Michael Swanwick's Blog, page 122

Fallen Leaves (October 27)

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"I Flew Halfway Across The Forest"

Jack-O-Turnip

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There are so many serious things I could post about today...

But the heck with that! Samhain is coming!

In honor of my Irish ancestors, I carved a jack-o-lantern the same way they would have -- out of a turnip. The hollowing out and carving of faces into roots and gourds of various types is, I remind you, a Celtic invention, and one that goes way back. Don't you go believing any of that malarky the Web will tell you about Stingy Jack, either. The original story is a terrifying one and not to be shared with children.

It turns out that carving a turnip is not as difficult a task as you might think. I'm definitely adding it to my Halloween repertoire. In fact, as of now, it's an official household tradition.

If you're crafty, you might want to consider doing this yourself. Get as big a turnip and as small a candle as you can.

Enjoy the holiday! Don't let the boggles get you. And remember to keep a stone with a hole in it with you at all times, as a charm against glamour.


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Fallen Leaves (October 26)

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"I Was A Poet -- It Made No Difference"

Fallen Leaves (October 25)

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"Let Me Be Reborn As An Ax"

Fallen Leaves (October 24)

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"All I Could Do Was Sigh"

Ask Unca Mike

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Science fiction and fantasy writers are a group are extraordinarily generous with advice to new writers. A moment's thought, however, reveals that this is just encouraging talented young people to occupy the publishing niches and win the awards that would otherwise go to to us Old Hands. Ask Unca Mike is an attempt to rectify this deplorable situation.


Cutting to the Chase
Yo.
What good is science fiction?

Curious


Money. Through hard work and sheer brilliance, Unca Mike manages to earn the same kind of money that he could have made working as an accountant. But it goes beyond that. Every now and then, a science fiction story is picked up for a movie or television series, and that pays the salaries of some very expensive producers, directors, and actors -- to say nothing (or at least quite a bit less) those of the cameramen, electricians, caterers, and script writers.  Even better, if the show is a success, it can go on for decades, spinning off other movies, other series, novelizations, video games, ceramic figurines, toys, bath towels... Is there an object yet which has not been re-branded by Star Wars or Star Trek? Probably not. So, again, the answer to your question is: Money, great big gobs of the stuff.
Unless you're the original creator. In that case, as I said, you'll be lucky to pull down the salary of an accountant. Philip K. Dick did a lot worse..

If you have a question for Unca Mike you can post it below. Or write to AskUncaMike ("at" sign) gmail.com. I'll respond to those I have the best answers for.

Ask Unca Mike appears here on Fridays.
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Fallen Leaves (October 23)

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"I Wanted To Be More Than Just A Leaf"

It Always Snows on Robert Sheckley's Grave

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Last Sunday, I was in the Hudson Valley, visiting family, so I made a pilgrimage to Robert Sheckley's grave in the Artists Cemetery in Woodstock. Sheckley was one of the giants of science fiction in his day, largely forgotten in his own land, but still revered in Russia.

This was not my first attempt to visit the grave. A year ago last March, I went there but could not locate the grave because it was covered in snow.  Here's what I wrote then:

Eight years ago, on a dark and bitterly cold day I drove from Philadelphia to Kingston, NY, to attend Sheckley's funeral.  It was an extraordinary event.  Three of his ex-wives were in attendance and a fourth sent her regrets that she was unable to make the trip.  His daughter, noted writer Alisa Kwitney gave a loving and moving memorial that began with the words "Robert Sheckley was a terrible father."  Barry Malzbergmade an extempore speech that was one of the best things I've ever heard, a genuine work of literary art.

I got up then and said a few words on behalf of the Russian people.  This may seem a little cheeky of me, but I knew his readers there would want to be represented.  Sheckley -- and his clear-eyed, razor-edged satiric humor -- were big as big in that part of the world.  When he collapsed in Kiev, months before his death, it was front-page news in Pravda.

Some years before -- and I was lucky enough to be able to tell the man this in person -- I was guest of honor at Aelita, Russia's oldest SF convention, in Ekaterinburg.  This was a year after Robert Sheckley was goh.  During the press conference, organizer Boris Dolingo was asked how the attendance numbers compared to the previous year's.  Looking directly into the television cameras, he said, "Swanwick is a writer.  Sheckley is a god." 

Bob liked hearing that.  And at his funeral, his family were glad as well.

It was snowing when Marianne and I found Sheckley's grave. In my experience, it's always snowing when you go to visit Robert Sheckley's grave. I had no flowers, so I drew a heart on a leaf and left it on the stoneAnd...
I apologize for being a day late with Wednesday's post. I've got a lot on my to-do list these days.

Above: Marianne placing a pebble on Robert Sheckley's grave.
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dream diary [October 22, 2015]

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I went to the cafeteria of the educational institution where I either worked or was a student for breakfast. The only thing they were offering was brie on toast, which was tasty but not filling.

Curious as to what time it was in the waking world, I awoke and checked my phone. It was 7:05 a.m. so I willed myself back to sleep. As soon as I did, the cafeteria workers showed me a single-spaced typed list of what foods they were offering at what times. According to the schedule, the foods changed every few minutes.

Some time later, my dreams returned again to the cafeteria, where they offered me palladium on toast.   Even dreaming, however, I knew it would be a bad idea to eat palladium, so I forced myself awake. Half an hour had passed, and I decided to get up.

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Fallen Leaves (October 22)

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"At Least I Wasn't A Willow Leaf"