Deborah Kalin's Blog, page 7
April 3, 2015
those bloodthirsty birds are go
It's official: today saw the launch of Cherry Crow Children.
I had Squawk with me during the launch, because of course I did. She may not have been around when I wrote and submitted "The Wages of Honey", but I fell pregnant with her while I was trying to write the three stories I'd promised Alisa, and she was simultaneously the reason the collection was late and the reason it exists at all, because without her and my experience of motherhood, I'm not sure I would have found the focus of this collection. Or I suppose it's better to say, without her, this collection would have had a different focus and been a different book. In my head, Cherry Crow Children is therefore very much entwined with Squawk.
She was sadly sick, and so wanted only her mum, because of course that's the way life rolls when you have stuff that needs doing and you also have a two year old — so I did my reading with her cradled in my arms, her hot little head resting against my shoulder while I treated the audience to a passage from "The Cherry Crow Children of Haverny Wood" which I couldn't quite see over the ears of her beloved bunny stuffed up under my chin:
I meant and of course totally forgot to make any speech apart from my reading, so I'll put it up here:
Thank you to everyone who came to see this book let loose upon the world, and see this ambitious and momentous and worthy project of Alisa's concluded.
Thank you to all my friends and family who helped me along the way, even if it was just a kind word or a faith-filled smile.
And to Alisa, who stood by me and never stopped believing my promise that I would write those stories, I honestly would finish them, once motherhood let me, I offer my most heartfelt gratitude. I'm honoured to have your name alongside mine, and on such a beautiful book.
After the reading, Squawk helped me sign books (appropriate in its way, as this is how I wrote most of the book anyway) and I have it on good authority I managed to actually talk coherently to people, although I personally have no memory of it.
Signed off! And underwritten by Squawk. @debkalin #CherryCrowChildren #swancon @12thplanetpress pic.twitter.com/2HeIdn5glm
— Stu Ash (@RattusAsh) April 3, 2015
For those who missed the launch, this is the passage I read aloud:
Claudia and her mother were the poorest residents of Haverny Wood, having but a single aging she-goat to call their own.
…They had survived the summer on charity: Brynja Foth dropped around a modest stew every fortnight, and Ida Scult donated them a half-dozen ham hocks, the meat serving them a hearty few meals each and the remaining knuckle bones making good stock for more. And Nonkle Vigi, as generous as he was wealthy, always had milk and greens to spare.
But soon they must face the freeze, and on charity alone they’d not starve—but they might well prove too frail or poorly, come the thaw, to fend for themselves again.
So it was that, as even the memory of summer faded, there came a day—a little after the sporadic snows had begun to muffle the nights, but before the hunter’s moon promised winter’s final grip—when Claudia, just as her mother once had, did the unthinkable.
She risked venturing out alone.
#
She chose north because the registry indicated no one else had.
It meant being stumbled upon was unlikely, but the price was slim pickings: north was uphill, toward the tree- line, where the white sallee held sway and the silky topaz seldom blossomed. She faced, therefore, all the dangers of a prolonged hike; but balanced against it was her talent for gathering.
Foolish as it was, she couldn’t banish the hope her only problem would be answering (or evading) the questions put to her when she returned with a new-plucked topaz.
Slipping out unremarked proved simple enough: those not gathering or shielding were tucked indoors. Cosy sounds issued from the byrehallan as she passed: the stamping and bleating of goats behind the stone lower walls, and the muted chatter of their owners drifting from the wooden living quarters above. Only Nonkle Jochem saw her, when he reached out to draw in his shutters, and he merely gave her a hearty smile. The dear old man had never entertained a stray thought in his life.
The outermost byrehallan all faced inwards, with no weakness such as door or window presented to the wilds. A narrow span of open ground separated Claudia from the first of the trees, a row of wind-swept white sallee with here and there a grey stringybark. Fear prickled the length of Claudia’s back as she crossed that span, the thorned grass blades tugging at her trousers.
Then she stepped into the patchwork shadows of the trees, and the bush closed in around her—offering, for the first time in her life, true solitude.
Her skin crawled with it.
Despite the passage of months, the black of burnt things was still conspicuous, crumbling charcoal edges stark through the white clumps of last night’s untracked snow.
The fire-crumbled undergrowth shifted and crunched with her passage; the ghostly sallee and the stunted stringybarks alike all groaned of listing backs. Brushtails lurked in the empty branches, too hungry to sleep, beady eyes watching from their pointed faces.
And beneath the wind’s bluster, setting her nerves to twanging, came the crow-song.
There was no mistaking the liquid melody, calling of blood and slashed flesh, which warned of those red and black birds, small as a fist and swifter than sight. Most of the calls were distant, but that didn’t slow the drumming of her pulse. The cherry crows must be as hungry, these fading days, as every other forest dweller.
Following the closest call, with no warm and wary body at her back, set Claudia’s every sense on edge. She kept scanning the branches for silvereyes, since they were a sure sign no predators lurked, but their flittery little bodies remained unnervingly absent. Instead, the crow-song grew louder and the grey boughs began yielding up pockets of fine-shredded flesh stuffed into crooks or crevices.
…Each larder she passed brought her closer to the crows, the meat increasingly pink and moist, blood still dripping from some. At least there were no human eyes today.
March 28, 2015
wordy does not even begin to describe it
It's all systems panic over this way, as I desperately try to pack up a toddler and a cat for their impending trips, one to Swancon and one to a much-needed rest at the cattery. 1 It's rather getting in the way of all the blog posts I want to write.
In the meantime, I've been interviewed over at Ellen Gregory's blog, where she asks questions that, innocent though they seemed at first, soon had me waffling at length.
March 23, 2015
Sparked!
Today I'm up on Kaaron Warren's blog, talking about the spark for Cherry Crow Children:
There's a distinction, for me, between ideas and Ideas…
I'd totally forgotten, but her post reminded me that I met Kaaron in person through a workshop we did together. At the time, I was workshopping what would turn out to be "The Wages of Salt" — which is set in the same world as my Twelfth Planet stories, and can be thought of as the genesis for the collection. Which, given it was written in 2006, means this collection has been a long time coming.
March 20, 2015
her self-esteem is through the roof
Squawk has figured out her dad's first name, and when she wants his attention I'll hear this wistful little "Stuieeeee….!"
http://deborahkalin.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/Stuieeee...Nanna_.m4a
Often she'll get stuck in a loop, repeating his name over and over, but this time she immediately got distracted by Nanna. Who is currently over a thousand kilometres away, so I've no idea why that thought suddenly sparked.
(She calls me Beb, but not as often as she calls him Stuie. Mostly, these days, she calls him "Daddy Mummy", and I'm "Mummy Dad." No, I don't know either.)
(Actually recorded in December last year, which just goes to show the horrendous neglect I show my drafts folder.)
March 17, 2015
conversations with squawk
Me: I'm so weary! Where's all my energy gone today?
Squawk: People!
Me: Oh? Which people?
Squawk: …Apple People.
March 15, 2015
amazing things of amazement
Last week (or a bit more now? Time's been slippery, of late), I saw the introduction Kate Elliott1 wrote for Cherry Crow Children, and it utterly took my breath away.
A snippet:
Lovingly described landscapes turn out to be full of deadly treasures. [Kalin's] exquisite turns of phrase lull the reader, who then gets undercut by the jarring reality of death. Kalin's ability to combine beauty and dread astonishes.
…Loss and grief loom large. Disintegration turns to transformation. Truth leads to change. In Kalin's unflinching imagination, change can be dramatic and profound and its consequences are often unfathomable, painful and stark but, as she writes, always beautiful, even as you wince.
For the whole introduction, you'll have to grab an e- or hard-copy of the book itself. Don't worry, it's only two weeks more to wait. (Two weeks!)
I also saw the cover art, which I shared via Alisa on facebook but I want to put here as well because self-explanatory. I admit to sneaking glance after adoring glance at it, and I can't wait to see it printed.
Tulliæn spans a fractured mountaintop, where the locals lie and the tourists come to die. Try the honey.
Briskwater crouches deep in the shadow of a dam wall. Ignore the weight of the water hanging overhead, and the little dead girl wandering the streets. Off with you, while you still can.
In Haverny Wood the birds drink blood, the dogs trade their coughings for corpses, the lost children carve up their bodies to run with the crows, and the townsfolk stitch silence into their spleens. You mustn't talk so wild.
The desert-locked outpost of Boundary boasts the famed manufacturers of flawless timepieces; those who would learn the trade must offer up their eyes as starting materials. Look to your pride: it will eat you alive.
Sooner or later, in every community, fate demands its dues — and the currency is blood.
The book itself is going to be officially launched at Swancon 40, which is this year's Natcon. I've booked my flights over and I'll be bringing Squawk, who is simultaneously the reason this book was late and the reason its stories have any spine to them. She's very excited about our upcoming "ollie-day" and is planning to entertain you all by impersonating tigers and rabbits.2
Hope to see you there!
YES, THAT KATE ELLIOTTMy money is on an entirely predictable bout of stage-fright which sees her burying her face in my shoulder, but when she warms up to the idea of a noisy party, you might get lucky.
February 27, 2015
2014 aurealis award shortlist, featuring … me!
…AKA well, would you look at that…
It's an amazing shortlist, and I'm chuffed beyond measure to have written something people consider worth mentioning in the same breath as any one of the other finalists, let alone all of them.
I'm late to the news because I've had my head buried in a desperate scramble to finish the last-minute edits/proofs on my Twelfth Planet collection — this book is due to the publisher in, um, less than 8 hours and I've still got three stories to wade through for final edits/corrections etc. Talk about running right to the wire, huh?
Luckily/unluckily, the final deadline landed at precisely the same time as I packed up my little family for a beach house holiday. Unluckily because no beach for me — luckily because it means lots of non-me supervision and activity for Squawk. So while Squawk and her dad and grandparents have rambled around the town, sightseeing and shopping and discovering fresh air, I sat here, and worked. Thank all that's holy for my trusty iPod to keep me company.
February 1, 2015
january! get back here!
Whenever I finish working on a manuscript, I give myself free reign to abandon all discipline and consume instead of create. Books, TV, films, magazines, art, museum exhibitions, live comedy, music, podcasts … any and every creative outpouring from someone else's brain that even remotely takes my interest. And of course spending extra time with the friends and family I inevitably neglected during the deathmarch.
So, after delivering Cherry Crow Children, I gave myself the rest of December off. I figured an entire month, capped off with a gloriously deadline-free Christmas, would see me straight and I'd be able to start the new calendar year with new words. My goal for January wasn't productivity — I didn't want to be churning out chapters. Instead I wanted to play: to toy with possibilities, chase dead ends and dawdle over daydreams, and out of that would come new worlds on which to work.
Turns out one month wasn't enough. There's no lack of ideas itching for my attention. Yet, all through January, every time I sat down to any of them, I had nothing. The well was so empty the stones at its base no longer had any understanding of even the concept of wet.
I guess it isn't surprising. The longer a project takes, and the more it looms, the more it drains me. And refilling the well isn't so easy these days. Used to be I could tell everyone I knew not to phone, plant myself on the couch with a doona and a stack of books and movies, and let my mind recharge. Every weeknight and weekend for as long as it took, I could hermit myself away, or glut myself on friendships and social catch-ups. I spent all of January doing just that, when and where I could, but doing it in fits and starts, in between nappies and uneaten meals and sleep traumas, is a far less efficient path to medicinal gluttony.
And now here we are in February. I still have nothing, but I miss writing. I'm going to count that as progress.
January 17, 2015
Cherry Crow Children
It wouldn't be a proper book without a page of its own and the ability to pre-order, right?
Which is what "Cherry Crow Children", my Twelfth Planet collection, now officially has: Cherry Crow Children, published by Twelfth Planet Press.
In all honesty, I'm pretty sure said page has actually existed for a while now, because Alisa is an on-top-of-things kind of person. Thankfully. However! There is more: Cherry Crow Children will be officially launched by Twelfth Planet Press at Swancon 40, in April 2015. More details to follow as soon as I know them or have figured them out.
January 5, 2015
end of an era
After two years, today saw me return to the world of gainful corporate employment.
Last night, the prospect was paralysing. After all, the world at large hadn't been put on hold these past years, even if mine had. Would I remember how to do my job? Would that even matter, given the significant changes in the industry while I've been away? And why was I worrying about any of that, when I knew the whole of my first day would be spent re-attaining my door key and remembering where the toilets are and arguing with IT about when, precisely, they'd have my logins sorted out? (For the record, not quite yet.)
There was also the guilt. Worries that I'm abandoning Squawk (or rather that she'll feel I am); that I'll be too distracted and preoccupied by mothering to do my job justice and too overworked and time-poor to do my family justice. The bittersweet realisation that I have been with this child, night and day, since before she took her first breath, and now I must miss whole days of her life. And the fears, great and growling and relentless, about my ever-shrinking time for writing. Squawk already takes up my everything, and if I have to squeeze the corporate world into the spaces left behind…
But today, there were whole swathes of the day where, not only was there no one staring at me and mimicking my every movement and facial expression, there were people not even looking in my general direction. And when I saw some of my upcoming work, and realised I would get to spend uninterrupted hours not having to change nappies or argue with my tiny overlord of a daughter about whether and how much she and/or I should or could be eating right now…It's a heady thing, people.
And when I turned up to fetch Squawk home, I found her standing in the centre of a circle of rapt toddlers, singing Baa Baa Black Sheep at them. Yeah, she's gonna do just fine.
