Deborah J. Ross's Blog, page 153

GUEST BLOG: Linda Nagata on Writing Young Adult Science Fiction

Linda writes: Most
of the fiction I write is aimed at the general market, basically
meaning adult readers, but a strange thing happened over a Christmas
holiday several years ago.



My daughter was a precocious reader, and in her early teens she
tackled my science fiction novels, reading the first three books of The Nanotech Succession. The third book, Deception Well, includes a minor sidekick character in the form of a little "biogel" robot by the name of Ord.





Never mind the handsome young men in the story! My daughter loved
Ord. She wanted more of Ord, and she wasn't at all happy to hear that
Ord didn't even appear in the next book in the series—so I got to
thinking. Deception Well is a setting made for adventure. The
name of the book is the name of a wild, unsettled planet overrun by
remnants of alien nanotechnology. A space elevator is anchored in an
equatorial jungle, and access to the planet is strictly controlled.
People live in a very high-tech city perched on the elevator column
two-hundred miles above the planet's surface. It occurred to me that it
would be great fun to have a chance to play in that world again.









So on a quiet Christmas Day, with nothing much else going on, I sat
down with my daughter and we talked about story. After a time I went off
to plot. I was on fire—ideas were coming at me faster than I could
write them down, and by evening I had a solid outline of my first
young-adult novel, Skye Object 3270a—including Ord, of course!



Soon after that I started writing. Up until that point, writing had
always been a struggle for me, but this book flowed. It was incredibly
fun to write, I finished it with a sense of triumph, and my agent took
it to market.



And then it didn't sell.



I knew nothing about the young-adult market at the time, and I still
don't know much. Looking back, I think the potential for far-future,
space-based, young-adult science fiction was very limited, and maybe it
still is, but these days, there are options. I published Skye Object 3270a
on my own, in both print and ebook versions, and it's been slowly
finding its audience, garnering some very positive reader reviews along
the way. The book is now available in ebook form at Book View Café.



I think Skye Object fits best as a book for advanced
middle-grade readers, perhaps twelve to fourteen years old, who like a
rousing adventure. If you know any young people of that description, or
if you like to read YA yourself, why not try a sample? Book View Café
offers the first five chapters for free.



Click the links below to
download the sample in your favorite format, or to visit the book's BVC
page where you can read more about it:



Sample — epub (Nook) format

Sample — mobi (Kindle) format

Book View Café's Skye Object page



Linda Nagata is the Locus and Nebula award winning author of The Bohr Maker, Vast, and Memory, all available at Book View Cafe. Her latest book The Dread Hammer, is a darkly humorous fantasy written under the pen name Trey Shiels.



This post also appears on the Book View Cafe blog. 

Give Books This Holiday Season

It's gift-giving season for many of us, and what better gifts than books! In looking over those I have recently read, I'm struck by how many would make a wonderful introduction to sf/f for mainstream readers. This is a very, very partial list (some are series, so in most cases, I've listed the first volume, and these are fairly recent releases), and I'd love to hear your own suggestions.



For music lovers:  

The Brahms Deception, by Louise Marley.



For wine afficionados:

Flesh and Fire (The Vineart War #1) by Laura Anne Gilman



For those who left their hearts in San Francisco:

License to Ensorcell by Katharine Kerr  

Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire



For lovers of The 1001 Arabian Nights 

Throne of the Crescent Moon, by Saladin Ahmed

The Desert of Souls, by Howard Jones



For swashbucklers-at-heart:

Coronets and Steel, by Sherwood Smith

The Sleeping Partner, by Madeleine E. Robins



For carnival-goers:

Carousel Tides, by Sharon Lee



For horse-crazy girls:

House of the Star, by Caitlin Brennan



For star-gazers:

Last Day On Earth, by Cecil Castellucci



For teens who are way too smart for Twilight:

Bones of Faerie, by Janni Lee Simner

Ice, by Sarah Beth Durst

Bruiser, by Neal Shusterman

Enchanted Glass, by Diana Wynne Jones.

Cold Magic, by Kate Elliott



For Sinophiles (lovers of all things Chinese):

Moshui trilogy (Dragon In Chains, Jade Man's Skin, Hidden Cities), by Daniel Fox



What else comes to mind?





So trot yourself down to your local brick-n-mortar bookstore, or order
online from one of the fine independents. You'll not only make the
recipient of your gift happy, but your favorite authors and booksellers
as well.

Where Do You Write?

Springtime writing

I've been pondering this question as I shift my writing location. I do this every winter. My primary spot is my office, a little cubbyhole on the north side of the house. In the summer, it's glorious, with a view of lilac bushes and a beautiful old California oak. There's even a kestrel house on a pole, although in all the years since my husband put it up, it has not attracted a resident. Shaded as it is, and far from a heater vent, it's chilly in the winter. We've looked at increasing the insulation of the window (double-paned glass) and the possibility of a small space heater. In the end, though, my usual solution is to follow the example of birds -- and migrate to a warmer clime.



The warmer clime is just across the house. A sunny, south-facing bay window overlooks our garden. It's equipped with a cushy recliner and a bookshelf (upon which sit two cat baskets) with space for reference books, writing journals, and a CD player. The cats know this is a Good Place. I take my netbook there, or a hardcopy manuscript, and curl up in the sun. I also appreciate being able to shift my position -- first, sitting
cross-legged, then reclining the chair and propping the netbook or
clipboard on my legs. (And yes, I've been known to tilt the chair even further back and take a nap!)




I have trained myself not to noodle on the Internet on my netbook unless I'm traveling. That hasn't been hard, since the little excuse-for-a-mouse-pad is sufficiently awkward to sue. The habit helps minimize the distractions I face while at my desk/desktop. Winter inevitably means less time on the 'webs, or rather, more efficiently-spent time.



The major drawback of the setup is how hard it is to spring out of the chair at a moment's notice (as when the phone rings or the cats have abandoned their sun baths and are up to something naughty). I always go through this mad scramble to upright the chair and find a safe place to put the netbook down. I always think, I should bring the portable phone with me, but then I forget. It's probably just as well, as these occasions inspire me to break up my work sessions with bursts of acrobatic physical activity.



Now it's your turn. Where do you write, and why? What works for you? What poses a problem?

Loscon: Book View Cafe Panel And Driving Home

The Book View Cafe panel went smoothly, although in a much livelier fashion. The person-we-didn't-know-but-who-was-supposed-to-moderate never materialized, so I stepped in. Not everyone is comfortable moderating (and some people that want to do it should be politely but firmly discouraged0, but I am and I know I do it well. If I have a weakness, it's that once the discussion is going, I tend to take a hands-off approach and I'm perfectly comfortable with other panelists acknowledging questions from the audience. We roped Dave (Trowbridge) into participating (he's a yet-unlaunched BVC member), so we had a range from Maya (Bohnhoff, a founding member) to Dave, who has yet to debut but has been doing much work behind the scenes. I've been on BVC panels at other conventions, and this was the best-attended so far. A few people in the audience seemed to be looking for a publisher (not appropriate as BVC is a cooperative of established professional writers), but most wanted to know more about what we have to offer, what the future holds, and how BVC came into being. A few had suggestions of what they'd like to see on the website.


I made it to the second half of "What You Have to Know to Write Science Fiction" with GoH John DeChancie, Jerry Pournelle, David Gerrold, and Neil Shulman. I didn't hear anything new, but it was vastly entertaining to watch such strong personalities -- especially Jerry and David -- holding forth.

Saturday dinner was an absolute delight, as we met with my older daughter, her partner, and their housemate, and had various adventures finding a restaurant where we could all eat, and ended up in their neighborhood hole-in-the-wall Chinese place, where they were greeted by name and we were plied with way too much Chinese home cooking.

The drive home, north along Interstate 5, was too gruesome to be described in polite conversation. For me, the saving grace was that I'd nabbed a copy of Barbara Hambly's Blood Maidens in the dealer's room, so I got to escape to the land of vile and evil vampires on the eve of World War I while Dave drove. I owe Barbara special and heart-felt thanks. (Dave got to work on revisions of the second Exordium novel, having had several enthusiasm-generating work sessions with his co-author, Sherwood Smith, during the convention.)

Loscon: Saturday Morning's Deep Listening

Saturday morning, Dave (Trowbridge, my husband and fellow writer) and I met with Sherwood (Smith) for a planning-breakfast in preparation for the deep listening panel. We had no difficulty rearranging the chairs in a circle, and were gratified by how many people turned up for a 10 am event.



After a short description of what we were going to do, the three of us went first, to model both speaking and listening. We had chosen the subject -- a book that changed your life when you were still of an age when a book could do that -- so that most everyone would be able to share a meaningful experience. Indeed, it would be unusual for an attender at a science fiction convention to not be able to name one (or many) books that were significant. In thinking about this beforehand, I ran into the problem of having too many books come to mind, until I realized that I was restricting myself to works of science fiction and fantasy, which I had not discovered until my high school years. Once I softened my concept of what the book had to be -- it had to be sf/f, right? since that is what I write professionally -- a very different sort of reading experience emerged from the mists of childhood.



I remembered vividly the summer between second and third grades, when reading suddenly made sense to me. Before that, I'd slugged along with how reading was taught in the mid 1950s, neither catching fire nor lagging behind the class. But that summer I did catch fire. I sat in my rocking chair in my bedroom and devoured a third grade reader. Illustrations in bright, almost luminous colors adorned the pages, and although I didn't care for every story, enough of them hit just the right tone for me. One of these was an excerpt from Understood Betsy, by Dorothy Canfield. The story was about a thin, anxious city girl who goes to live with country relatives and discovers her own strength and resourcefulness. I was very like that girl, growing up in a family that was the target of a McCarthy-era investigation, and in Betsy I saw that my life didn't have to be that way, that I too could become assured and competent.



As story after story unfolded in the circle, I heard the echoes and variations of this theme. At some point in our young (or not-so-young) lives, a book showed us that our lives could be different -- richer, more powerful, filled with fascinating things to learn and people who shared our passions. What separated this experience from any other gathering where readers compare their "gateway" books was that each speaker had the undivided attention of the whole group, and each listener had only to listen, knowing that when his or her time came, that respectful silence would be theirs.



Afterwards, I'd hoped to hear former astronaut Rick Searfoss, but word was that he was stuck in freeway traffic; he might have showed up later, but I had my own panel to get to.

















The illustration is by Jessie Willcox Smith, from A Child's Garden of Verses, 1905

Loscon: A Friday of Unexpected Events and Regency Dancing

Friday began with the usual "you plan, God laughs" disruption of the natural order. I'd planned on going to a panel on "Believable Pasts and Futures" (with Harry Turtledove, Laura Frankos, Barbara Hambly and a couple of other people) when a writer with whom I've shared panels in the past, VJ Waks, pleaded with me to join her on "When is it proper to use violence in your story" because she was the only panelist listed. This being the first time slot of the convention, no one expected a heavy turnout, but I'm a soft touch, so I sent Dave off to the Pasts/Futures panel with a request to take notes on the cool bits. VJ and I waited until we had 2 attenders, made a circle, and had a lively discussion, mostly about the portrayal of violence in our media, but also about how other cultures view retaliation and reconciliation as affecting the entire community, and some painful and moving personal stories.

I had a lovely lunch with a fellow writer I don't see very often, did a tour of the Dealers' Room (where I succumbed to the usual lure of Buy! Books!), got seduced by one conversation after another, retreated to the hotel room for a little lie-down time, and then dinner with Dave and a friend of his. This took a long time, as had dinner the night before, even though the hotel restaurant was not particularly busy either time. Our poor waiter kept apologizing and thanking us for our patience. Really, the only people who would be affected by our failure to be gracious are we ourselves. And I got to go Regency dancing (taught by John Hertz) afterwards.


I was first introduced to English Regency dancing at a long-ago Loscon, if memory serves. It's a recreation of the dances that would have been popular during Jane Austen's time, and if you've seen any of the movie adaptions of her books, you have a sense of what they're like. As presented at conventions, no prior knowledge is necessary, although in the Regency, people would have had years of dancing lessons and practice. These are easier versions, most of them requiring only the ability to walk, preferably in a stately manner, and to tell right from left. We danced several dances (the sets are very long) and went happily to bed.



I suspect that one reason conventions are so tiring (to me, at least) is that I don't get my usual exercise; I spend far too much time sitting and standing. In the past, I was much more disciplined about bringing exercise clothing and getting in an hour before breakfast, but alas, I have become shamefully derelict in my habits, so Regency dancing provides an occasion for both fun and gentle exercise. It may be only walking, but it you do it for two or three hours, it counts!

Loscon: On Panels and My Schedule

Convention programming varies in structure from basically a single track (one choice of a panel or event for each time slot) to many, none of them heavily attended. Needless to say, there are benefits and drawbacks of each approach. I used to prefer several choices, toward the lower end of the scale, until I attended a single-track convention and loved the sense of community that resulted. I found that the topic mattered less than the shared experience. Likewise, there are many instances where the topic is irrelevant compared to the pleasure of hearing those particular panelists in conversation. This can be true for individuals or for combinations of people with opposing opinions and wicked senses of humor. As a member of the audience, I don't particularly care if the discussion stays on its designated topic, although when I am moderating, I make an effort to keep a modicum of focus. Just because I love conversations that fly off in unexpected directions, with participants running away with each other's ideas, I can't assume the audience feels the same way.


I had two panels for this convention and they were both on Saturday; that's a light schedule for me. I was happy to have a free day (Friday), and one with a number of panels I'd like to listen to. The first of my events was not really a panel, but an experience in listening and speaking from a deep place, based on the Quaker custom of "worship sharing." Dave (Trowbridge, my husband and fellow writer) and I put the idea together, along with Sherwood Smith. We'd all noticed the tendency of people at conventions to talk too much and too fast, to interrupt one another, and to jump in immediately with whatever they have to say. A slower pace, with thoughtful silences in between, allows people to consider their words and to sort through to the heart of what they have to say. The experience of being listened to, of being really heard, reduces the sense of urgency. So we designed an introduction to this type of speaking and listening, choosing a topic on which most people will have something personal to say -- a book that changed your world.



Last night, Dave and I went by the room in which it is to be held to look over the physical setup, as this works best in a circle. The challenge will not be rearranging the chairs (they are the usual hotel style with brackets on each side to fix them in rows, but easily separated) but putting things back in an audience situation afterwards. We ascertained that we'd have a half-hour in which to do this, so we were all set.

The second panel will be of the more usual sort, some of us being a table and everyone else in the rows of seats. It's on Book View Cafe as alternative publishing; Sherwood and I and Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff will be on it, along with someone we don't know (assuming that's not a misprint). Sherwood and Maya are two of my favorite people to be on a panel with. Following the principle that the thoughtfulness and wacky humor of the panelists is more important than the actual topic, I look forward to a great time.

New Story Up!

"A Wolf In The Fold," one of my early Sword & Sorceress stories, is up for your reading pleasure. Click "Read A Story" or go here:



Enjoy!

Loscon: Attending As Part Of A Writer Couple

For much of my convention-going, I have come on my own (or occasionally in the past with one or both kids in tow). It is a strange and wonderful thing to attend with a spouse, but more particularly a fellow writer spouse. We've long since worked out the subtle communication of when we're available for conversations, when we are deep in writerly-concentration mode, and when we would like to discuss what we're working on (not asking for a critique or UnHelpful Suggestions, but a space to vent and brainstorm, for someone to listen thoughtfully as we thrash our way to our own insights). We also know when it's encouraging to ask, "How's it going?" and when such a question is annoying and intrusive.

I have always loved communal-writing, that is, being in the same space as other writers as we all work on our separate projects. This was my version of a fun way to hang out with my friends in high school. We used portable manual typewriters and composition books, so you can imagine two or three teenaged girls, sitting cross-legged on a bed, typewriters on our laps. When you do this often enough, the group finds its own rhythm, so that it seems you all feel the need to pause and chat at the same time. I never attended Clarion, but I expect the participants had much the same experience, only at a much greater intensity.


I've shared rooms at conventions with other writers who would get up way too early so they could get in their daily word count no-matter-what. If you have such a friend, I highly recommend this as an inspirational experience, much easier to try when someone else is already doing it. When I'm attending with my husband, we move through the day mostly but not entirely together, and some of those bits of time will be waiting for this or that, or needing a quieter environment than the public spaces. A glance, a few words convey an interest in returning to the room for the purpose of getting some work done. It strikes me that these occasions are invitations to a spontaneous writing workshop, with many of the supportive aspects as my old high school hang outs. They present yet another option of "how to do" a convention, a balance of creative output and community, of outer play and inner focus.

Loscon: Some General Thoughts on Conventions

The very first convention I attended, before I had any professional story publication credits, was Fantasy Worlds Festival in Berkeley, put on by Marion Zimmer Bradley and her staff. Around 1980, I'd written her a fan letter and she'd written back. Knowing that I studied martial arts, she invited me and my sparring partner to work security (and also give a demonstration) for her convention. I knew nothing of conventions, so I had visions of staying up all night, dealing with one crisis after another, and was relieved to find everyone friendly and well-mannered, at least in the public areas. I had no idea of the delights of thoughtful, lively panel discussions, a dealer's room full of books, jewelry, and music, and the wonderful costumes, not to mention a whole weekend spent with kindred spirits and fellow book lovers. Not long after that, I made my first professional sale to Marion for the first Sword & Sorceress (DAW, 1984) and began taking this writing business seriously.

At that time, I lived on the west side of Los Angeles. I soon discovered that LA (more precisely, LASFS, the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society) had its own convention, LosCon, which met every Thanksgiving weekend. For quite a few years, I was a regular attender, commuting from home. Then came a period of time when my family alternated Thanksgivings between Los Angeles and the Silicon Valley area, juggling the demands of home and more-distant relatives (who did not understand that fellowship trumps turkey). After I moved north, my attendance became even more irregular. It's been quite a few years since my last LosCon, it's in a different hotel (not to mention a different city, moving from Burbank to near LAX) from the one I knew way back when, but there is still a sense of homecoming, that this was "my local convention" as I was coming of age as a writer.


I think every regional convention develops its own flavor and character. Guests of honor change every year, and members come and go, but there usually is a core of participants and organizers, many of whom are volunteers who put in immense amounts of time and dedication to creating these transient gatherings. I loved walking into the hotel and greeting friends I may not have seen since the last convention, a process repeated year after year.

People attend conventions for all sorts of reasons -- to talk about books, their own or those they love to read -- to sing or dance -- to indulge in nonstop gaming -- to walk around in costumes and strut their stuff at the Masquerade -- to collect autographs -- to buy or sell stuff in the dealer's room -- to party (and get drunk and hope to get laid) -- to display their work in the Art Show (or to view it and maybe add to their own collections) -- to hobnob with fellow writers -- to listen to panels on writing, science fiction and fantasy, fannish lifestyles, politics, space exploration, you name it -- to watch anime (Japanese animation) for hours -- to hear directors or actors or artists talk about their work.

Me, I dance do this dance: I'm signed up to do a certain number of events (in this case, two panels, but it's often more, including readings and autograph sessions), and if there are friends I haven't seen for a time, I try to schedule lunch or dinner with them (true this time, with the added bonus that my older daughter lives in the area, so my Saturday dinner is spoken for). I always take a tour through the Dealer's Room early in the convention, so I can advise fans where to go to find my work, and to offer to sign copies; this comes under the heading of supporting book dealers. I also look over the program to see what panels I would like to listen to, as well.

So much for good intentions. It never works out that way. Unless I'm actually on a panel, in which case I have a professional obligation to get myself there (and on time), conventions all too often become a progression of impromptu reunions and introductions. One WorldCon in San Francisco -- it must have been 1994 or so -- we had to walk a couple of blocks between the hotel and the convention center, passing a construction zone. Each time I made the trip, it took me longer because there were more such meetings and greetings, two-minute conversations with heartfelt and sincere agreements to talk more at a quieter time (with the understanding that we would not, in fact, find such a time at a convention this size). It was also quite wonderful to see the expressions on the faces of the construction workers as the costumes got more colorful and imaginative. Klingons and pirates and sword-wielding women in eensie-weensie brass bikinis, oh my.