Cate Gardner's Blog, page 39

I'm Delirious (I must be)

I've felt a little delirious since yesterday evening because (drum roll please)...

Shane Ryan Staley of Delirium Books has accepted my novella 'Barbed Wire Hearts' for the Delirium Novella Series. It will be appearing in November 2011.

Someone pinch me.

Guest Post: Behind the Door by Aaron Polson

BEHIND THE DOOR by AARON POLSON

Cate asked me to write about modern monsters.

She also suggested I show you what's behind the door. (Have you read "The World in Rubber, Soft and Malleable"?)

I'm going to do both. Or, better yet, you are going to show yourself.

Here's what you do:

1. Find a small mirror
2. Find a closet or other doorway behind which is a shelf
3. Place the mirror on the shelf
4. close the door
5. open the door, see your own image, and scream

Yes, you are the monster. So am I. Part of the thrill of horror and dark fiction, for me, is recognizing our own capacity for being monstrous.

Oh sure, you say. I've heard that before. Real original, Aaron.

I should be clear. This isn't about serial killers. I'm not really speaking of human monsters, or accusing you of being inhuman. This is about what really lurks inside a man or woman, even a small child. The monsters in my stories are born of trauma, greed, guilt, sorrow, anger, and even joy. They are hateful but pitied. Objects worthy of both loathing and understanding. Our imaginations breathe life into their grotesque forms. Our thoughts animate their limbs. And the most monstrous of all is what can happen to the image in the mirror. True horror doesn't stem from the threat of death—it's the threat of losing one's self. What happens when you look in the mirror and the mirror isn't you?

In my latest book, Borrowed Saints, Phoebe Ellison interacts with the girl in the mirror. They are one and the same, but different. The selfish, self-loathing, vindictive reflection manipulates Phoebe and forces her hand to do some pretty horrible things to release her pain. I felt for Phoebe, even as I wrote the book. The thought of rescuing her was tempting.

But I didn't. Phoebe needed to find her own way to slay the monster, as we all should.

So what's behind the door—the magic one from "The World in Rubber…", you ask. Go back to #5 above. This time, open the door and realize the image at which you are looking represents the most amazing creature on this pale blue dot we call a home. Yes, the capacity for hate and destruction and anger is there, but the ability to love, create, and express lives there, too.

In "The World in Rubber, Soft and Malleable", Andy, the narrator, refuses to go through the door. What does he see on the other side? If anyone has criticized the question, it's because I don't show what Andy sees. So what is it? Tell me, you demand. I don't know—you tell me. Nothing more than you can find, too, if you peek. The world is filled with more wonder than I could ever imagine, and I will keep trying to tell its story, even when the monsters block the way.

Aaron Polson currently lives in Lawrence, Kansas with his wife, two sons, and a tattooed rabbit. During the day, Aaron works as a mild-mannered high school English teacher. His stories have been reprinted in The Best of Every Day Fiction 2009 and 2010, listed as a recommended read by Tangent Online, received honorable mention in the storySouth Million Writers Award and Ellen Datlow's Best Horror of the Year. His latest novel, Borrowed Saints, is available for Kindle. The monsters keep telling him to write a sequel.

The Girl Who Didn't Complete*

It's the 16th and so far this month I've written nine short stories (mostly flash) and have notes to turn one into something longer. After having a bad reaction to antibiotics last week (caused panic attacks), I took the weekend off to recouperate and watched movies for the first time in forever (Skyline - okayish if you're really bored but turn it off before you get to the last five minutes because then it just descends into farce; and The King's Speech which was actually rather good; and an old Columbo because he cheers everyone up). And now it's Monday, and I can't summon the will to write any more short stories this month.

Bad me.

I'm itching to edit the below and get to work on something longer. And as I'm my own boss (here at least), I'm going to do just that. *Although I so want to use this post's title for a story.

As the title of my first story says, 'Blow a Whistle, I'm done'.

Short Story Month Tally:

1. Blow a Whistle, I'm done (1876 words)
2. The Lies Moths Tell (1199 words)
3. The Handiwork of Commerce (1303 words)
4. Dreams of a Ragged Doll (929 words)
5. Tethered Rain Clouds (636 words)
6. Beneath Ceiling Dust and Skin (742 words)
7. 1986 (794 words)
8. The Spaceman's Halo (more a collection of ideas - 366  words)
9. In a Confined Space (1136 words)
10. The Girl with the Glass Heart (448 words)

WIP Wednesday - Here There Be Things

It's the eleventh day of the month and I'm kind of 8 short stories in so I'm almost on track for Short Story Month, considering I said I'd write about 26 stories* (double ha!). Although most of the stories have flash length word counts, they are also full of notes in the margins about what needs or doesn't need to happen so they should be actual short story length after they've been rewritten and edited (that should be fun) and one story actually ends with This Happens/That Happens/Then they do this/Then some of that/And They Live Happily Ever After (which they don't) because writing it had dragged on for two days and I didn't have time to mollycoddle the idea.

I don't think I like Short Story Month.

I don't think Short Story Month likes me.

I like mollycoddling ideas.

Things found in the below: Spacewomen, Laundry, Orange Lollipops, Spaceship Skies, Mother Nature, Squally Clouds, Loneliness, Hope, Bangles, Teased Hair, Record Player, Drip, Synthetic Hearts (enough with the hearts already), White Vans and Madonna.

Short Story Month tally: (Titles subject to change)

1. Blow a Whistle, I'm done (1876 words)
2. The Lies Moths Tell (1199 words)
3. The Handiwork of Commerce (1303 words)
4. Dreams of a Ragged Doll (929 words)
5. Tethered Rain Clouds (636 words)
6. Beneath Ceiling Dust and Skin (742 words)
7. 1986 (794 words)
8. The Spaceman's Halo (12 words - ha! - just started)

*we're reviewing the situation.

Guest Blog: The Grindstone by Lee Thompson

The Grindstone by Lee Thompson
Thanks to the talented Cate Gardner for having me on her blog and you for reading! The Grindstone is something I've always been familiar with, and luckily, something I've never shied from.

I've always heard that writing is hard work, that it's lonely and depressing and all that bullshit. But if you're a writer you're probably in contact with at least a dozen sisters and brethren every day. Probably a lot more than that. Writers love to talk, to crack wise, and be the center of attention. You got your own church going. The Word is God. We worship together at its feet. I'm sure the art of creation may be hard for some people (though when a writer feels the burn, look out, because they'll write a story beginning to end in one sitting) and who really has a right to complain about doing what they love?

I've been fortunate. I've lived an illustrated life and have plenty of ideas for fiction. I've always had a strong work ethic and commitment to completion. I enjoy doing the best job I can for me (mostly) and other people who appreciate it (the other part of mostly.) A lot of people won't get the finer nuances I want to strive for, but some will. I know that not many people can make a living off their writing, even though we all dream of it, and for the most part believe that it's somehow within our reach, thinking that, secretly, we're better than the next guy. Then there is so much emphasis on networking, where you have these dumbass motherfuckers who think you're a stepping stone to their success while there is no substance to their 'friendship'. Screw all that noise. If you help someone, do it because you want to. If someone helps you, be grateful.

Keep it fun…for me the whole process of creation is fun. Finding ways to write in layers, write efficiently so that my first draft is as tight as I can get it, knowing what I want to say before I even pick up my pen. Editing and structure and plot and POV and dialogue and foreshadowing and theme. All a goddamn blast. A big part of the joy comes with taking all those puzzle pieces and constructing a tree you can hang your troubles on.

Scare yourself... unless we lived a sheltered life (and even that can be scary! There's a great unknown world out there filled with all kinds of shady people!) we have plenty of deep rooted fears and everyday agitations to draw from and connect with other people (readers, writers, plumbers, mothers, policemen, angels, trolls, pigmies, etc.) so write some of them down and use them. Could be that it's the honesty that sets your story apart from many similar stories in the slush pile.

Some things that scare me: being betrayed by someone I love. It's happened. I hate it. Not only the horrible emotions—confusion, rage, sadness, etc—that come with it, but all of those good memories from before. People are strange. People do funny things.

A lion eating my mother is also scary, but I've never written about it. Though the death of someone you love—a horrible and painful death, whether fast or slow, that you can do little to stop—is dreadful. Prison is scary (or any situation where we lose our freedom, lose our identity, lose our souls to our addictions and insecurities and other people.)

Success scares me. With more success come more demands, or a stifling period where people want you to keep writing the same thing for the rest of your life. Suffocating, that's what that would be, unless the writer is wired to write the same story their whole lives. More power to 'em. That's not for me. I want to grow. I want to fly to other planets. I want to see what lies waiting in the abyss of my soul.

Laugh at yourself… like me and your parents and your siblings and your friends, you're not perfect. A little light-heartedness does the body good. It can add some pep to your step. It can color your scenes and give them balance. Sure, there are a lot of shitty things happening in the world, but that's nothing new. Every generation before ours has had their struggles. Every individual has their struggles, only most of them we never hear about, because usually all we get from each other is the tip of the iceberg.

Drag your life into it… if you're like me there are probably plenty of things that really get under your skin. People throw trash out in the hall and parking lot of my apartment. Pisses me off. How hard is it to put something in the trash? Do they think it gives them a leg up because someone else will have to pick it up? Are they just lazy?

I don't like lazy people much either.

I don't like talkers who say they're going to do this or do that and never move their feet more than a step in that direction. I don't like people invading my personal space. I don't like the dating game. I think it's ridiculous how people pose, how they strut their best qualities and hide their inner turmoil as if it doesn't exist. I don't see how lies from the start help grow anything worthwhile.

My philosophy on The Grindstone is simple and something most professional writers have said for centuries.

Sit down and write.

Or just walk away.

Put up or shut up.

#

In NURSERY RHYMES 4 DEAD CHILDREN John McDonnell has his work cut out for him and he steps up to the plate despite his fear, despite the uncertainties (which there are a lot of) waiting down the path. Most of his troubles are self-inflicted and human because I've always found it irritating when people pass the buck, throw the responsibility for our problems on supernatural beings or technology or religion, when we're the worst monsters of all. But the supernatural creatures play a big part as well, starting an arch in this first book that lead John and his friend Mike on their journey in later Division novels and novellas.

But every choice has repercussions.

Wisdom blossoms through pain and mistakes and sacrifice.


--Lee Thompson
http://alongthispathsodarkly.blogspot.com/

Short Story Month: The Half Pint Gal

Two contributor copies of Kaleidotrope arrived today. Always an exciting event. Especially when you discover a large white envelope and think, 'What'd I order?'

I live in constant surprise (it's a nice town).

Day three of short story month (we don't talk about May 1st), and I'm turning into the half-a-story a day girl. I finished yesterday's story just before tea (today) and I'm ending today half-way through my next story. But at least there are words here and heck, I may be able to use some of them when it comes to editing.

Short Story Month tally:
1. Blow a Whistle, I'm done (1876 words)
2. The Lies Moths Tell (1199 words)
3. The Handiwork of Commerce (448 words - still writing)

Short Story Month: The Reprint

I'm delighted to announce my short story 'The Scratch of an Old Record' which originally appeared in the July 2009 issue of Necrotic Tissue will be reprinted in the 'Best of Necrotic Tissue' anthology. It's bittersweet, because (as most of you know) this will be the last issue of NT.

Short story month continues and I've fallen a little by the wayside BUT I did have to return to work today after an 11 day break (much to do) and followed up work with a visit to the dentist. And she didn't use enough novacaine. Sob. Ouch. I'm such a baby.

Plus I joined tumblr (not that I can use that as a not writing excuse)... http://categardner.tumblr.com/ ...expect to find silly things there and photos. I suspect lots of photos. If you're on tumblr let me know and I'll follow you.



Short Story Month tally:

1. Blow a Whistle, I'm done (1876 words)
2. The Lies Moths Tell (595 words - draft not finished)

Short Story Month: No Editing Here

May is short story month. You possibly already know that. And some mad folk are participating in 'A Story a Day in May'. When I first read about the project on Deborah Walker's blog, I happily told Deborah she was insane (and she is of course). I mean, a story a day... Good grief.

Then I decided to play along. Sort of...

I have no illusions of writing 31 stories in 31 days. Insanity. For one, I have family day once a week when we all get together and play games with and amuse the kiddies and I'm often found skipping around the garden or attempting to hula-hoop. I can't hula-hoop anymore (which I don't understand, because now I have hips for the hoop to catch on), but I can still skip. So I'm aiming for 26 stories. If I get half that, I'll be happy. Heck if I write four I might hold a party.

So, striking yesterday off the balance sheet because it was family day and said family turned up at 10:30 a.m. and left me flapping (quick change from pjs to awesomness - ahem), I began short story month today and have a completed first draft...

1. Blow a Whistle, I'm Done (1876 words)

Oh, and I'm only aiming for first drafts in May. No editing here.

April was the month...

...where I crashed, burned and picked myself out of the wreckage (and bought new trays).

Monthly Word Count: 10,656 words
Yearly Word Count: 87,604 words
Best Day: 1,273 words
Worst Day: 43 words
Days Off: One (but I spent the day tidying my office so I kinda worked)
Acceptances: None
Rejections: A pathetic amount (must try harder)
Determination to Succeed: Back up to 95%

New Short Stories:-
Weird Beautiful Muse (1400 words)
Untitled (first draft - 1100 words)

Other Things:-
Finished editing 'Barbed Wire Hearts', attempted an edit of 'Kodak Dragons' (added another 1000+words and changed about 60% of it, but still need to work out a new ending and then start again), finally read through my collection of Black Static & Interzone mags (and then gave them away to spread the goodness)

Things found lurking in the pages of the above: Muses, Love, Mirrors, Worry Beads, Salty Popcorn, Bowler Hat, Toothbrush Moustache, Charles Chaplin, Pigtails, Bullet Holes in Library Walls, Paper Flowers.

Current WIPs: Untitled short story
Surprise of the Month: Watched the Royal Wedding
Last line of April 2011: She shattered.

Shoot for the Moon

Things I discovered while cleaning my office...

In 2008 I joined the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter 'Send your Name to the Moon' project and apparently, via microchip, off my name went...

I don't have a hole punch. What self respecting office doesn't have a hole punch?

Amongst the many notes of awesome story ideas/titles, I have a note saying - Coffee pg. 30 - huh! I suspect it's part shopping list (I'm so scatty I forget what I have to buy even if it's only one item) and what page I was up to reading/editing/something.

That I have a file with first drafts of short stories in and some of them may be saveable (the story about a field of hats and some Hells Angels maybe not so much). And that, there are no stories hanging from my Jingle Bell Line--possibly because the jingle bells were buried beneath awesome writing advice I'd printed from the internet.

Four new trays was never going to be enough.

I should figure out what the heck to do with all my old novels because I have paper everywhere. If only they weren't all saved to floppy disks and defunct computers. In theory, I should maybe bin them. What!!! OMG! Freak, freak, freak. Okay, won't do that then. I tried to persuade mum to type them up but she was having none of it. You just can't get the staff these days.

Dust makes me sneeze.