Nicola Griffith's Blog, page 107

Ammonite prequel--and more!

From: MP
I find it odd emailing an author after reading her book. In some cases, the book becomes such a personal experience for me that I feel it is mine and that communicating with an 'outsider' about it would be pointless. Which is a testament to your skill as a writer and for that, I am thankful.
I am about to finish Ammonite but I don't really want to finish it because I am pretty sure there is no sequel. So my question is, is there a sequel? Will there be one?
In any case, thank you for writing Ammonite. I already have The Blue Place on my nightstand.

No sequel, but there's a story prequel, "Mirrors and Burnstone," which you can read as a free PDF.
Also, at some point this year, to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of publication, there will be a very limited edition (six? two dozen? fifty?) of hand-made art books based on Ammonite. And by handmade I mean every single copy will be unique: nine interior fold-out/accordian pages of two-colour original lino-prints, by Vicki Platts-Brown, of images from the book. On gorgeous fine paper. With quotes from Ammonite--done by hand with an ancient letterpress, and making their own little story. Each book will have end pieces made of something fabulous (slate? copper? resin?). They are designed for display. They will be for sale. As soon as I know more I'll post info.
I hear you on books being a personal experience. They get woven into our lives. For me, at least, they become part of what makes me me. I wouldn't be the person I am without the novels that taught me how to approach the world; Kelley and I wouldn't be together. It warms the cockles of my heart to think that Ammonite might be doing that for you. Thank you.
Oh, and one more thing: don't read the end of The Blue Place in public...

Driven by strong women

From: Meredith

I'm a big fan of your books, so I was pleased when I wandered into Chapters-Indigo in Vancouver and saw that they were showcasing Slow River. Have a look: 

I hope they sell many copies. Thank you for writing such wonderful stories.

It's my pleasure. And thanks for sending the picture. It's pretty cool to see Slow River classified as a thriller--though now I recall that when the book first came out Ballantine spent some time and effort positioning it as a "near-future thriller." Hmmm, I'd forgotten that.

People often ask me: Where will I find your books shelved? And I have to tell them: It depends on the tastes of the bookseller. I've seen, for example, Slow River classified as literary fiction, lesbian fiction, near-future thriller, hard science fiction, dystopian fiction, noir, industrial fiction, erotic fiction, a braided novel, and cyberpunk. Every bookstore a new adventure. Sometimes this is a good thing because readers who might not have picked up something labelled SF are intrigued by the notion of, say, women living an underground, underclass existence in the near future. Sometimes, well, not, especially if a reader actively looking for a hard science tale of a woman in a bad situation who uses biology and chemistry to survive wanders into a bookshop that classifies it as noir.

I amuse (and horrify) myself by trying to imagine how Hild will be categorised by booksellers and readers. Two things I'm sure of: it's not a Western, and it's not Satire. But as for the rest, eh, I could probably make a case for it being at least ten genres. Officially, though, it will be billed as something like A brilliant, lush, literary historical novel about the rise of the most powerful woman of the Early Middle Ages: Hild.

But that won't be for nine months. So next time you're in Chapters-Indigo, please thank the booksellers for me. It's lovely to know that those on the front lines, who interact with the people no writer can do without--the readers--are paying attention. Putting a book face out on the shelf makes a big difference. And the company Slow River is keeping is pretty cool, too. I had quotes for Aud books from both Laurie King and Val McDermid--and Val's quote ("Without Aud it's hard to see how they could have been a Lisbeth Salander") makes this set up even more cozy. It's a small world; novels bring us all closer.

The blush that means spring is coming

Well, something thinks it's spring here, even if the weather gods are disagreeing rather sullenly. (Sky as low as a zinc pot-lid, and endless, dispirited mizzle.) I've no idea what this bush is. (Azalea? Unlike Hild--and Aud--I do not possess formidable knowledge of local flora.) But it grows alongside our driveway, along with a bunch of other stuff like Oregon grape and vine maple. The bush tits love it out there.

Seeing these blushing pink buds every year is what helps me believe that the miserable Seattle winter* really will end. Spring will come. Then summer--in which I'll be doing a wee bit of travelling this year; more on that anon--and then autumn, when Hild will be published.

My 2013 is shaping up nicely. I hope yours is, too.

* Actually we've been really lucky this year: more sunshine and less rain than usual. More is, of course, a relative term...

I which I break another heart and am happy about it, chortle

From: Morgan

Hello. It’s 4:11am and I just finished reading Blue Place, after finishing Ammonite barely a week ago.

This... This is a lot like S&M. Because this hurts so goddamn much, I can barely comprehend it. Just this howling bleak ripping empty space. But I want more despite the pain. I enjoy it on a deep emotional level, on a primal one of need.

You are a cruel mistress, Nicola Griffith. I can’t sleep after that. I stayed up for love in the land of fjords, and now I’m staying awake for a slow, graceless, jaundiced death. And in the wake of it all, there isn’t even retribution. Necks are snapped, faces punched inside out, fires started. But it’s all so terse, colorless. Twigs atop a fire that could melt stone.

You are a masterful writer, someone who really understands life, love, and the way minds work. (Also wood. As a carpenter, that was pretty awesome). There’s never a moment where I stop, and can’t look, because I see the trainwreck coming. Never a time when I want to just drop the book and say "What gives? Why don’t you just make a logical choice instead of being such an asshole?" It all grows so slowly, in real time, with all the little seemingly pointless details that grow and blossom and thrive, both in intrigue and romance. No tropes, no shortcuts, no convenient details. It’s beautiful. And I love you for it. But right now I kind of hate you too. I have to drive for three straight hours today and I have an exam somewhere in there, maybe even a date. And all through it, there’s going to be this awful pit.

I hope you’re happy.

Ah. Sorry. But perhaps it will be some consolation to hear that there are two more Aud novels, in which her life improves. Gradually, it's true (detail by detail), but still...

I remember getting about a third of the way through The Blue Place (or, as it was called originally, Penny in My Mouth) and realising that Julia would have to die. I felt terrible. I ran through all sorts of scenarios in which she could survive but it just didn't work. It didn't feel true. So I stuck to my course, feeling like a monster. But the ending was inevitable. Julia is too perfect to live. I need her to die in order to set Aud on her path.

So now I warn readers: do not finish The Blue Place in a public place. Read it privately. And know that Aud's story isn't over (there's Stay and Always ). She does find the possibility of happiness. And of course she has those blazing moments of joy along the way.

And, actually, yes, I am happy. Not that you feel so gutted (again: sorry), but that I could take you on that rollercoaster ride, give you a taste of someone else's life. I think that's what fiction is for. I'm glad to be able to do it.

Frost like salt, sun like lemon

We've had brilliant sunshine and cracking cold here in Seattle for a few days. With great sunsets--which I always forget to photograph. It's been very dry (which kills all the allergens, kills those fuckers dead, and I dance on their grave). I took these two snaps yesterday. It was early afternoon and the lemon sun was sharp enough to sting. Frost sparkled on grass and shrubs like salt:
Yeah, it's blurred. It was cold.I stepped shivering back into the living room through the front door and was immediately struck by the streaming light and shadow thrown by the front window around the back window.
Light and shadow are on my mind today. In about two hours, I begin the Author Photo ritual. I'll let you know how it goes. Let's just hope the studio is warm...

A photo of me

Generally only seriously weird people ask me for my photo. (Oh, and publicists...) Oddly, I've had two requests for photos in two days, neither from particularly strange people. So, okay, here you go. This is what I looked like the night before last. Don't say I don't do anything for you.
taken with my phone in low light

Hild: coming 11.12.13

This is the print-out of the seventh and final draft of Hild. It's the version you'll read (after a few copyedits*). It will be published in the US by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. November 12th, 2013. Or, as it would read in this country:

11.12.13
Oh, I love the numberliness of it all!

I don't yet know when it will be published in the UK--not too long after the US, I hope. Other countries will be later: translations take time. When I know, you'll know. Stay tuned.

It's a big book: 207,000 words. Just the thing to curl up with before the fire with a glass of wine, or a cup of tea, and, while the wind howls and hail beats on the window, immerse yourself in another time and place.

That's my goal: an immersive read that is so physically, emotionally, and intellectually convincing that you feel as though you've lived another's life alongside your own.

I can't wait to get it into your hands. I'll keep you updated every step of the way.

---
* I'll be doing a big post sometime soon about process and timing and publicity. But, eh, today is not that day.

Interesting bits of an interesting year, Part Two

In Part One of this look back at 2012, I talked about the ukulele, a portrait of me, some teaching, and my travels. Here in Part Two I select some fabulous (and not) surprises, and many things Hild.

Gifts and surprises:

People give me stuff--books, music, odd items, and a wide variety of edible luxuries that occasionally make the difference between a relatively mundane existence and a fabulous life (many people think writers are rich--and of course some are--but we're not). I love presents. Love swag; it pleases my dragonish heart. We get caviar, wine, chocolate--delicious, and always welcome. But here I want to talk about three non-edible surprises.

The first one was waking up one morning last January to find I'd been presented with the inaugural Galactic Suburbia award, for my blog post, "Taking the Russ Pledge." It came with this lovely doll:
For those who know me, a doll is perhaps a surprising gift. I'm much more of an edged-weapon fan. The more deadly the better. And from one friend for my birthday this year I got a replica of an Anglo-Saxon longseax. A thrilling gift. I had a wonderful time putting together a juicy, ruminative post on seaxes in general and Hild's in particular (complete with a tiny excerpt from the book).
My seax: a replica of a 10th C longseax Hild's seax: probably made in the 6th CAt the end of the year I got a different kind of surprise: a seriously explicit naked photo of a fan. Don't get me wrong, I like seeing women with no clothes on, but I prefer a bit of warning and something of a say in the matter. When I'm drinking a very hot cup of tea first thing in the morning and I'm opening an email from a reader which I think is about getting together for a Hey, pleased to meet you drink, it can have...interesting consequences.

All things Hildish:

The most important Hild-related blog post was the one in which I announce the sale of my novel to Farrar, Straus and Giroux. The deal actually happened in February (right before the first trip this year to the UK) but I couldn't announce until May. If you sensed a certain extra zesty delight in the early months of the year, that's what was going on. I was pretty fucking happy:
photo by Jennifer DurhamWhile the deal was being negotiated, I posted this piece about my relationship to Hild, historical novels in general, and the Matter of Britain in particular.

A couple of weeks after I could finally talk about that deal (oh, you have no idea how hard it is to bite one's tongue for months), I felt extraordinarily over-qualified to explain that Writing is not a race. Writers: at every stage of writing (both process and product) patience is your friend.

After reading that post, someone asked me how I balanced the risk and reward inherent in such a huge (I think she meant insane) project as Hild. I explain to the best of my ability the weird negative capability and psychotic self-belief necessary for every artist.

And then, as the result of another question, I ponder the apparent oddness of why so many lesbian writers are writing historical fiction. I come to the conclusion that, for me at least, recasting the past is about shaping the future. That writing literally changes the world.

The future is what I'll be talking about next time: more about Hild and other things (related and not). 2013 is shaping up to be an interesting year.

Some interesting bits of an interesting year, Part One

As always, it's been an interesting year. Despite rewriting Hild, a 200,000 words novel, more than once, I managed to do a few new things, go new places, and read new books (most of which, sadly, I didn't have the time to get around to talking about). Fabulously (and, one one occasion, not-so fabulously), I've also been surprised with gifts, and--best of all--found a home for the massive Hild.

I'll split this 2012 roundup into two posts. Gifts and Hildishness in Part II.

New things I did in 2012:

I taught my first one-day workshop, for Clarion West. I've taught short workshops before, but this was was different. Called Exciting Writing: making the reader believe, I designed it to force-feed information to 12 writers so that they could then go away and unpack/digest the lesson at their leisure--and also, hopefully, with their fellow writers to turn to (I designed the workshop in such a way that participants had to learn things about each other). I think it might have worked. I know that one participant has already attended the full Clarion West summer workshop, and I believe at least two others are applying in the future. To me this is what learning should be: tailored, focused, and delivered to willing, able, and eager students. I imagine we'll find out in a few years if it worked long term. (And if the guinea pigs have forgiven me...)

Also for Clarion West I designed and ran the organization's social media strategy for the two weeks running up to their annual Write-a-thon, and for a couple of weeks once it had begun. I love creating and building things; I hate running them for very long. So for me it was the perfect way of giving to an organization--and I'm delighted to say that CW broke all their goals and records for participation and fundraising. So, hey, a win all round. Especially for the people this whole thing was aimed at: the writers. If you're a writer, at any stage, do consider the CW Write-a-thon for 2013. Trust me, it's a great thing.

Probably the most lasting fun new thing of 2012 for me was getting my first ukulele. I had no idea I even wanted one, until a friend from Vancouver literally showed up on the doorstep, said, "Here, I made this for you," and gave me the most beautiful hand-built and hand-painted four-stringed instrument nothing like the cheap and nasty tinkling things I'd always imagined. I fell instantly in love. So, then, of course, I got another (with a low-D, which sounds pretty different).
If you want to hear what I sound like using Jeepster, the original, here are two songs recorded (with my phone) this month:

If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here http://chirb.it/rC2ms7If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here http://chirb.it/PgHN3x
Another new skill hobby I picked up this year was making pictures with paints and pastels. Art (I use the word loosely) is not something I've dabbled with for decades. This time around, I appear to be obsessed with Bebbanburg, one of Hild's haunts.

If you want to see Art with a capital A, read about Chicago artist Riva Lehrer's creation (I just posed, and threw out ideas) of this most amazing mixed-media portrait of me:


New places:

I've been to Vancouver before, but not for more than ten years. So it felt like a new place. We had a lovely time there.

And I got to go to the UK not once but twice in 2012. The second time was a whirlwind trip to celebrate my sister's 60th birthday. It was fabulous all around, but perhaps the best part was seeing so much of my father--and seeing how much I'm beginning to look like him.

New (to me) books:

I read A Wrinkle in Time for the first time and, sadly, was not impressed.

However, I read an anthology, Beyond Binary, that did what the best anthologies do: became so much more than the sum of its parts. I was moved to do a three-part interview with the book's editor, Brit Mandelo.

And then, after a discussion with a friend who was looking for books for his teenage son, I went on a hunt for sfnal books for boys.

[To be continued...]

A drunk in a midnight choir...

Guess what kind of day we're planning to have...Christmas always makes me think of Midnight Mass. And in every Midnight Mass there were always at least two seriously drunk congregants bellowing at the top of their lungs during Adeste Fidelis or Silent Night. A kind of carol-off. When they had decided to their satisfaction who'd been loudest, the other one threw up. (I mean every single time. There were special ushers, provided with mop and bucket, for that.)

And so on Christmas Eve I think of "Bird on a Wire," by Leonard Cohen. As my holiday gift/torment to you, here's my version. Enjoy.

If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here http://chirb.it/PgHN3x