Aaron Polson's Blog, page 41

On Injustice, Freedom of Speech, and Real Anger

Pretend for a moment I'm not a writer. It isn't hard to do.

I don't want anything in this post to come across as sour grapes (which I find a rather weak argument, anyway). I'm writing as a father and public school teacher.

[rant]

1. I'm disappointed Chelsea Handler is a cultural gatekeeper. If you hadn't heard, she now has a publishing imprint. Not just another book deal, but an imprint. I can't say it any better than the comment by PLG (at the bottom of the article). As a parent and teacher in this "culture," I'm saddened we've decided, as a society, the Chelsea Handlers of the world are fit to choose for the rest of us. Yes, she's funny. Sort of, in an awkward "I shouldn't be laughing at this" way. She's also vulgar and repugnant.

2. Does anybody realize how much press Philip Greaves received, for free, last week? Yes, it was negative. But don't fool yourself into thinking everyone disagreed with the sicko, though. This kind of publicity fuels the "world is against us" battle cry championed by these kind of folks, no matter how small and misguided their numbers are.

3. How about the teacher in Michigan who was suspended after ejecting a hate-spewing high school student from his classroom? Freedom of speech? Really?

Here are the lessons I've learned:

1. Sex sells. Rudeness sells. Drunken amorality sells. Making money does not mean what you do has lasting value.

"If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing." - Benjamin Franklin

I won't mention Handler again.

2. People, in general, flock to negative stories like flies to shit. Why can't we be more like bees and find the flowers?

3. Being hurtful is never okay. Freedom of speech is powerful, and like all power, requires responsibility.

I couldn't say it better myself:



[/rant]

WIP Wednesday: Brow Furrowed in Confusion

But its not because of my WIP. I'm sure I'll have something to say tomorrow. I'm trying to temper my words.

Thanks to everyone who has tweeted, retweeted, blogged, etc. about the Loathsome, Dark and Deep contest. Remember, you have until November 30th to enter.

My WIP, now titled In a Hungry Town, is now at a whopping 12K. Limping along happily, though:

Even the children die in a hungry town.

Some, like Johnny Foster who died because of complications related to a brain tumor at age seven, were tragedies. Unfair, the people say. Unfair. Poor Johnny faded before us, thin and skeletal by the end with only a thin coat of flesh-tone plastic covering his bones. His picture haunted the local paper, a black and white specter of a boy, for more than a year. Funds were collected at local businesses, tin cans with Johnny's photocopied face pasted on the side. Help with Johnny's medical bills scribbled in black marker below the picture. The elementary principal let school out on the day of Johnny's funeral. Tragic.

The town labeled other deaths as divine judgment, like when Casey Hoffman and Julie Tanner died on the way to prom. Alcohol, the rumors circulated. They'd both been drinking that night. Too much alcohol and reckless driving. Thank God they didn't hurt anyone else. Seventeen years old, Casey and Julie were guilty and received their sentence. Whispers circulated in the church basement at Casey's funeral. Julie's parents held a private affair with only family and close friends, erecting a wall to keep the cold sneers away.

There were others, like Gwen Stebbins, whom the town ignored. Even a hungry town doesn't know what to do with poisons which rot a beautiful girl's mind, convincing her to starve herself until her walking skeleton collapses on the hard tile of the lunchroom floor. Doctors at Spring County Memorial jabbed clear tubes into poor Gwen's veins, trying to pump nutrients into a body already starved to living death.

There were plenty of deaths, small deaths and large deaths. A car hopped a curb and crushed a little girl while she walked home from school. One boy shot a friend while hunting, tearing open his friend's chest with a handful of shot, crying with clenched fists while his buddy bled out on the cold November ground. The football team's only all-league linebacker hanged himself from the rafters of an abandoned farmhouse only two-hundred yards from the pond which supposedly claimed another life fifty years earlier.

If you listened carefully, especially on cold nights, you could almost hear the crack of the ice and squeak of knotted rope pulled against the rotten beam.

People discriminate. A hungry town does not discriminate.

A Very Loathsome Contest

Loathsome, Dark and Deep is almost upon us...

Help me give away some prizes...

1st Prize: $25 gift certificate to an online bookstore of your choice (Amazon, Barnes & Noble...), a copy of Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (inspiration for Loathsome, Dark & Deep), and a copy of Robert Frost's Poems (the source of the title of my novel).

2nd Prize: a copy of Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and a copy of this year's print edition of 52 Stitches.

All entrants with at least five "points" will receive a Loathsome, Dark and Deep bookmark signed by the author...er, me.

Here's how you rack up the points (and the rest of the rules): Post a link to the trailer or embed the trailer online (here's the YouTube link). You get a new entry (point) in the contest every time you post at a different place. Some spots you can post: your blog, Twitter, Facebook, LJ, Myspace... wherever you like! If you tweet about it, please use the hashtag #loathsomenovel.
and/or post a link to the contest page (here)
and/or post a link to the pre-order page at Belfire Press
and/or post a link to the Loathsome, Dark and Deep official site.
Comment below telling me where you linked. Please include a link to each post.
Pre-orders receive a five point bonus (for each copy purchased...wink, wink), just forward the pre-order confirmation to aaron.polson(at)gmail.com with the subject line "pre-order".
Your name gets put in a virtual "hat" for each point. On the book's release date (11/30/10), I'll use a random number generator to pick two winners.Any questions? Drop me a line: aaron.polson(at)gmail.com.

These Woods...

The first contest is coming on Monday...

First Line(s) Friday

First line of a book I started (teaching) this week:

It was a pleasure to burn.

- from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

First line of a story/chapter I wrote (or started writing) this week:

First of all, it helps if the guy is big.

- from "How to Get Your Ass Kicked" (a chapter in my WIP)

First line from a story I read this week (and loved):

Limp, the body of Gorrister hung from the pink palette; unsupported--hanging high above us in the computer chamber; and it did not shiver in the chill, oily breeze that blew eternally through the main cavern.

- from "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream" by Harlan Ellison

What about you, fellow travelers? What first lines have you read or written this week?

In Remembrance

In Flanders Fields
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

WIP Wednesday: Sharp Edges

Behold, the cover of Shock Totem #3:

I wish my current WIP was half as pretty.

__________

Megan eyed me in study hall. She kept eying me, sneaking glances when I was hunkered over my sketchbook. My doodles grew eyes and arms, reaching out of the paper, grasping for dry land. Sanctuary. Megan's eyes were black ash.

"Did you know this guy they found in the river?" she asked.

I looked at Stienz. His head was bent toward a book.

"No," I lied.

"It's awful sad. Does stuff like this happen often around here?" she asked.

My tongue was a stone, heavy and stubborn. "No," I lied again.

Fellow Travelers, Heed the Call

I'll cut to the chase. I'm looking for a few brave souls to help keep short fiction reviews alive, specifically those from the small/semi-pro paying press. From Skull Salad:

Here's the deal: Dave Truesdale of Tangent Online has made public Tangent will no longer review publications paying less than "pro" rates (currently 5 cents/word according to both the SWFA and HWA). Jason Sanford has an eloquent response at his blog.

My less-than-eloquent response: that sucks.

No reviews for anything from Clockwork Phoenix, Shimmer, Weird Tales (WEIRD TALES!), Space & Time, Triangulation, Electro Velocipede, Albedo One...

As a writer, I've benefited from several favorable reviews of my stories in Tangent's virtual pages. I don't have the time/energy or expertise to fill the gap left by Tangent's rather narrow focus. I can offer suggestions of short pieces I've read and enjoyed, and will continue to do so here at Skull Salad. What I'm asking is simple:

I need a few brave souls to join me, not as "full-time" reviewers, but as folks who enjoy good, short speculative fiction and would be willing to offer suggestions of reading material from time to time. Nothing big. Even one story recommendation a month goes a long way in keeping the speculative fiction machine alive.

If you want on the list (no obligation), email me. (aaron.polson(at)gmail.com)

From here on, Skull Salad only touches short fiction from venues paying less than "pro" rates.

Polluto 7

My contributor's copy of Polluto 7 landed in my mailbox the other day. What a lovely (and odd) magazine. "Molting Season" (my story) kicks off the issue with these lines:

Ben began to molt on a Saturday evening after having 'the talk' with Traci. He cut most of his extra faces off with a folding utility knife he used as a stock boy in high school.

How's that for a trip down the rabbit hole? You can buy copies at Polluto's website or straight from the printer.

Tomorrow: I try to recruit some of my fellow travelers for a little mission.

The Public Domain Illusion

Most of you have no doubt heard of the brouhaha surrounding Cooks Source Magazine and writer Monica Gaudio. If you haven't, take a moment to read this fairly complete article or stop by Monica's Livejournal for the scoop straight from the victim's digital mouth.

The bit which really frightened me, as a writer, was Cooks Source managing editor Judith Griggs' response regarding the web as public domain:

But honestly Monica, the web is considered "public domain"...

I thought only my students were so asinine. The good news, I suppose, is my students are still learning about things like copyright, intellectual property, and plagiarism. (I hope.) The bad news, for all of us trying to carve a niche in the business of "content creation," is such concepts are a hard sell for the next generation.

They've grown up with free. The internet has made "everything" free; granted, I'd argue most of the "everything" is of less value than premium content. A downloaded mp3 file may be corrupted. But what about fiction...Fantasy, Strange Horizons, Clarkesworld, Lightspeed, Tor.com...a number of top tier genre venues are free to read. Yes, they pay their authors, and pay them well. If the web was public domain...hell, we could all create POD copies of The Year's Best Fantasy and Science Fiction and fill them with stories from these online venues. Public domain my ass.

I've happily posted stories (mostly flash fiction), novel excerpts, and more for "free" online. Excuse me: to read for free online. Does it cheapen my work?

I don't know. I think I know how J.A. Konrath or Cory Doctorow would respond. Maybe.

A comment to one article (from The Guardian) scared me more than any suggestion of "public domain". I believe the author of the content is Todd Howe; he goes by tehowe42 in the comments:

I'm now even more dubious about the legitimacy of copyright law in the way it stifles the sharing of information when no actual physical commodity is stolen.

I could hear my students' voices in that comment. Be afraid, folks. Your thoughts and expressions are no longer your own. That story you just wrote? The "world" owns it. Make sure to send the royalty checks on time. If you understand anything about the history of copyright law, note it was, in part to encourage artists to create and feel safe that they would reap the financial benefits of their work if it was successful (at least for a limited time). Before copyright law, creative ventures were there for the stealing. (Um, why do you think some people question Shakespeare's authorship of his plays?) I, for one, don't want to return to a world of cut-throatery where the most devious could steal bread from the table of the most creative and prolific.

And yes, cut-throatery is not a real word. Yet.