thinking. Politely!

However, both email addresses are now working, & your request for copies of the BSFA-nominated stories ‘Problems of Light and Dark’ and ‘Diamond Shell’ can now be sent to either:

deborahb AT livejournal DOT com

or

rous AT deborahbiancotti DOT net.

And I will be delighted to forward them to you!

Apologies again!

NOT a shortlist: let’s not go overboard.

But as fuel for my ongoing love affair with the British, this is cool. I am much cheered, & find myself wanting to use such archetypal British phrases as ‘geezer’ and ‘hows yer farva’, and to name my firstborn Ebenezer, which I think is a British name.

If you are a kind British person &/or a member of BSFA & you’d like to read these stories, feel free to drop me a line (deborahb AT livejournal DOT com) & I will cheerfully — very cheerfully — forward you an electronic copy of said stories. I may get a bit carried away & send you more than those two, but you’ll at least get those two stories & you can read ‘em or use ‘em for your electronic bird cages as is your wont.

Go to it, kind British people!

Edit: someone mentioned they couldn’t get through on that email address. I tested it & didn’t get a bounce message, but I didn’t get the test message either! Instead, then, try rous AT deborahbiancotti DOT net for all your correspondence needs.

Today is typically Sydney: both overcast AND muggy.

To compensate I am watching In Treatment Season 2, which is frikking awesome. Maybe more awesome than Season 1, I’m not sure. Only 1 ‘week’ in. Also there’ll be novel revision & roast chicken later today.

I am getting really good at this ‘time off’ thing.

And I have bought my very first moleskin notebook. I couldn’t resist — they now come in pink. Sriously, r they as good as the fans claim they are? I need to know. Two pink notebooks cost me twenty-five bucks!

Hmmm, now what shall I write in them?

Man. I only just got through setting those goals.

In other news, I went into Dymocks today to spend some of my Xmas book voucher on CM Priest’s BONESHAKER, & they were sold out. They were sold out in most of the Dymocks stores in Sydney, I was told. So then I tried to find some Michael Marshall. They were also sold out of Marshall’s books.

If this keeps up, I’m gonna have to read that Atwood book I bought — right before I instantly began regretting buying another Atwood book. It better be good, people-who-told-me-to-read-it. It soooooo better be good.