Michael Swanwick's Blog, page 158
December 23, 2013
Lost In Space (the odd distinction Allen Steele and I Share)
.
Over on io9, there's a nifty article by Emily Stamm and Charlie Jane Anders titled The Great Lost Manuscripts of Science Fiction and Fantasy . It leaves out the original Riverworld manuscript, which Philip Jose Farmer later claimed had an eminently satisfying ending which he'd completely forgotten by the time he rewrote it and penned the subsequent sequels. But otherwise, it hits the high points.
Alas, most of the lost manuscripts deserved to be lost. Given how robust the SF short fiction market of the 1930s and 1940s was, any story that Isaac Asimov couldn't sell had to be pretty dire. And Robert A. Heinlein spent decades tracking down and destroying every copy of his first novel, We The Living , he could find. (When it was posthumously published, it turned out to contain most of the ideas that later made his reputation in a tedious and didactic plot.)
When Jules Verne's long-lost novel, Paris in the Twentieth Century , which was turned down by his publisher as being far too unlikely, was finally published however, it turned out to contain an astonishing number of perfectly accurate predictions. His record there may have been better than that of H. G. Wells. Which would have pleased Verne mightly.
The year the book was published, my friend Allen Steele and I independently recommended it for the Nebula Award. Making us the only two human beings in history ever to vote for Verne for a Nebula.
We have mingled blood, Allen, and shall always be brothers.
You can read the article here.
*
Over on io9, there's a nifty article by Emily Stamm and Charlie Jane Anders titled The Great Lost Manuscripts of Science Fiction and Fantasy . It leaves out the original Riverworld manuscript, which Philip Jose Farmer later claimed had an eminently satisfying ending which he'd completely forgotten by the time he rewrote it and penned the subsequent sequels. But otherwise, it hits the high points.
Alas, most of the lost manuscripts deserved to be lost. Given how robust the SF short fiction market of the 1930s and 1940s was, any story that Isaac Asimov couldn't sell had to be pretty dire. And Robert A. Heinlein spent decades tracking down and destroying every copy of his first novel, We The Living , he could find. (When it was posthumously published, it turned out to contain most of the ideas that later made his reputation in a tedious and didactic plot.)
When Jules Verne's long-lost novel, Paris in the Twentieth Century , which was turned down by his publisher as being far too unlikely, was finally published however, it turned out to contain an astonishing number of perfectly accurate predictions. His record there may have been better than that of H. G. Wells. Which would have pleased Verne mightly.
The year the book was published, my friend Allen Steele and I independently recommended it for the Nebula Award. Making us the only two human beings in history ever to vote for Verne for a Nebula.
We have mingled blood, Allen, and shall always be brothers.
You can read the article here.
*
December 20, 2013
The Universe Is Green!
.
How common is life in the universe? Nobody can say. The problem is that when we address the question, we have a sample of exactly one biome. Which means that any conclusions we draw have a standard deviance of plus or minus infinity.
But we can make a pretty good statistical stab at how many Earth-sized planets there are circling Sol-like suns within the "Goldilocks zone," where it's neither too hot nor too cold for large amounts of liquid water to exist on the surface.
CBC News reported, about a month and a half ago, that a recent study took a Kepler telescope study of a slice of 42,000 stars in our galaxy, crunched numbers, and then extrapolated for the entire Milky Way Galaxy. There are roughly 200 billion stars in the MWG, of which 40 billion are pretty much like our own sun. Based on what they saw, the scientists estimate that 22 percent of those stars have Earth-like planets that could harbor life.
Using numbers a little more precise than those cited above, that comes to 8.8 billion Earthlike worlds in the Milky Way Galaxy alone. Which is, as Carl Sagan liked to point out, only one of billions and billions of galaxies in the universe.
What does this mean as far as the existence of life goes? Well, when you have a paper published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Science , you're not allowed to make wild surmises. Which is why there are science fiction writers.
And so, by the awesome power invested in me as a science fiction writer, I am able to say: God is not only good but also generous. The galaxies are green.
Somewhere out there, right now, somebody on a planet you've never seen is wondering if we exist too.
You can read the article here. Or you can just go outside tonight and stare at the stars in silence.
*
How common is life in the universe? Nobody can say. The problem is that when we address the question, we have a sample of exactly one biome. Which means that any conclusions we draw have a standard deviance of plus or minus infinity.
But we can make a pretty good statistical stab at how many Earth-sized planets there are circling Sol-like suns within the "Goldilocks zone," where it's neither too hot nor too cold for large amounts of liquid water to exist on the surface.
CBC News reported, about a month and a half ago, that a recent study took a Kepler telescope study of a slice of 42,000 stars in our galaxy, crunched numbers, and then extrapolated for the entire Milky Way Galaxy. There are roughly 200 billion stars in the MWG, of which 40 billion are pretty much like our own sun. Based on what they saw, the scientists estimate that 22 percent of those stars have Earth-like planets that could harbor life.
Using numbers a little more precise than those cited above, that comes to 8.8 billion Earthlike worlds in the Milky Way Galaxy alone. Which is, as Carl Sagan liked to point out, only one of billions and billions of galaxies in the universe.
What does this mean as far as the existence of life goes? Well, when you have a paper published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Science , you're not allowed to make wild surmises. Which is why there are science fiction writers.
And so, by the awesome power invested in me as a science fiction writer, I am able to say: God is not only good but also generous. The galaxies are green.
Somewhere out there, right now, somebody on a planet you've never seen is wondering if we exist too.
You can read the article here. Or you can just go outside tonight and stare at the stars in silence.
*
December 18, 2013
The Compleat (To Date) Darger & Surplus
I recently received a letter from a fan asking for a complete listing of my Darger & Surplus stories, and where they can be found. I don't believe this information is available elsewhere on the Web, so I thought I'd share it here:
There are three published stories:
The Dog Said Bow-Wow The Little Cat Laughed to See Such Sport Girls and Boys, Come Out to Play
All of which are in my Tachyon Publications collection, The Dog Said Bow-Wow.
In addition, there is a set of four sequential short-shorts:
Smoke and Mirrors: Four Scenes from the Postutopian Future
This has not been collected. It originally appeared in Live Without a Net, edited by Lou Anders. It was also published by Dragonstairs Press as a set of four small, hand-sewn, signed and numbered chapbooks:
American Cigarettes Song of the Lorelei The Brain-Baron The Nature of Mirrors
The Brain-Baron is sold out. The other three are still available for four dollars apiece. You can find Dragonstairs here.
Dragonstairs Press, incidentally, is the nano-publishing juggernaut of my wife, Marianne Porter.
There is a new story forthcoming:
Tawny Petticoats
This chronicles the New Orleans adventures of Darger & Surplus and is scheduled to appear soon in Rogues, edited by Gardner Dozois and George R. R. Martin.
And there are two novels:
Dancing With Bears
This chronicles how Darger & Surplus finally reach Moscow and what happens then. It came out in 2011 from Night Shade Press
Chasing the Phoenix
This chronicles how Darger & Surplus accidentally conquered China. I recently turned in to my agent. So a good guess is that it will appear late in 2014 or early in 2015.
There are also a few partially-written Darger & Surplus adventures which I hope to find the time to complete in the coming year. There aren't as many short stories as I could wish for -- certainly not enough for a collection -- but in time there will be.
*
December 16, 2013
A Farewell to Rosemary
.
I learned the sad news an hour ago: Rosemary Wolfe, Gene's wife, died over the weekend.
Gene Wolfe is, for good and sufficient reasons, much beloved in the science fiction community. So too was Rosemary. I did not know her well -- I chatted with her only a few times -- but everybody who did spoke of her with genuine affection.
Rosemary had serious medical problems, which made the past many years difficult for her and her beloved husband. They also made it obvious how deeply and profoundly he loved her. They two were devoted to each other.
If I start reflecting on the nature of a good marriage and what it means to the two people involved, we'll be here forever. So instead, I'd like to offer up in Rosemary's memory, the smallest of recollections:
Some years back, Readercon celebrated its 20th anniversary and, as part of the ceremonies, every guest of honor they'd ever had was called up on stage in reverse order: the most recent first and so on, all the way to their very first goh, Gene Wolfe. I was somewhere in the middle of the mob.
When Gene's name was announced, I swear that I was the second person on my feet. The first was Michael Bishop, appropriately enough, a guy whose heart is as big as they come. Everybody on stage rose up, pretty much simultaneously, followed almost immediately by everybody else in the room. It was the most heartfelt standing ovation I've ever seen -- and I've seen some that would bring tears to your eyes.
So far as I could see, there was only one person in the hall who wasn't standing -- and that was because Rosemary's health wouldn't allow it. But I was watching her and she was the happiest person there. She glowed. And -- I swear I could tell -- she wasn't basking in reflected glory. She was simply happy that the man she loved was being honored so.
That's how I'll always remember her.
God bless you and keep you, Rosemary. I'm sure you're safe in His care now.
*
I learned the sad news an hour ago: Rosemary Wolfe, Gene's wife, died over the weekend.
Gene Wolfe is, for good and sufficient reasons, much beloved in the science fiction community. So too was Rosemary. I did not know her well -- I chatted with her only a few times -- but everybody who did spoke of her with genuine affection.
Rosemary had serious medical problems, which made the past many years difficult for her and her beloved husband. They also made it obvious how deeply and profoundly he loved her. They two were devoted to each other.
If I start reflecting on the nature of a good marriage and what it means to the two people involved, we'll be here forever. So instead, I'd like to offer up in Rosemary's memory, the smallest of recollections:
Some years back, Readercon celebrated its 20th anniversary and, as part of the ceremonies, every guest of honor they'd ever had was called up on stage in reverse order: the most recent first and so on, all the way to their very first goh, Gene Wolfe. I was somewhere in the middle of the mob.
When Gene's name was announced, I swear that I was the second person on my feet. The first was Michael Bishop, appropriately enough, a guy whose heart is as big as they come. Everybody on stage rose up, pretty much simultaneously, followed almost immediately by everybody else in the room. It was the most heartfelt standing ovation I've ever seen -- and I've seen some that would bring tears to your eyes.
So far as I could see, there was only one person in the hall who wasn't standing -- and that was because Rosemary's health wouldn't allow it. But I was watching her and she was the happiest person there. She glowed. And -- I swear I could tell -- she wasn't basking in reflected glory. She was simply happy that the man she loved was being honored so.
That's how I'll always remember her.
God bless you and keep you, Rosemary. I'm sure you're safe in His care now.
*
December 13, 2013
One Heckuva Depressing Projection
.
As always, I'm on the road again. I'm tapping out this blog post late at night in a Days Inn room in Western Pennsylvania, so this will be brief.
Above, courtesy of the Planetary Society is a chart showing what's happening to NASA's planetary research budget both now and in the near future. This is what happens when you have a Democratic president who doesn't think space research is important and a Republican Party that thinks anything the government spends money on is bad.
You can find the Planetary Society's exposition of the above chart here.
*
As always, I'm on the road again. I'm tapping out this blog post late at night in a Days Inn room in Western Pennsylvania, so this will be brief.
Above, courtesy of the Planetary Society is a chart showing what's happening to NASA's planetary research budget both now and in the near future. This is what happens when you have a Democratic president who doesn't think space research is important and a Republican Party that thinks anything the government spends money on is bad.
You can find the Planetary Society's exposition of the above chart here.
*
.As always, I'm on the road again. I'm tapping out ...
.
As always, I'm on the road again. I'm tapping out this blog post late at night in a Days Inn room in Western Pennsylvania, so this will be brief.
Above, courtesy of the Planetary Society is a chart showing what's happening to NASA's planetary research budget both now and in the near future. This is what happens when you have a Democratic president who doesn't think space research is important and a Republican Party that thinks anything the government spends money on is bad.
You can find the Planetary Society's exposition of the above chart here.
*
As always, I'm on the road again. I'm tapping out this blog post late at night in a Days Inn room in Western Pennsylvania, so this will be brief.
Above, courtesy of the Planetary Society is a chart showing what's happening to NASA's planetary research budget both now and in the near future. This is what happens when you have a Democratic president who doesn't think space research is important and a Republican Party that thinks anything the government spends money on is bad.
You can find the Planetary Society's exposition of the above chart here.
*
December 11, 2013
The Parable of the Creche
.
It's Christmas season and that means it's time for my annual telling of . . .
The Parable of the Creche
When first I came to Roxborough, a third of a century ago, the creche was already a tradition of long standing. Every year it appeared in Gorgas Park during the Christmas season. It wasn't all that big -- maybe seven feet high at its tip -- and it wasn't very fancy. The figures of Joseph and Mary, the Christ Child, and the animals were a couple of feet high at best, and there were sheets of Plexiglas over the front of the wooden construction to keep people from walking off with them. But it was loved.
It was a common sight to see people standing in front of the creche, admiring it. Sometimes they brought their small children to see it for the first time and that was genuinely touching. It provided a welcome touch of seasonality and community to the park.
Alas, Gorgas Park was publicly owned, and it was only a matter of time before somebody complained that the creche violated the principle of the separation of church and state. When the complaint finally came, the creche was taken out of the park and put into storage.
People were upset of course. Nobody liked seeing a beloved tradition disappear. There was a certain amount of grumbling and disgruntlement.
So the kind people of Leverington Presbyterian Church, located just across the street from the park, stepped in. They adopted the creche and put it up on the yard in front of their church, where it could be seen and enjoyed by all.
But did this make us happy? It did not. The creche was just not the same, located in front of a church. It seemed lessened, in some strange way, made into a prop for the Presbyterians.
I was in a local tappie, shortly after the adoption, and heard one of the barflies holding forth on this very subject:
"The god-damned Christians," he said, "have hijacked Christmas!"
And while I'm talking about the holidays . . .
I might as well remind you that Marianne's nano-industrial complex, Dragonstairs Press has put last year's Christmas chapbook up for sale. Every year since 2011, she's commissioned me to write three seasonal works of flash fiction for a holiday chapbook which she designs, assembles, and hand-sews in a signed limited edition of 100. The bulk of these go out to friends of the Press. Those that are left over go up for sale a year later.
Last year's Yuletide chapbook, Midwinter Elves , started out with thirty copies available for sale, but a lot of them have gone into the mail already. The original Solstice chapbook, It Came Upon A Midnight , was down to nine copies when last I checked.
The perfect stocking stuffer for that bookish Significant Other of yours. Unless s/he's a collector, in which case you're going to be in big trouble if it get wrinkled.
*
It's Christmas season and that means it's time for my annual telling of . . .
The Parable of the Creche
When first I came to Roxborough, a third of a century ago, the creche was already a tradition of long standing. Every year it appeared in Gorgas Park during the Christmas season. It wasn't all that big -- maybe seven feet high at its tip -- and it wasn't very fancy. The figures of Joseph and Mary, the Christ Child, and the animals were a couple of feet high at best, and there were sheets of Plexiglas over the front of the wooden construction to keep people from walking off with them. But it was loved.
It was a common sight to see people standing in front of the creche, admiring it. Sometimes they brought their small children to see it for the first time and that was genuinely touching. It provided a welcome touch of seasonality and community to the park.
Alas, Gorgas Park was publicly owned, and it was only a matter of time before somebody complained that the creche violated the principle of the separation of church and state. When the complaint finally came, the creche was taken out of the park and put into storage.
People were upset of course. Nobody liked seeing a beloved tradition disappear. There was a certain amount of grumbling and disgruntlement.
So the kind people of Leverington Presbyterian Church, located just across the street from the park, stepped in. They adopted the creche and put it up on the yard in front of their church, where it could be seen and enjoyed by all.
But did this make us happy? It did not. The creche was just not the same, located in front of a church. It seemed lessened, in some strange way, made into a prop for the Presbyterians.
I was in a local tappie, shortly after the adoption, and heard one of the barflies holding forth on this very subject:
"The god-damned Christians," he said, "have hijacked Christmas!"
And while I'm talking about the holidays . . .
I might as well remind you that Marianne's nano-industrial complex, Dragonstairs Press has put last year's Christmas chapbook up for sale. Every year since 2011, she's commissioned me to write three seasonal works of flash fiction for a holiday chapbook which she designs, assembles, and hand-sews in a signed limited edition of 100. The bulk of these go out to friends of the Press. Those that are left over go up for sale a year later.
Last year's Yuletide chapbook, Midwinter Elves , started out with thirty copies available for sale, but a lot of them have gone into the mail already. The original Solstice chapbook, It Came Upon A Midnight , was down to nine copies when last I checked.
The perfect stocking stuffer for that bookish Significant Other of yours. Unless s/he's a collector, in which case you're going to be in big trouble if it get wrinkled.
*
December 9, 2013
Midwinter Elves! From Dragonstairs Press!
.
Every year, for almost a 33rd of a century, Marianne has commissioned me to write three flash winter tales for a chapbook that Dragonstairs Press sends to its particular friends at Solsticetide. Then, a year later, those few chapbooks remaining are put on sale to the general public.
Yesterday, Midwinter Elves: Three Brief Midwinter Tales, the second Solstice chapbook, went on sale. It was published in an edition of one hundred hand-stitched, signed, and numbered copies, of which thirty are still available. And it costs only five dollars.
The three stories are "Cookie Elves," "Adam's Third Wife," and "Meryons."
There are also a limited number left of the first chapbook, It Came Upon a Midnight: Three Brief Midwinter Tales. Also five dollars apiece.
The three stories are "Snowflake People," "Mrs. Claus," and "Manger Animals."
Either or both are perfect for that obsessive bibliophile on your Christmas list.
And that's the end of the commercial. You can find the Dragonstairs Press website here.
And why, you ask, are these collectible limited edition works so cheap?
When Marianne started making limited edition, lovingly crafted chapbooks, I asked a friend who knew the economics of small presses how much she should charge for them. "Fifty dollars apiece!" he said cheerfully. "Anything less and the real collectors won't take it seriously."
I told this to Marianne and she was horrified.
"I believe in the Beanie Babies theory of collectibles," she said. "Price them cheap enough for an impulse buy. Let them go out of print. And whoever bought them first can reap the profits."
"You can make a lot more money the other way."
"I don't care," she said.
*
Every year, for almost a 33rd of a century, Marianne has commissioned me to write three flash winter tales for a chapbook that Dragonstairs Press sends to its particular friends at Solsticetide. Then, a year later, those few chapbooks remaining are put on sale to the general public.
Yesterday, Midwinter Elves: Three Brief Midwinter Tales, the second Solstice chapbook, went on sale. It was published in an edition of one hundred hand-stitched, signed, and numbered copies, of which thirty are still available. And it costs only five dollars.
The three stories are "Cookie Elves," "Adam's Third Wife," and "Meryons."
There are also a limited number left of the first chapbook, It Came Upon a Midnight: Three Brief Midwinter Tales. Also five dollars apiece.
The three stories are "Snowflake People," "Mrs. Claus," and "Manger Animals."
Either or both are perfect for that obsessive bibliophile on your Christmas list.
And that's the end of the commercial. You can find the Dragonstairs Press website here.
And why, you ask, are these collectible limited edition works so cheap?
When Marianne started making limited edition, lovingly crafted chapbooks, I asked a friend who knew the economics of small presses how much she should charge for them. "Fifty dollars apiece!" he said cheerfully. "Anything less and the real collectors won't take it seriously."
I told this to Marianne and she was horrified.
"I believe in the Beanie Babies theory of collectibles," she said. "Price them cheap enough for an impulse buy. Let them go out of print. And whoever bought them first can reap the profits."
"You can make a lot more money the other way."
"I don't care," she said.
*
December 7, 2013
my dream diary - 2
.December 6, 2013
Of this song, sung by Johnny Cash, all I could remember on awakening were the following lines:
Before the jury, on his knees,
He said, "Your honor, if it please,
I have no option now but God's own truth.
I'll show you there's no villain here
And that there's but one thing to fear --
Today's disaffected, misdirected youth."
Note: this is, I think, the first time I've ever written song lyrics in my sleep. Though I occasionally manage doggerel. And it almost scans!
.
Of this song, sung by Johnny Cash, all I could remember on awakening were the following lines:
Before the jury, on his knees,
He said, "Your honor, if it please,
I have no option now but God's own truth.
I'll show you there's no villain here
And that there's but one thing to fear --
Today's disaffected, misdirected youth."
Note: this is, I think, the first time I've ever written song lyrics in my sleep. Though I occasionally manage doggerel. And it almost scans!
.
December 6, 2013
The Price of Success
.
There are stories you read once, nod approvingly, and then promptly forget both the title and the author, because you don't realize at the time you're going to be quoting that work for the rest of your life. As, for example, the one I read in (I think) Analog years ago, where a man realizes that the bureaucratic system for rewarding excellence in science and technology might as well have been created by hostile aliens to keep our technology backwards. He mentions this idea to a colleague who enthusiastically promotes it -- and finds himself admired, feted, promoted, organizing conferences on the notion . . . and not actually getting anything substantive done with it. Particularly nice was that, though it was never explicitly stated, by story's end the reader had reached the conclusion that the system was created by hostile aliens, and doing a bang-up job of holding back progress as well!
Something like that happens in literature too. When Doris Lessing heard she'd won the Nobel Prize, she snapped, "Oh, Christ!" She just wanted to write, and here the world was heaping distraction on her head, and she was going to lose a couple of months dealing with it all.
I am far from being as successful as Ms Lessing. But I must be doing pretty well, because I keep getting invitations to write incidental nonfiction -- guest of honor profiles for convention books, introductions for collections, and the like -- and, believe me, they take up a lot of time.
Nor are they things I can turn down. An essay on R. A. Lafferty? An introduction for Tom Purdom? A blurb for Gene Wolfe or Eileen Gunn? How could I not want my name associated with these guys? Just being asked is like receiving a little medal of merit. I'm working on three such at the moment.
I say all this not in order to whinge, but to advise young writers: Right now, while nobody is asking, work on your non-fiction skills. Teach yourself to think clearly and to write swiftly and well. You'll thank yourself for that, down the line.
*
There are stories you read once, nod approvingly, and then promptly forget both the title and the author, because you don't realize at the time you're going to be quoting that work for the rest of your life. As, for example, the one I read in (I think) Analog years ago, where a man realizes that the bureaucratic system for rewarding excellence in science and technology might as well have been created by hostile aliens to keep our technology backwards. He mentions this idea to a colleague who enthusiastically promotes it -- and finds himself admired, feted, promoted, organizing conferences on the notion . . . and not actually getting anything substantive done with it. Particularly nice was that, though it was never explicitly stated, by story's end the reader had reached the conclusion that the system was created by hostile aliens, and doing a bang-up job of holding back progress as well!
Something like that happens in literature too. When Doris Lessing heard she'd won the Nobel Prize, she snapped, "Oh, Christ!" She just wanted to write, and here the world was heaping distraction on her head, and she was going to lose a couple of months dealing with it all.
I am far from being as successful as Ms Lessing. But I must be doing pretty well, because I keep getting invitations to write incidental nonfiction -- guest of honor profiles for convention books, introductions for collections, and the like -- and, believe me, they take up a lot of time.
Nor are they things I can turn down. An essay on R. A. Lafferty? An introduction for Tom Purdom? A blurb for Gene Wolfe or Eileen Gunn? How could I not want my name associated with these guys? Just being asked is like receiving a little medal of merit. I'm working on three such at the moment.
I say all this not in order to whinge, but to advise young writers: Right now, while nobody is asking, work on your non-fiction skills. Teach yourself to think clearly and to write swiftly and well. You'll thank yourself for that, down the line.
*
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