Jeff Carlson's Blog, page 12

FRIGHTENINGLY, I KNOW THIS GUY… :)

Afterword for “Monsters”

More from the Long Eyes collection…

“Monsters” must be the most disturbing piece of fiction I’ve ever written, and I say that as someone whose first novel opens with five billion people dead.

The heroes of Plague Year are murdering cannibals — the heroes! — but this story bothers people more. I think that’s because the protagonist of “Monsters” deliberately turns to evil. In the end, he chooses to walk into the darkness, whereas Cam and Sawyer and the other survivors of Plague Year have no other option.

I got this idea from a newspaper article, and, later in the story, the nameless hero reads about other mindless attacks both large and small. A lot of people are unhappy. Some of them try to make everyone else unhappy, too.

Why? What drives them to spread the misery instead of working to reduce it?

Sometimes I think it’s a failure of imagination. Many of us are short-sighted. We can’t see beyond our own immediate needs, and I think that’s incredibly sad. It’s also scary as hell. “Monsters” is upsetting, but it’s probably also the best story to emerge from my horror phase. Too often, life is horrific, and it’s hard to argue that “Monsters” doesn’t capture that feeling.

The plague is loose in Denver!!!

Ever wonder what would happen if you combined a trio of young rappers with Plague Year?

Met these guys on YouTube. Here's the answer:

Frighteningly, I Know This Guy… :)

Afterword for “Exit”

As promised, a new afterword from the Long Eyes collection this Friday!

This “short short” is the first piece of writing for which I was ever paid. The second was a spaceships-and-dopplegängers story called “Fellow Travelers” that I didn’t include in this collection because, reading it now, it makes me wince.

“Travelers” had a good, spooky idea, but at the time I hadn’t learned enough craft to execute a larger story. “Exit” avoids that pitfall by holding itself to three characters, three scenes, and one simple if frightening concept.

“Exit” was also among the last entries in a tradition perpetrated by the Moscow Moffia, a writers’ group centered around Moscow, Idaho, where I lived for a year and a half after leaving college. They ran writing challenges and published anthologies of “Rat Tales” — short stories whose conceit was that each story must start with the same sly, opening line, “There were rats in the soufflé again.” After that, you were on your own.

In its heyday, the Moffia and other writers included in the “Rat Tales” anthologies included such giants as Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Katheryn Rusch, Kevin J. Anderson, and John Brunner. Most of them had moved to higher circles by the time I arrived on-scene, but one of the prime movers behind the group was writer, editor, and superfan Jon Gustafson.

Jon died several years ago, but he was among my first friends in sci fi. I’d never heard of science fiction conventions. Jon worked as one of the prime movers behind MosCon, which drew people from all over the Northwest for twenty-two years in a row.

I fell in with Jon and his crazy friends not long after settling in town, entered that year’s writing challenge, won first place, and was paid $5 to have “Exit” included in the MosCon XVI program guide book. I was also awarded a free membership to the con.

Next year, he paid me $60 for “Fellow Travelers” and ran it in the guide book, too.

Maybe that doesn’t sound like much to call home about, but MosCon’s guests of honor that year and the next included legends like Roger Zelazny, Gregory Benford, and Phil Folgio. Even better, in a small twist of fate, “Exit” ran alongside a reprint of a story by Doc E.E. Smith, and “Fellow Travelers” appeared with an exclusive, advance excerpt of a novel called The Tides of Tiber written by Buzz Aldrin and John Barnes. The publisher, Tor, granted Jon the right to run this excerpt purely based on his reputation in the field. I was included in the same pages. That was heady stuff for a young, would-be writer, and I’ve always been grateful to Jon for his encouragement.

Since then, “Exit” has been translated into five languages worldwide, reprinted twice in English (not including this collection), and appeared twice as podcasts.

Not bad for five hundred words and a tasty breakfast.

Afterword for "Exit"

As promised, a new afterword from the Long Eyes collection this Friday!

This "short short" is the first piece of writing for which I was ever paid. The second was a spaceships-and-dopplegängers story called "Fellow Travelers" that I didn't include in this collection because, reading it now, it makes me wince.

"Travelers" had a good, spooky idea, but at the time I hadn't learned enough craft to execute a larger story. "Exit" avoids that pitfall by holding itself to three characters, three scenes, and one simple if frightening concept.

"Exit" was also among the last entries in a tradition perpetrated by the Moscow Moffia, a writers' group centered around Moscow, Idaho, where I lived for a year and a half after leaving college. They ran writing challenges and published anthologies of "Rat Tales" — short stories whose conceit was that each story must start with the same sly, opening line, "There were rats in the soufflé again." After that, you were on your own.

In its heyday, the Moffia and other writers included in the "Rat Tales" anthologies included such giants as Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Katheryn Rusch, Kevin J. Anderson, and John Brunner. Most of them had moved to higher circles by the time I arrived on-scene, but one of the prime movers behind the group was writer, editor, and superfan Jon Gustafson.

Jon died several years ago, but he was among my first friends in sci fi. I'd never heard of science fiction conventions. Jon worked as one of the prime movers behind MosCon, which drew people from all over the Northwest for twenty-two years in a row.

I fell in with Jon and his crazy friends not long after settling in town, entered that year's writing challenge, won first place, and was paid $5 to have "Exit" included in the MosCon XVI program guide book. I was also awarded a free membership to the con.

Next year, he paid me $60 for "Fellow Travelers" and ran it in the guide book, too.

Maybe that doesn't sound like much to call home about, but MosCon's guests of honor that year and the next included legends like Roger Zelazny, Gregory Benford, and Phil Folgio. Even better, in a small twist of fate, "Exit" ran alongside a reprint of a story by Doc E.E. Smith, and "Fellow Travelers" appeared with an exclusive, advance excerpt of a novel called The Tides of Tiber written by Buzz Aldrin and John Barnes. The publisher, Tor, granted Jon the right to run this excerpt purely based on his reputation in the field. I was included in the same pages. That was heady stuff for a young, would-be writer, and I've always been grateful to Jon for his encouragement.

Since then, "Exit" has been translated into five languages worldwide, reprinted twice in English (not including this collection), and appeared twice as podcasts.

Not bad for five hundred words and a tasty breakfast.

Rainy Day Hiaku For Pennywise

I am such a slug

It's embarrassing to me

Lovely distractions

Afterword for “Caninus”

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

As promised, here is the afterword for my story “Caninus” from the Long Eyes collection:

No, the heroine isn’t actually my wife. Yes, the real Diana has a self-possessed beauty and intellect, but we’ve never had dogs, nor marital trouble, and the real Diana is a marketing analyst, not a vet-turned-detective. We’ve never lived in a major urban environment, either, which is why the character Diana seems both intrigued and repelled the endless concrete of her unnamed city. To me, cities feel like a bizarre torture to inflict on yourself. I don’t care if it’s easier to find a good Thai restaurant. I get claustrophobic.

Like “Pattern Masters,” “Caninus” was written during my horror phase. This was a few years before “Twilight,” but vampires have always been popular, and I thought a vampire dog was a nice twist — not a werewolf, but vampirism in animals.

Animals wouldn’t develop an elaborate, immortal society, developing their secret clans and secret rules. They’d operate on instinct. That struck me as cleaner than the sometimes indulgent, long-winded books about human vampires and their lovers, slaves, wannabes, hunters, and rivals. This story was meant to be a short, sharp shock.

It also came from my fascination with the human-pet relationship. As a boy, I grew up with dogs and cats, but now as a husband and a father myself, we’re too busy earning a living, raising our family, and maintaining our home to give enough attention to a pet.

My impression is most of my neighbors are too busy, too. Energy costs more than in my parents’ time, which means everything else costs more, too — food, clothes, utilities, everything. People work harder now than ever, and yet we’re only household on our street that doesn’t have a dog. Because I work at home, I often listen to those dogs barking in lonely, neglected misery for hours on end. The fact is dogs are pack animals. It’s wrong to leave your friend alone in a fenced yard or a garage or your house while you’re at work all day. They need stimulation, and they will create it themselves if necessary. Hence the noise. The dog is staving off madness.

I’m sure I’ll get in trouble for saying so, but here it is:

Too many people talk a good game about how they love their pets like members of the family, but dogs should be treated like children. They need constant attention. If you can’t provide it, don’t own a dog. Of course they’re cute and fun, but it’s absolutely not cool to treat an animal like a toy you can take out when you want, then ignore when you’re busy. That’s selfish, even cruel, and the cranky writer next door doesn’t appreciate the barking, either.

“Caninus” emerged from a long love of monster movies mixed with curiosity and frustration. Why bother to have a dog you won’t care for? They cost money. They fill your yard with crap… or the street, if you’re inconsiderate enough to let your dogs run loose because you don’t want to clean up after them… and the trail heads near the open space where we live are encrusted with the mummified poop of ten thousand dogs excited to be free at last. They’ve become an incredibly artificial niche species. I don’t get it. So just for fun, while we’re on the subject, I’ve included a bit of free-verse called “Eighth-Acre Blues” that appeared in a college publication called Kokopelli’s Seed.

Afterword for "Caninus"

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

As promised, here is the afterword for my story "Caninus" from the Long Eyes collection:

No, the heroine isn't actually my wife. Yes, the real Diana has a self-possessed beauty and intellect, but we've never had dogs, nor marital trouble, and the real Diana is a marketing analyst, not a vet-turned-detective. We've never lived in a major urban environment, either, which is why the character Diana seems both intrigued and repelled the endless concrete of her unnamed city. To me, cities feel like a bizarre torture to inflict on yourself. I don't care if it's easier to find a good Thai restaurant. I get claustrophobic.

Like "Pattern Masters," "Caninus" was written during my horror phase. This was a few years before "Twilight," but vampires have always been popular, and I thought a vampire dog was a nice twist — not a werewolf, but vampirism in animals.

Animals wouldn't develop an elaborate, immortal society, developing their secret clans and secret rules. They'd operate on instinct. That struck me as cleaner than the sometimes indulgent, long-winded books about human vampires and their lovers, slaves, wannabes, hunters, and rivals. This story was meant to be a short, sharp shock.

It also came from my fascination with the human-pet relationship. As a boy, I grew up with dogs and cats, but now as a husband and a father myself, we're too busy earning a living, raising our family, and maintaining our home to give enough attention to a pet.

My impression is most of my neighbors are too busy, too. Energy costs more than in my parents' time, which means everything else costs more, too — food, clothes, utilities, everything. People work harder now than ever, and yet we're only household on our street that doesn't have a dog. Because I work at home, I often listen to those dogs barking in lonely, neglected misery for hours on end. The fact is dogs are pack animals. It's wrong to leave your friend alone in a fenced yard or a garage or your house while you're at work all day. They need stimulation, and they will create it themselves if necessary. Hence the noise. The dog is staving off madness.

I'm sure I'll get in trouble for saying so, but here it is:

Too many people talk a good game about how they love their pets like members of the family, but dogs should be treated like children. They need constant attention. If you can't provide it, don't own a dog. Of course they're cute and fun, but it's absolutely not cool to treat an animal like a toy you can take out when you want, then ignore when you're busy. That's selfish, even cruel, and the cranky writer next door doesn't appreciate the barking, either.

"Caninus" emerged from a long love of monster movies mixed with curiosity and frustration. Why bother to have a dog you won't care for? They cost money. They fill your yard with crap… or the street, if you're inconsiderate enough to let your dogs run loose because you don't want to clean up after them… and the trail heads near the open space where we live are encrusted with the mummified poop of ten thousand dogs excited to be free at last. They've become an incredibly artificial niche species. I don't get it. So just for fun, while we're on the subject, I've included a bit of free-verse called "Eighth-Acre Blues" that appeared in a college publication called Kokopelli's Seed.

The Sound Of My Voice

Hot new film / TV / music / entertainment site CriticStudio just posted a nice write-up about moi with three podcast interviews. You can hear why I'm not supposed to drink two pots of coffee in a day, the truth behind the Monkey Conspiracy, and the nuts-and-bolts of the writing life.

The whole enchilada is right here.