Michael Swanwick's Blog, page 67
January 9, 2020
Mike Resnick: The Man With A Thousand Little Rockets
.
Terrible news. Mike Resnick died today. He was a born storyteller, prolific author, tireless editor and anthologist, and a man who loved science fiction. Uncharacteristically for a genre writer, he had great business savvy. Virginia Kidd, agent and feminist icon, once told me she would never have Mike as a client because, "He understands the negotiating process too well. He'd be forever on the phone, checking at each stage to see if I was doing it right."
Mostly, he was one sweet guy.
Mike had something like a thousand of those rocket pins they give you when you're nominated for a Hugo. (I exaggerate the number, but only in the service of emotional honesty.) Sometimes, for a Worldcon, he would haul them out and frame his con badge with a batch of them and then fill the Nebula Nominee with more: row upon row of little rockets. It looked like he was assembling a coat of mail. And making good time on the project, too.
Somewhere along the line, we both became aware that we were often competing for the same Hugo. So, during the scrim before one award ceremony, I went up to him and said, "Mike, since it will have no effect whatsoever on the outcome--I hope you win."
Mike lit up. "And on exactly those same terms," he said, "I hope you win!"
Of course, as these things usually worked out, we both lost. But we had an instant tradition. Year after year after year we exchanged gracious and only slightly insincere wishes for the other's success.
And now the man who wrote so much and so well is gone. Losing a Hugo will never again be as much fun as it used to be.
And if you want to do his memory a favor . . .
Mike's good friend Janis Ian suggests you go to the library, get out one of his books, and read it. That's the way writers want to be remembered. I cannot improve upon her idea.
If you're flush, you can also contribute to the crowdfunding campaign to pay off his medical bills. It's scandalous that the simple act of dying can visit financial pain a writer as successful as Mike Resnick but this is the world we live in. There's an article on Boingboing about the effort and a link to the site. You can find it here.
Above: I swiped the picture of Mike from Boingboing. But it's in a good cause, so I don't think they'll mind.
*
Terrible news. Mike Resnick died today. He was a born storyteller, prolific author, tireless editor and anthologist, and a man who loved science fiction. Uncharacteristically for a genre writer, he had great business savvy. Virginia Kidd, agent and feminist icon, once told me she would never have Mike as a client because, "He understands the negotiating process too well. He'd be forever on the phone, checking at each stage to see if I was doing it right."
Mostly, he was one sweet guy.
Mike had something like a thousand of those rocket pins they give you when you're nominated for a Hugo. (I exaggerate the number, but only in the service of emotional honesty.) Sometimes, for a Worldcon, he would haul them out and frame his con badge with a batch of them and then fill the Nebula Nominee with more: row upon row of little rockets. It looked like he was assembling a coat of mail. And making good time on the project, too.
Somewhere along the line, we both became aware that we were often competing for the same Hugo. So, during the scrim before one award ceremony, I went up to him and said, "Mike, since it will have no effect whatsoever on the outcome--I hope you win."
Mike lit up. "And on exactly those same terms," he said, "I hope you win!"
Of course, as these things usually worked out, we both lost. But we had an instant tradition. Year after year after year we exchanged gracious and only slightly insincere wishes for the other's success.
And now the man who wrote so much and so well is gone. Losing a Hugo will never again be as much fun as it used to be.
And if you want to do his memory a favor . . .
Mike's good friend Janis Ian suggests you go to the library, get out one of his books, and read it. That's the way writers want to be remembered. I cannot improve upon her idea.
If you're flush, you can also contribute to the crowdfunding campaign to pay off his medical bills. It's scandalous that the simple act of dying can visit financial pain a writer as successful as Mike Resnick but this is the world we live in. There's an article on Boingboing about the effort and a link to the site. You can find it here.
Above: I swiped the picture of Mike from Boingboing. But it's in a good cause, so I don't think they'll mind.
*
January 8, 2020
Flash Sale on Bones of the Earth Ebook--Today Only!!!
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I don't know why but Open Road Media is promoting the heck out of my work lately. TODAY ONLY, the e-book of my dinosaur-and-time-travel novel, Bones of the Earth, is on sale for $1.99.
So if you like dinosaurs and ebooks and don't have a copy yet... well, here's your chance.
Down below are all the details as they were sent me from Open Road:
We are pleased to let you know that the following ebook(s) will be featured in price promotions soon.
ISBN13 Title Author Promo Type Country Start Date End Date Promo Price 9781504036467 Bones of the Earth Swanwick, Michael ORM - Portalist NL US 2020-01-08 2020-01-08 $1.99
You can subscribe to the newsletters at the links below so that you will get the direct link to the deal on the day that it appears.
Newsletter Link Early Bird Books Subscribe Now The Lineup Subscribe Now The Portalist Subscribe Now Murder & Mayhem Subscribe Now A Love So True Subscribe Now The Archive Subscribe Now The Reader Subscribe Now
*
I don't know why but Open Road Media is promoting the heck out of my work lately. TODAY ONLY, the e-book of my dinosaur-and-time-travel novel, Bones of the Earth, is on sale for $1.99.
So if you like dinosaurs and ebooks and don't have a copy yet... well, here's your chance.
Down below are all the details as they were sent me from Open Road:
We are pleased to let you know that the following ebook(s) will be featured in price promotions soon.
ISBN13 Title Author Promo Type Country Start Date End Date Promo Price 9781504036467 Bones of the Earth Swanwick, Michael ORM - Portalist NL US 2020-01-08 2020-01-08 $1.99
You can subscribe to the newsletters at the links below so that you will get the direct link to the deal on the day that it appears.
Newsletter Link Early Bird Books Subscribe Now The Lineup Subscribe Now The Portalist Subscribe Now Murder & Mayhem Subscribe Now A Love So True Subscribe Now The Archive Subscribe Now The Reader Subscribe Now
*
January 3, 2020
Jack Faust E-Book Sale! Sunday Only!
.
Periodically, Open Road Media put one of my e-books on sale. Jack Faust, my historical fantasia, cramming five hundred years of Western history into a single lifetime The information, as cut from their letter to me is below. In brief, on Sunday, January 5, 2020, the novel will be available for only $2.99.
So if you're an e-book reader and are curious about my novel, that's a pretty good deal. But only on Sunday.
There. I think that's a pretty soft sell.
ISBN13 Title Author Promo Type Country Start Date End Date Promo Price 9781504036481 Jack Faust Swanwick, Michael ORM - Portalist NL US 2020-01-05 2020-01-05 $2.99
Open Road will promote the feature via social media. We hope you can share the deal with your network as well. You can subscribe to the newsletters at the links below so that you will get the direct link to the deal on the day that it appears.
Newsletter Link Early Bird Books Subscribe Now The Lineup Subscribe Now The Portalist Subscribe Now Murder & Mayhem Subscribe Now A Love So True Subscribe Now The Archive Subscribe Now The Reader Subscribe Now
*
Periodically, Open Road Media put one of my e-books on sale. Jack Faust, my historical fantasia, cramming five hundred years of Western history into a single lifetime The information, as cut from their letter to me is below. In brief, on Sunday, January 5, 2020, the novel will be available for only $2.99.
So if you're an e-book reader and are curious about my novel, that's a pretty good deal. But only on Sunday.
There. I think that's a pretty soft sell.
ISBN13 Title Author Promo Type Country Start Date End Date Promo Price 9781504036481 Jack Faust Swanwick, Michael ORM - Portalist NL US 2020-01-05 2020-01-05 $2.99
Open Road will promote the feature via social media. We hope you can share the deal with your network as well. You can subscribe to the newsletters at the links below so that you will get the direct link to the deal on the day that it appears.
Newsletter Link Early Bird Books Subscribe Now The Lineup Subscribe Now The Portalist Subscribe Now Murder & Mayhem Subscribe Now A Love So True Subscribe Now The Archive Subscribe Now The Reader Subscribe Now
*
January 2, 2020
Fantasy and Science Fiction on Broad Street
.
I'm a big fan of the Mummers Parade. In fact, my first novel, In the Drift, was inspired in part by the parade. But it starts early in the morning and is held in January, so usually I only get to see a few hours of it. So this year, Marianne and I rented a hotel room on Broad Street, so we could periodically go indoors to rest and warm up. It worked beautifully.
Over on Facebook, I published a lot of photos and if I began talking about only a few of them, we'd be here all day. So I will only mention that the Jacks N\ew Years Brigade, a comic club, put on a homage to Game of Thrones titled Queen of the North which I loved, loved, loved.
You can find their performance by going here and scrolling down to Jacks NYB. See how many of the characters you can spot. Then watch them all be upstaged by five children in yellow parks and mustaches. Worth watching for that alone.
And the only sad part of the day was . . .
Marianne and I used to go watch the Mummers until we were too cold to continue and then go to Gardner Dozois' and Susan Casper's apartment to watch the reset on Tv. People came and went. Food was served. Everybody pontificated about our favorite groups and complained about the cluelessness of the judges. Gardner shouted rude things at the TV. It was enormous fun.
I really regret that Susan and Gardner aren't around anymore because I would have loved to hear what they'd say about the Mummers celebrating the work of their old friend George R. R. Martin. Something funny that George would have enjoyed hearing.
And also . . .
What if Darth Vader was the captain of the Fralinger String Band?. You can bet he'd put on a tight show. Fans of media science fiction can find the whole glorious mosh-up here.
Enjoy.
Above: Top: Dragon resting on Parasol Throne, awaiting his cue. Bottom: Typical Mummer humor.
*
I'm a big fan of the Mummers Parade. In fact, my first novel, In the Drift, was inspired in part by the parade. But it starts early in the morning and is held in January, so usually I only get to see a few hours of it. So this year, Marianne and I rented a hotel room on Broad Street, so we could periodically go indoors to rest and warm up. It worked beautifully.
Over on Facebook, I published a lot of photos and if I began talking about only a few of them, we'd be here all day. So I will only mention that the Jacks N\ew Years Brigade, a comic club, put on a homage to Game of Thrones titled Queen of the North which I loved, loved, loved.
You can find their performance by going here and scrolling down to Jacks NYB. See how many of the characters you can spot. Then watch them all be upstaged by five children in yellow parks and mustaches. Worth watching for that alone.
And the only sad part of the day was . . .
Marianne and I used to go watch the Mummers until we were too cold to continue and then go to Gardner Dozois' and Susan Casper's apartment to watch the reset on Tv. People came and went. Food was served. Everybody pontificated about our favorite groups and complained about the cluelessness of the judges. Gardner shouted rude things at the TV. It was enormous fun.
I really regret that Susan and Gardner aren't around anymore because I would have loved to hear what they'd say about the Mummers celebrating the work of their old friend George R. R. Martin. Something funny that George would have enjoyed hearing.
And also . . .
What if Darth Vader was the captain of the Fralinger String Band?. You can bet he'd put on a tight show. Fans of media science fiction can find the whole glorious mosh-up here.
Enjoy.
Above: Top: Dragon resting on Parasol Throne, awaiting his cue. Bottom: Typical Mummer humor.
*
December 31, 2019
A Great Conversation in Philadelphia
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Ten days from now I'm going to have what I honestly expect will be a great conversation with Samuel R. Delany at the Rosenbach from 6 to 7 p.m.
This event is being held in conjunction with the new Library of America publication of American Science Fiction: Eight Classic Novels of the 1960s, edited by Gary K. Wolfe. This is a two-volume set, one of which contains Chip's very fine novel Nova.
In what I believe will be almost-but-not-quite an interview, we'll be talking about the science fiction of the Nineteen-Sixties, me from the perspective of an avid reader of the stuff as it was coming out, and Delany from that of a writer who was right at the center of it all as it was happening.
So... much less about me than about him and less about either of us than about the science fiction itself. Or so I surmise. Delany will be taking the lead here. He's always an engaging and entertaining speaker, so you're in safe hands there.
The event will be held on January 9 at the Rosenbach, 2008-2010 Delancey Place, Philadelphia. You can buy tickets and find all the info on the event at the Rosenbach site here.
*
Ten days from now I'm going to have what I honestly expect will be a great conversation with Samuel R. Delany at the Rosenbach from 6 to 7 p.m.
This event is being held in conjunction with the new Library of America publication of American Science Fiction: Eight Classic Novels of the 1960s, edited by Gary K. Wolfe. This is a two-volume set, one of which contains Chip's very fine novel Nova.
In what I believe will be almost-but-not-quite an interview, we'll be talking about the science fiction of the Nineteen-Sixties, me from the perspective of an avid reader of the stuff as it was coming out, and Delany from that of a writer who was right at the center of it all as it was happening.
So... much less about me than about him and less about either of us than about the science fiction itself. Or so I surmise. Delany will be taking the lead here. He's always an engaging and entertaining speaker, so you're in safe hands there.
The event will be held on January 9 at the Rosenbach, 2008-2010 Delancey Place, Philadelphia. You can buy tickets and find all the info on the event at the Rosenbach site here.
*
December 23, 2019
The Parable of the Creche
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Once a year I present this story here. Sometimes the details differ by a word or three. But the message, I think, is timeless. Come gather around me, children, and I will tell you...
When first I came to Roxborough, over 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 there was a painted backdrop of the hills of Bethlehem at night, the floor was strewn was real straw, and it was genuinely loved.It was a common sight to see people standing before the creche, especially at night, admiring it. Sometimes parents brought their small children to see it for the first time and the wonder they displayed was genuinely moving. It provided a welcome touch of seasonality and community to the park.Alas, Gorgas Park is public property, 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. One might even say disgrumblement.So the kindly 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. You don't see people standing before it anymore.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."
*
Once a year I present this story here. Sometimes the details differ by a word or three. But the message, I think, is timeless. Come gather around me, children, and I will tell you...
When first I came to Roxborough, over 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 there was a painted backdrop of the hills of Bethlehem at night, the floor was strewn was real straw, and it was genuinely loved.It was a common sight to see people standing before the creche, especially at night, admiring it. Sometimes parents brought their small children to see it for the first time and the wonder they displayed was genuinely moving. It provided a welcome touch of seasonality and community to the park.Alas, Gorgas Park is public property, 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. One might even say disgrumblement.So the kindly 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. You don't see people standing before it anymore.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."
*
December 20, 2019
Bragging Time!
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For every thing there is a season, saith the prophet. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted... a time for proper modesty and a time to brag.
The proper time for writers to brag is when they have a new book out and the critics smile upon it favorably. So you will forgive me for pointing out that The Iron Dragon's Mother made it onto Kirkus's and Tor.com's and The Wall Street Journal's lists of the best fantasy & sf of the year.
I don't keep track of these things but I think that's a personal best.
Matthew Keeley, in Tor.com, writes, "In my review, I called it 'one of the best fantasies of the year.' I stand by that evaluation." You can find that list here.
Kirkus calls The Iron Dragon's Mother "another bravura performance, with a surprise ending that, after a moment's reflection, isn't so surprising after all,"adding, "Discworld meets Faust. They do not like each other. Philip Pullman picks up the pieces." You can find that judment here.
Finally, in The Wall Street Journal, Tom Shippey concludes, "Mr. Swanwick builds a world at once finely detailed and complex almost beyond comprehension. It’s one to read over and over again." This, alas, is behind a paywall, but subscribers can find it here.
I'd be a little embarrassed by all this praise if it weren't for the fact that what these reviews describe is exactly the kind of book I was trying to write: something different, something absorbing, something that might be--pray God--worth a reader's love.
Speaking of which, my book is not exactly alone on any of these lists. Even if you enjoy it as excessively as I hope you will, it can't possibly be the only book there that you'd enjoy. Why not wander through the listings a little, making notes on what novels you really should give a try?
*
For every thing there is a season, saith the prophet. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted... a time for proper modesty and a time to brag.
The proper time for writers to brag is when they have a new book out and the critics smile upon it favorably. So you will forgive me for pointing out that The Iron Dragon's Mother made it onto Kirkus's and Tor.com's and The Wall Street Journal's lists of the best fantasy & sf of the year.
I don't keep track of these things but I think that's a personal best.
Matthew Keeley, in Tor.com, writes, "In my review, I called it 'one of the best fantasies of the year.' I stand by that evaluation." You can find that list here.
Kirkus calls The Iron Dragon's Mother "another bravura performance, with a surprise ending that, after a moment's reflection, isn't so surprising after all,"adding, "Discworld meets Faust. They do not like each other. Philip Pullman picks up the pieces." You can find that judment here.
Finally, in The Wall Street Journal, Tom Shippey concludes, "Mr. Swanwick builds a world at once finely detailed and complex almost beyond comprehension. It’s one to read over and over again." This, alas, is behind a paywall, but subscribers can find it here.
I'd be a little embarrassed by all this praise if it weren't for the fact that what these reviews describe is exactly the kind of book I was trying to write: something different, something absorbing, something that might be--pray God--worth a reader's love.
Speaking of which, my book is not exactly alone on any of these lists. Even if you enjoy it as excessively as I hope you will, it can't possibly be the only book there that you'd enjoy. Why not wander through the listings a little, making notes on what novels you really should give a try?
*
December 17, 2019
Watching the Army-Navy Game
.
Last Saturday, Marianne and I went to the Army-Navy Game. We had great seats on the lower level at the 50-yard line, courtesy of a West Point grad we know who normally attends every year but this time had to choose between one of the most prestigious games of the year and watching his son play in an important school game.
The man just aced Fathering 401.
Since I didn't serve in the military, this was one event I never expected to see. It was an unexpected privilege to be there and to get a chance to see what it was all about.
It wasn't about the game and it wasn't about being specifically in the Army or the Navy--though it was about serving or having served in the military. It was about community and continuity. There was an Army side of the stadium and a Navy side, but there were rooters for each mingled in with their rivals and nobody gave them any grief. Everybody there was aware of having participated in an extraordinary enterprise that was larger than any of them.
As for continuity... This was the 120th Army-Navy game. And of course the services go much further back. Scattered through the games were ceremonial presentations and recognitions. The president was there. Some people booed him. Others cheered. Most simply applauded the presence of their Commander in Chief.
This year, the Army backers were saddened and the Navy backers elated. They all looked happy, though, simply to be there. This was the most amiable group of people I've been among for a long time.
When we left, all the midshipmen and cadets were hurrying off to do whatever young people on leave do. The vets ambled out at a less urgent pace. They all had an air of having spent their time wisely and well.
*
Last Saturday, Marianne and I went to the Army-Navy Game. We had great seats on the lower level at the 50-yard line, courtesy of a West Point grad we know who normally attends every year but this time had to choose between one of the most prestigious games of the year and watching his son play in an important school game.
The man just aced Fathering 401.
Since I didn't serve in the military, this was one event I never expected to see. It was an unexpected privilege to be there and to get a chance to see what it was all about.
It wasn't about the game and it wasn't about being specifically in the Army or the Navy--though it was about serving or having served in the military. It was about community and continuity. There was an Army side of the stadium and a Navy side, but there were rooters for each mingled in with their rivals and nobody gave them any grief. Everybody there was aware of having participated in an extraordinary enterprise that was larger than any of them.
As for continuity... This was the 120th Army-Navy game. And of course the services go much further back. Scattered through the games were ceremonial presentations and recognitions. The president was there. Some people booed him. Others cheered. Most simply applauded the presence of their Commander in Chief.
This year, the Army backers were saddened and the Navy backers elated. They all looked happy, though, simply to be there. This was the most amiable group of people I've been among for a long time.
When we left, all the midshipmen and cadets were hurrying off to do whatever young people on leave do. The vets ambled out at a less urgent pace. They all had an air of having spent their time wisely and well.
*
December 12, 2019
This Glitterati Life (Part 9,482)
.
It was a glitterati kind of day. Brenda Clough was in town for her Galactic Philadelphia reading the night before last (along with John Schoffstall, author of Half-Witch). So the next day Marianne and I and took Brenda and husband Larry Clough to see the
The Mütter is "America's finest museum of medical history." (The word "anomalies" got dropped from the description somewhere along the line.) Along with Dr. Joseph Hyrtl’s collection of human skulls, it contains the plaster cast and conjoined liver of Siamese twins Chang & Eng, the jaw tumor of President Grover Cleveland, acollection of 2,374 swallowed objects, the tallest skeleton on display in North America, slides of Albert Einstein’s brain, and the gem of the collection—the soap lady!
Among many other wonders, some of which are not for the faint of heart.
At the end of our visit, Brenda passed judgment on it all. "This is truly a fallen world," she said, contemplating the horrors that are perfectly natural within it. Perhaps, she suggested, we should refrain from adding to its horrors.
After a conversation-filled lunch at Village Whiskey, Brenda and Larry had to return home. So Marianne and I went back to our house, where I got some writing done. And in the evening we went to the Academy of Vocal Arts to hear Lyric Fest. Which was, as usual splendid.
I would be lying if I were to tell you this was a typical day in my life. But what the heck. I want to turn you all green with envy, so--yes, this was a typical day for me.
Above: Marianne Porter, Brenda Clough, and Larry Clough, overlooking the medicinal garden.
*
It was a glitterati kind of day. Brenda Clough was in town for her Galactic Philadelphia reading the night before last (along with John Schoffstall, author of Half-Witch). So the next day Marianne and I and took Brenda and husband Larry Clough to see the
The Mütter is "America's finest museum of medical history." (The word "anomalies" got dropped from the description somewhere along the line.) Along with Dr. Joseph Hyrtl’s collection of human skulls, it contains the plaster cast and conjoined liver of Siamese twins Chang & Eng, the jaw tumor of President Grover Cleveland, acollection of 2,374 swallowed objects, the tallest skeleton on display in North America, slides of Albert Einstein’s brain, and the gem of the collection—the soap lady!
Among many other wonders, some of which are not for the faint of heart.
At the end of our visit, Brenda passed judgment on it all. "This is truly a fallen world," she said, contemplating the horrors that are perfectly natural within it. Perhaps, she suggested, we should refrain from adding to its horrors.
After a conversation-filled lunch at Village Whiskey, Brenda and Larry had to return home. So Marianne and I went back to our house, where I got some writing done. And in the evening we went to the Academy of Vocal Arts to hear Lyric Fest. Which was, as usual splendid.
I would be lying if I were to tell you this was a typical day in my life. But what the heck. I want to turn you all green with envy, so--yes, this was a typical day for me.
Above: Marianne Porter, Brenda Clough, and Larry Clough, overlooking the medicinal garden.
*
November 22, 2019
Gahan Wilson Beets the Nebula Banquet
.
By now you've heard the sad news. Gahan Wilson, master of the macabre cartoon, is with us no more. I only met the man once but the loss is very real. He brought joy to all of us with... let's say unusual senses of humor. Which, as far as I can tell from the reactions online, is pretty much everybody you'd care to know.
But you want to know about that one meeting, I'm sure.
It was at a Nebula Awards Banquet many years ago. I was sitting at the same table as Ellen Datlow, then editor of Omni, who had invited him to dine with us. He seemed subdued, like he was coming down with something. Or maybe he was worried about something. At any rate, he didn't sparkle.
When our meals arrived, the waiter set down a little bowl of beets beside my plate. "Oh, joy," I said dolorously. "Beets."
"I love them!" Marianne, who was sitting to my left, said.
"You can have mine," I replied, dumping them on her plate.
Gahan Wilson, who was sitting to the other side of her, suddenly perked right up and dumped his bowl of beets onto Marianne's plate, atop mine. And in flurry of flying beets, so did everyone else at the table.
Leaving Marianne staring down at an enormous red mountain of beets, dwarfing her meal proper.
And that's all the story there is. It's a small one, but mine own. I met Gahan Wilson once, and he brought joy to everyone at the table.
Except, possibly, until later, Marianne.
Above: There Goes That Wilson Boy All Alone As Usual! A signed and numbered serigraph of this cartoon is available at The Gahan Wilson Virtual Museum. You can buy it here.
*
By now you've heard the sad news. Gahan Wilson, master of the macabre cartoon, is with us no more. I only met the man once but the loss is very real. He brought joy to all of us with... let's say unusual senses of humor. Which, as far as I can tell from the reactions online, is pretty much everybody you'd care to know.
But you want to know about that one meeting, I'm sure.
It was at a Nebula Awards Banquet many years ago. I was sitting at the same table as Ellen Datlow, then editor of Omni, who had invited him to dine with us. He seemed subdued, like he was coming down with something. Or maybe he was worried about something. At any rate, he didn't sparkle.
When our meals arrived, the waiter set down a little bowl of beets beside my plate. "Oh, joy," I said dolorously. "Beets."
"I love them!" Marianne, who was sitting to my left, said.
"You can have mine," I replied, dumping them on her plate.
Gahan Wilson, who was sitting to the other side of her, suddenly perked right up and dumped his bowl of beets onto Marianne's plate, atop mine. And in flurry of flying beets, so did everyone else at the table.
Leaving Marianne staring down at an enormous red mountain of beets, dwarfing her meal proper.
And that's all the story there is. It's a small one, but mine own. I met Gahan Wilson once, and he brought joy to everyone at the table.
Except, possibly, until later, Marianne.
Above: There Goes That Wilson Boy All Alone As Usual! A signed and numbered serigraph of this cartoon is available at The Gahan Wilson Virtual Museum. You can buy it here.
*
Michael Swanwick's Blog
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