Patrice Sarath's Blog, page 9

Fog Season Cover Reveal

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you:

 

Writer milestones — The Sisters Mederos in German

I am so excited to announce that German publishing house Feder & Schwert will publish the German-language edition of The Sisters Mederos. This will be my first foreign language edition of all my books, and I am absolutely ecstatic.

This is one of those writer milestones that I am determined to enjoy. I don’t think it ever gets old for any author. I may have mentioned a time or two that I spent the last several years determined to jumpstart my writing career, and part of that is to enjoy every success.

The sales to Angry Robot Books.
The positive review in Publishers Weekly for The Sisters Mederos.
The Unexpected Miss Bennet earned out, so I’ve received two quarters’ worth of royalties so far.

It is human nature to always see the brass ring in the distance and to discount what we have. I was determined to enjoy every success along the way this time. To “want what I have,” as the saying goes. This doesn’t mean that I’m not ambitious. I am. Each book I write is my best book and I want the best for it.

But right now, I’ll enjoy the fact that Fog Season comes out next year and The Sisters Mederos will have a German edition.

 

Fog Season — Read an Excerpt

The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco. — attr. to Mark Twain

Chapter One

There was an air of festivity at the Port Saint Frey harbor, where Tesara Mederos and her sister Yvienne waited to send off their parents on a six-month voyage that, the entire family hoped, would restore their fortunes. Stevedores and sailors trundled up and down the gangplank of the clipper Iderci Empress with barrels and gear and supplies. The Empress was a fast, lean ship whose keel was laid eight months before; this was to be her maiden voyage. Her masts were black against the bright blue sky, her furled sails a fine white, and her balustrades and brassworks gleamed. She wanted only for passengers to come aboard with their luggage. Brevart was already on deck, asking dozens of questions of the captain and the first mate, and they were patiently answering him, though no doubt they had much to do before the ship left port.

Despite the sunshine, clouds massed on the mountains behind the city, and Tesara could feel a wetness to the air that had nothing to do with the sea. Her power felt dampened, and she gave a little experimental push, flexing her fingers. Down the dock, air pressure and then a gust of wind rattled the dockmaster’s manifests, and the man and his apprentice scrambled to catch the pages before they flew off into the harbor.

Oops. Tesara bit back an alarmed laugh.

“For goodness sakes, Tesara, can you at least pay attention?” Alinesse said with exasperation.

“Sorry, Mama,” she said, but Alinesse didn’t wait for her apology and had already turned back to Yvienne. “Now, Yvienne, I’ve spoken with Albero about the broken dumbwaiter, but I’m leaving it in your hands to consult with the engineers. After all, you know the most about those things.”

“Of course, Mama,” Yvienne said, with a straight face. Tesara was impressed by her composure. “I’m as interested as you in determining why it’s stopped – I mean, why it never worked.”

It had certainly worked just fine the night they ousted the disgraced Guild liaison Trune from their family home. No doubt in a nasty fit of spite Trune had damaged it, a parting shot at the family he had been determined to destroy. The whole house had had to be made over when they moved back in, and Alinesse, though her nature was normally frugal, had spared no expense in removing “the stench” as she called it, of Trune.

“I must say that if the tradesmen who installed it say it has to be taken out, I will not be displeased,” Alinesse said. She made a pursed-lip expression of disgust. “I am sure I could never be persuaded it was of any use. Finally, girls, you need to keep up with the household expenses and bills. This is your responsibility, Tesara. No, I will brook no complaint. Yvienne is busy with the office. You’ll have to meet with Mrs Francini every morning and go over the accounts. And you do have a good hand (said grudgingly) — so please take over the correspondence. And another thing — no invitations. I expect you to live retiringly. Perhaps the Sansieris can visit, but none other. I am sure the gossips in this town have nothing better to do than to find fault with your conduct in the worst way. Where is your father?”

They all looked up at the ship. Brevart followed after the captain eagerly, gesticulating. Surprising them both, Alinesse smiled, clutching her broad-brimmed bonnet. Her eyes were bright.

“I do love a sea voyage, girls. I wish it were for better reasons, but this is the first step in restoring our fortunes. What a stroke of luck that we got word that the Main Chance was sighted off the coast in Grand Harbor.”

Tesara and Yvienne exchanged glances. Yes, thought Tesara. That was rather convenient. Six years after the ship allegedly went down with all hands, and six months after House Mederos was restored to her rightful place, the great flagship of the Mederos fleet turned up on the other side of the continent. That sort of luck made a girl suspicious.

Yvienne stepped forward and gave Alinesse a kiss on the cheek. “You have nothing to worry about, Mama. We’ll take care of things here, and we’ll see you in a few months.”

“Or sooner,” Alinesse agreed. She held out gloved hands to both girls and clasped them tight. “I know we can trust you. You have a good head on your shoulder and you, Tesara–” Tesara braced herself. Alinesse gave a smile that was half rueful grimace. “You have hidden depths, my dear. If you but concentrate–”

Before Tesara could say something she would regret, Yvienne interposed smoothly. “It’s time, Mama,” she said, nodding over at the chaplain from the Church of the Sea. He and the acolytes were preparing the Service of Outgoing Ships. Already the voyagers and well-wishers moved in that direction. The sailors and the officers on board the ship gathered at the rail above them, Brevart among them, hats and caps doffed and heads bowed. The sailor at the end caught Tesara’s eye just before she bowed her head, and she turned to look at him as the priest began the ceremony.

The sailor at the end of the row, slender, slighter than the other men, and with a scant beard, was none other than Jone Saint Frey.

Presenting guest blogger D.B. Jackson

D.B. Jackson, author of Times’ Children, from Angry Robot.

I’m turning the blog over to D.B. Jackson, author of Time’s Children, the first book in the time travel/epic fantasy series called The Islevale Cycle. Time’s Children comes out today from Angry Robot Books! Read the excerpt below.

Welcome, David. Let’s discuss your latest novel.

PS: Let’s get started. Who are your influences?

DBJ: I first fell in love with fantasy at summer camp when I was eleven years old. My parents had told my head counselor that they thought I should try theater as an activity – I guess they thought I was a ham. Okay, they KNEW I was a ham… Anyway, I tried out for this play I’d never heard of and wound up being cast as the lead. A character named Bilbo Baggins in a stage adaptation of something called The Hobbit. By the time the production was done, I was hooked. Needless to say, I started reading fantasy and SF: Tolkien, LeGuin, Herbert – pretty much anything I could get my hands on.

So, obviously Tolkien was an influence. The world for my new series is called Islevale, and the map at the front of Time’s Children will remind people of Ursula K. LeGuin’s Earthsea. That’s intentional. The world is meant as an homage to those books, which have always been among my favorites. Among current speculative fiction writers I would say my biggest influence is Guy Gavriel Kay. I love his work – the power and elegance of his prose, the complexities of his characters and plots, the richness of his worlds. I strive for those qualities in my writing.

PS: What inspired the Islevale Cycle?

DBJ: I find questions of inspiration difficult to answer. So many factors influence the spark and development of an idea. Our imaginations are always firing, and in this case I think the first inkling took the form of Tobias, one of my protagonists, who sort of introduced himself to me one day. “Hi, my name is Tobias. I’ll be taking up residence in your hind brain for the next few years…” The Islevale Cycle revolves around time travel, and I knew immediately that Tobias was a Walker (a time traveler). I also knew (because he told me) that Walkers age in direct proportion to how far into the past they travel. He starts out fifteen, walks back in time fourteen years, and so arrives in the past in the body of a twenty-nine-year-old man, but with his teen emotions and intellect. So when I start dumping all sorts of crap on him, as we writers love to do to our characters, he was already dealing with some stuff.

Now, why did I want to tell this particular story at this time in my life? That’s a more complicated question. I’m a middle-aged guy. I have two daughters who are much closer to Tobias’s age (real and Walking induced) than I am. But I don’t feel all that different than I did when I was young. This is something I’ve discussed with contemporaries. It’s one of the wonders and, perhaps, the cruelties of aging. We still think of ourselves in much the same way we always did, but, of course, we’re old now. Writing time travel as I did offered me the chance to explore this idea in a new way.

And finally, Time’s Children and the other Islevale books, like pretty much everything I write, revolve around the theme of family, and our need to recreate family in the face of chaos and loss and struggle. My wife and daughters mean everything to me. They’re what I care most about in the world, so why wouldn’t I write about those bonds? Lots of people feel the same way, so I think readers relate to stories of this sort. Tobias and Mara, my other main character, are marooned in the past, and forced to hide and protect and care for an orphaned infant princess whose family has been wiped out by assassins. They do so by literally making themselves into a family unit – an act of desperation, but also one of affirmation and love.

PS: What is your writing process?

DBJ: My process is usually pretty methodical, which is another way of saying that I’m kind of boring. I treat writing as a job. I write every weekday, during what one might call “normal business hours,” when I’m alone in the house. Sometimes work spills over into other hours, but generally I try to reserve evenings and weekends for family and fun. I have a nice home office where I do the bulk of my work.

I tend to outline my books ahead of time. My outlines are broad and somewhat vague – I do plenty of my creating in the moment, as I write. Still, I like to have at least some sense of where I’m going with my story.

That said, the Islevale books have been particularly challenging in this regard. Time’s Children, and the second book, Time’s Demon, which I’ll be submitting within the next week or two (publication is scheduled for May 2019), both defied every effort I made to outline them. I’m still not certain why. It may be that with the complexities of time travel, multi-strand plots, and multiple point-of-view characters, they were just too unwieldy to be planned ahead of time. Whatever the cause, this has made my post-writing revisions more intense than usual.

And yet, I think these books are the best I’ve written. Which, I suppose, confirms something I’ve always believed: Every author has his or her own process; there’s no single right way to do any of this. And every project has its own creative exigencies. Different books need to be approached in different ways. Even after twenty-plus years in the business, and twenty novels written, I still find that I need to reinvent my process each time I begin a new story.

PS:Who do you write for and why?

DBJ: That’s a great question. I believe writing – and really all art – is an interactive endeavor. Every person who reads my work is going to bring to it a different set of life experiences, different emotions, a different way of processing information. This is one reason why I go back and read certain books again and again. A few years maturation can make re-reading a novel a completely new experience. The point is, if every reader is different, then it’s nearly impossible to write for “my readers” or “my fans.” I know some people will read everything I write: my agent, my wife, certain friends and colleagues. But they evolve as readers, too. I’ve worked with many editors, and I can’t say that I’ve written for any one of them. That, to my mind, would be a mistake as well.

In the end, then, I write for myself. Over the years I’ve found that if I love something I’ve written, the public reaction to it is pretty good. If I feel something isn’t my best work, reaction from readers and critics tends to dovetail with that opinion. Robert Frost said, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” I think, in part, he was talking about process – we need to struggle, and we need to give our characters and narratives some room to grow and change in ways we might not expect. But I also think he meant that what affects us as artists in the moment of creation will also affect those who receive and experience our work. So I write for me, and I discover along the way, and I love my job that much more for doing so.

PS: What is your ideal date? (sorry, that one is from Miss Congeniality)

DBJ: Love it. My perfect date will probably seem a little boring to most people (I sense a trend in some of my answers…), but that’s okay. I have been with Nancy, my wife, for nearly thirty years, and she remains my love and my best friend. Our perfect date? Probably a spring night, before the weather turns too warm. She’ll get home from work and we’ll cook together – maybe Mexican food, maybe something a bit more exotic: Thai or Indian. And we’ll open a bottle of wine (a peppery red California Zinfandel or a Marlborough region Sauvignon Blanc) and catch up on our day, on work, on conversations we might have had with one daughter or the other. After dinner we’ll sit on the porch and watch the fireflies come out and listen for owls and whip-poor-wills. Nothing fancy. Nothing too exciting. Quiet, close, easy, steeped in three decades of love and friendship.

Thanks so much for hosting me, Patrice. It’s been a pleasure chatting with you!

PS: Likewise!

Bio: D.B. Jackson is the pen name of fantasy author David B. Coe. He is the award-winning author of twenty novels and as many short stories. His newest novel, Time’s Children, is the first volume in a time travel/epic fantasy series called The Islevale Cycle. The book will be released by Angry Robot Books on October 2. The second volume, Time’s Demon, will be released in May 2019.

As D.B. Jackson, he also writes the Thieftaker Chronicles, a historical urban fantasy set in pre-Revolutionary Boston. As David B. Coe, he is the author of the Crawford Award-winning LonTobyn Chronicle, which he has recently reissued, as well as the critically acclaimed Winds of the Forelands quintet and Blood of the Southlands trilogy. He wrote the novelization of Ridley Scott’s movie, Robin Hood, and, most recently, The Case Files of Justis Fearsson, a contemporary urban fantasy.

He is also currently working on a tie-in project with the History Channel. David has a Ph.D. in U.S. history from Stanford University. His books have been translated into a dozen languages.

Follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/DBJacksonAuthor.

Chapter 1

21st Day of Sipar’s Settling, Year 633

The between spat him out like chewed gristle.

Naked in the cold and dark, he dropped to his knees, shivering, sucking at precious air. Another Walk, more years added to a body already abused by too many trials and too many journeys through time.

He clutched his chronofor in stiff, frigid fingers and braced his other hand on the courtyard stone. Fear lifted his gaze, despite the droop of his shoulders, the leaden fatigue in his legs. Torches flickered in nearby sconces. Stars gleamed in a moonless sky. He saw no soldiers, no assassins. He heard not a sound.

Had he arrived too early? Too late?

He fought to his feet and turned an unsteady circle to get his bearings before heading to the next courtyard and the castle arsenal. No soldiers here, either. Panic rose within him like a spring tide. Within the armory he found a stained uniform in Hayncalde red, as well as a musket and ammunition. He didn’t see any boots that would fit.

He pulled on the uniform and loaded the weapon. He took extra powder, paper, and bullets – habit born of years on the run. But he knew he wouldn’t have a chance to use them. This night would end in one of two ways. In neither scenario would he get off a second shot.

As he left the armory, he noticed what he had missed earlier. A body lay in the grass a few paces off the stone path. A woman with a gaping wound across her neck, and a bib of blood glistening on her uniform. A few paces on, he spotted a second dead guard on the other side of the path. Both from Hayncalde, both killed with stealth. Not too early then, perhaps in the very teeth of time.

He hurried on to the hall, bare feet slapping on stone. Nearing the archway that led into the back corridor, he heard the first explosion rock the west gate. Voices rose in alarm and anger. Bells pealed from the castle towers. Moments now. He stole through shadow and candlelit passages, only pausing when he reached the door.

Another explosion, not so distant, but also not the one he awaited. Inside the hall, men shouted. A baby cried, and his heart folded in upon itself.

He gripped the musket, readied himself. One last explosion made the stone beneath him shudder and buck. His cue.

He kicked the door open, stepped through.

Bedlam. A haze of smoke. And the one he sought. He shouted the man’s name and raised his weapon to fire.

FenCon Schedule Finalized

FenCon has finalized the schedule for the convention September 21-23.

The Sexes….in Space!

Friday 5:00 PM Chinaberry

FenCon Squares

Saturday 10:00 AM Trinity V

Reading

Saturday 3:00 PM Pecan

I’ll be reading from The Sisters Mederos, and as a bonus from Fog Season, which comes out in February. Here’s a teaser from Fog Season

Let the adventures begin…

After the shocking events of last summer, the high society of Port Saint Frey has plenty to gossip about. Who was the Gentleman Bandit? Why hasn’t he been captured? And what really happened that night when the Guildmaster disappeared? When the Guild hires Abel Fresnel, a detective with special powers of his own, to find the answers, Tesara and Yvienne Mederos have to avoid his probing questions and keep mum about their role in the events of that dark night. Everything’s more or less under control until a dead man turns up in the dumbwaiter…

 

Researching the Science in Science Fiction

Sunday 10:00 AM Irving Lecture Hall

Autographs

Sunday 12:00 PM Dealer’s Room

Ladies First! – Female Writers and How they Got Started

Sunday 2:00 PM Chinaberry

 

Just a reminder about Fog Season:

Autographing:

I’ll be autographing at noon on Sunday.

Looking forward to seeing you!

 

 

FenCon Schedule

FenCon is in the process of finalizing the schedule for the convention September 21-23. I do know when my reading and signing are. See below.

Reading:

Saturday  3:00 PM  – 3:30 PM

I’ll be sharing a reading time with Marshall Ryan Maresca. I am sure he will read from his latest, The Way of the Shield. I plan to read from The Sisters Mederos and the upcoming sequel, Fog Season.

Just a reminder about Fog Season: After the shocking events of last summer, the high society of Port Saint Frey has plenty to gossip about. Who was the Gentleman Bandit? Why hasn’t he been captured? And what really happened that night when the Guildmaster disappeared? When the Guild hires Abel Fresnel, a detective with special powers of his own, to find the answers, Tesara and Yvienne Mederos have to avoid his probing questions and keep mum about their role in the events of that dark night. Everything’s more or less under control until a dead man turns up in the dumbwaiter…

Autographing:

I’ll be autographing at noon on Sunday.

Looking forward to seeing you!

 

 

Fog Season available for pre-order!

Description

A web of secrets and hidden identities ensnare two sisters and their family, in this delightful historical fantasy sequel to The Sisters Mederos

After the shocking events of last summer, the high society of Port Saint Frey has plenty to gossip about. Who was the Gentleman Bandit? Why hasn’t he been captured? And what really happened that night when the Guildmaster disappeared? When the Guild hires Abel Fresnel, a detective with special powers of his own, to find the answers, Tesara and Yvienne Mederos have to avoid his probing questions and keep mum about their role in the events of that dark night. Everything’s more or less under control until a dead man turns up in the dumbwaiter…

Where can you get Fog Season, you ask?

Behold:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Waterstones

BookPeople

 

ArmadilloCon wrapup

So. Much. Fun. This year, I got more involved with ArmadilloCon than ever and it was so worth it. I was particularly interested in programming. Not to brag, but I got to work with smart, committed volunteers who are invested in making ArmadilloCon programming smart, exciting, absorbing, challenging, and inclusive. I heard over and over: “The programming is great this year!” Yep. It was. And next year it’s going to be better. *Note: Programming was so good that the panel on how to moderate a panel was fully attended and it was funny and insightful.

The writing workshop was amazing. Rebecca Schwarz organized a successful and energizing program. More than 60 students met in small groups with two teachers per group, and critiqued each other’s work, and received insights from pros. You guys, I was absolutely blown away by the creativity of “my” students, and they are going to be awesome. Shoot, they are already awesome.

PSA: If you are on a journey toward publication, think about the ArmadilloCon Writer’s Workshop. I’m a graduate — Marshall Ryan Maresca, Stina Leicht, and Rebecca Schwarz are among the students who have gone pro. Do it. Do it. Do it.

Here are some highlights:

Lauren Teffeau reading from her new book Implanted.

Sharing teaching duties with Deji Olukotun.

Interviewing Holly Black

Being in the presence of Tex Thompson’s “weaponized extroversion.”

Catching up with Audrey Lockwood

Crying over Carrie Fisher in front of Martha Wells and Barbara Ann Wright and not feeling judged because they know.

There’s more, but this would be several thousand words, so just listen to me when I tell you.

Go to ArmadilloCon next year. I want to hang out with you.

My ArmadilloCon Schedule

If you are in Austin this weekend, come out to ArmadilloCon. The following is where you can find me. I don’t have a scheduled signing; just track me down in the halls, the bar, and before and after panels and I will be happy to sign The Sisters Mederos or any of my other books.

Hope to see you there.

Friday, August 3

8pm

Short Story Writing

Track: Writing, Editing & Publishing

Dantzel Cherry, Joe R. Lansdale, Patrice Sarath, Scott A. Cupp, Josh Rountree

Learn about techniques for writing a great short story.

Saturday, August 4

11am

The Fine Art of Moderating a Panel

Track: Writing, Editing & Publishing

Marguerite Reed (moderator), Patrice Sarath, Tex Thompson, Barbara Ann Wright, Rebecca Schwarz

How do you get ready to moderate a discussion at a convention? How do you run an excellent discussion? If needed, how do you manage panel participants and listeners? How do you bring out the best in the people on your panel? Come, learn, and share ideas!

1pm

Reading – Angry Robot Authors Patrice Sarath & Lauren C. Teffeau

Conference Center

Track: Readings

Type: Reading

Patrice Sarath, Lauren C. Teffeau

Reading – Patrice Sarath

2pm

The Van Show Interviews Patrice Sarath

Track: Speculative Fiction Literature

Type: Interview

Patrice Sarath

Be a part of the audience as the Austin Public Library’s Van Show puppet interviews Patrice Sarath.

4pm

Interview – Special Guest Holly Black

Ballroom D

Track: Speculative Fiction Literature

Type: Interview

Patrice Sarath (moderator), Holly Black

Patrice Sarath will interview Special Guest Holly Black.

Sunday, August 5

11am

FanFic: A Reassessment

Track: Writing, Editing & Publishing

Patrice Sarath (moderator), Rie Sheridan Rose, Craig W. Chrissinger, Gloria Oliver, Rhonda Eudaly

Fan Fiction has a terrible reputation. And yet, some very well regarded SFF writers have written fanfic: Neil Gaiman, Naomi Novik, Cassandra Clare, Lois McMaster Bujold and John Scalzi. What do our panelists think?

12pm

Writing YA: Advice on What Works and What Doesn’t

Track: Writing, Editing & Publishing

Jayme Lynn Blaschke (moderator), Ari Marmell, Patrice Sarath, Trakena Prevost, Holly Black

What are the key elements of a YA novel? What do we need to do differently?

Harlan Ellison, Hannah Gadsby, and the Art of Transgression

On same day that I heard about the death of Harlan Ellison, I watched Hannah Gadsby’s Netflix special, “Nanette.” The juxtaposition did not go unnoticed, by me anyway. One artist shocked the world with their rage and anger, creating new stories that didn’t just subvert, they blew up the whole field, electrifying it for everyone else.

The other one grabbed Connie Willis’s breast.

So why compare these two completely different writers? They are both defined by anger. In the case of Gadsby, she flips the metaphoric tables by the end of her show, which starts out self-deprecating* and ends in frothing rage. I know I was shrinking in my living room — the audience at the live show were shell-shocked.

Harlan Ellison’s entire career was based on the persona of the angry young man, the transgressor. The man who flipped tables too, and didn’t care who got caught by a snapped table leg. And my little joke in the first paragraph should have been a clue that I wasn’t referring to Ellison, because the science fiction world reveled in Ellison’s anger, and some people reportedly provoked it, like poking a bear. Ellison’s anger was performative. The problem with performative anger is, at some point the anger becomes the man, not the act, and the kindness becomes the act, not the man.

He was mean. He was a jerk. Sometimes he was kind, and he didn’t want people to know. He mentored Octavia Butler. He grabbed Connie Willis’s breast; according to some, a joke gone awry. Sigh. It’s always a joke, isn’t it? It’s always an innocent mistake, it’s always a misunderstanding.**

The eulogies came fast and thick, with the words “life-changing” and “complicated” in the same piece. Men who I admire dearly talk about what Ellison’s radical identity meant for them, when they encountered him in their teens. He hurt a lot of people, especially when he taught at workshops. He was easily provoked. He supported dying friends. He comforted people. He was foul, raging, performative. Transgressive.

Ah. Transgressive. That word that we apply to people who do the things we think we want to do. I’m not surprised that teen boys are attracted to anger. What I’m surprised at is the number of people who think male anger is freeing or transgressive, especially now, when large-scale murder is regularly conducted by an angry male in his teens or twenties***. At this point, fellas, transgressive means a man who is kind, whose masculinity is measured by positive and productive creativity and personal relationships, like Mr. Rogers.

You want transgressive? Watch Nanette. Gadsby starts out calm, sweet, and funny, veers into art history along the way, and then the energy of the show ramps up. She has a habit of patting her chest as if to soothe herself when she gets nervous. It’s endearing, and it’s also foreshadowing, because of what comes next.

She goes back to an earlier joke that made people laugh, and then tells the rest of the story. We don’t laugh this time, because this time it’s not funny. And then she gets angry.

Transgression is when a woman gets angry, because we are socialized to be the patters, the soothers. The cliché of a woman’s anger is that she is out of control, and Gadsby is out of control, because the careful control she has had over her pain and the rage and the shame is let go.

It was not an easy thing to watch, even from my living room. It was a performance, sure, but it wasn’t an act.

Comparing Gadsby to Ellison, you could see the truth of the anger compared to the pro forma show that Ellison staged.

Gadsby is open and honest about the pain in her life, the way she was marginalized in her hometown and beaten to a pulp and shamed and devalued. I’m pretty sure that none of that happened to Ellison, so it makes me wonder, what did he have to be so mad about? And why is he lauded for it even as some solemn finger-wagging is going on?

Harlan Ellison lived a long life. Anyone who is that much of an asshole is probably in pain, because angry people inflict their pain on the people around them. He was complicated, a great writer at his peak, a jerk to some, a good friend to others. He inspired people. I’m sure he was tickled by his persona, but at some point he forgot where the persona left off.

Gadsby’s journey is just beginning. I hope there are fourteen-year-old kids out there who watched the show and found it transformative, who saw what rage and pain and comedy can put together. I hope that someday, people looking back will say, that’s where it began for them. That’d be cool.

That’s where I’m going to leave it, except to add one thing — I bet Ellison would have gotten a kick out Gadsby’s show. He’d recognize a good cathartic rage when he saw one.

R.I.P. Harlan Ellison.

*As Gadsby points out, self-deprecating humor from the margins isn’t about humility, it’s about humiliation.

**”A man is afraid a woman will laugh at him. A woman is afraid a man will kill her.” attributed to Margaret Atwood.

***I was about to say we’re due for another one, but we’ve had a two-fer — the attack on the Capital Gazette, and the knife attack on a refugee apartment complex in Boise.