Spencer Luster: gaiman

Showing posts with label gaiman. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

WorldCon 2012

Four of the five members of my writing group went to WorldCon 2012 this year in Chicago. We had a fine time with some nice surprises, a little disappointment, and an odd experience booking rooms.

Beth, Helen, Bob and I represented our group. Alas, Marc couldn't make it this time. Bob was also accompanied by his girlfriend Alice who turned out to be a lovely person with deep roots in Chicago like my own. (BEAR DOWN CHICAGO BEARS!)

Altogether we booked three rooms at the Hyatt. Without going into detail, the billing wound up being optimized to be as wrong as possible while still involving the people who actually stayed in the rooms. Still, they were very nice rooms and the Regency Club on the 35th floor was swell.

My disappointment was that I had arrived prepared to pitch Knights of the Full Moon as well as Shattered Home to any appropriate agent, editor or publisher who wasn't fast enough to run away. I had my 5 second elevator pitches locked and loaded, as well as brilliant half minute synopses almost guaranteed to leave the ~~victim~~ potential ally breathless for more. Alas, despite my pretty good efforts, no such opportunity arose. The closest came while I attended the Night Shade Books presentation of what's new. Turns out, however, that they don't publish YA stuff. :-( While SH is actually YA/adult cross-over, KFM is definitely YA, and my work in progress (currently titled The Other Side of Space) is for MG to YA.

One of the good surprises was seeing Teresa Frohock at Worldcon. She's a very nice lady whose work I had the pleasure of critiquing some time ago on the Online Writers Workshop, and whose comments from long ago you can find here somewhere. Her first book is titled Miserere--An Autumn Tale. Here's her site: www.teresafrohock.com

Another excellent surprise was having Neil Gaiman show up for the Hugo ceremonies! His Doctor Who episode (The Doctor's Wife) won for best dramatic presentation, short form. Quite interesting that three nominees were from Doctor Who, with a fourth (an episode of the U.S. sitcom Community) apparently inspired by Doctor Who.

Coming up some time I'll talk about an amazing writer named Jack Skillingstead!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Graveyard Book

The original post is from April 2009. I'm also adding Teresa Frohock's original comments. Teresa has a book coming out soon!

I got Neil Gaiman's book for Christmas -- before it won the Newbery Medal, thank you. I think it's excellent and I highly recommend it. It also starts with one of the best first lines I've read in a very long time. "There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife." Wow.

I defy an English reading human to taste that sentence and not take another sip. What's more, it succeeds so well with simple words and construction. The hand does not tremble, the darkness isn't malevolent nor all-pervading, and the knife is just a knife. Of course the Dave McKean illustration complements the words very nicely, but even completely on its own, that sentence *requires* you to turn the page.

It's a nice lesson for a writer, one I'll try to remember. It reminds me of the six-word Hemingway story:

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Sigh

Teresa said:

Here's one of my favorites, from an author I don't normally enjoy (can you believe it) Clive Barker from The Thief of Always:
"The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive."

I just love the rhythm of that sentence, even when you say it out loud, it jumps and pops and makes you want to know what happens next.

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(excerpt from chapter three)

"What I'm looking for," Jason said, bouncing back on his feet, "is a package of fusion grade boron 11 from Earth. Seen anything like that?"

Maggie looked up at the ceiling and scratched her cheek. "Boron? That's one of those "element" things, isn't it? And you say it's used in fusion, eh?"

"Maggs!"

The black woman chuckled and hooked her thumb backwards. "Check the crate next to the lathe. I ordered the squid to unload it at highest priority and drop it here. The rest goes to Computer Science."

Jason jumped up and almost banged his skull on the low ceiling. When he landed, he leaned over and hugged Maggie. "You're the best!"

"Tell me something I don't know," she said. "Not that it does me any good."

She said something else, but Jason had already changed focus to the blue crate. One unfastened lid and one layer of packing foam later and the silvery cylinder full of boron 11 was in his hands. Combine the contents with some plain old hydrogen in the fusion reactor of Argo, and billions of joules of energy were his to command. Black space would belong to him again!

Jason put the cylinder down to replace the lid of the crate. He dropped it in place and was about to reseal it when his hands stopped.

Had that been a box from Quellan's under the fusion fuel?

He popped the lid off again.

Sure enough, that deep red label with the spiral galaxy pattern was unmistakable.

Mom worked for Quellan's.

He hesitated before picking up the box. The last time she'd sent anything to the station had been half a year ago, a week late for Jason's fourteenth birthday. The Whirl-O-Ball had been something he'd begged for—back when he was five years old. She had included a note, and it was a whole sixteen words long.

Still, if this was from Mom at least it showed she was thinking about him. Correction, at least it showed she had thought about him, however long ago she'd ordered whatever this was.

"Hey Maggs, you said this crate is for the Computer Center or specifically for Dad?"

She slid out from under the small spacecraft, welder still in hand. "What's the transfer label say on the side?"

Jason looked. Dr. Anson Blackstone. Personal. "It's for Dad."

"You thinking of hauling that to your father yourself? A squid would be easier."

"No," Jason said. "I was just curious."

A grunt was Maggie's reply.

Jason stared at the Quellans box. Maybe Dad had simply ordered something for himself. Or if it was from Mom, that didn't mean it was for her son who she hadn't bothered to see in three years. And even if Mom had sent it, and even if it was for him, it was probably dumb and thoughtless and she'd had someone else pick it out.

His curiosity beat out his bitterness. Curiosity and hope.

The box wasn't much bigger than his hand, but it had surprising mass, maybe a whole kilogram. The ribbon around it was real, shiny fabric, not one of those printed things. He untied it. The box top slid off easily.

Jason stared at the gold rectangle that had alternating violet and black stripes. He only recognized it because of who Dad was. The thing was a "Delphic Oracle", the core of a computer that some people said could have almost infinite, instantly accessible memory. Not even the FAs had that kind of tech. This wasn't for him. Definitely for Dr. Anson Blackstone, Chief Computer Scientist.

It was a dream that Dad had talked about, a theoretical device the cyber ginks played with based on speculation about four or more dimensional space. Except this was the real thing!

No. It couldn't be real. Dad was one of the people who'd proved that it couldn't work. The big chip was probably one of those mock ups for some fancy presentation. But it sure was a beautiful model. Jason twisted the latch of the clear plastic cover. He just wanted to feel it, and then put it back.

His finger touched the surface, right on one of the violet stripes. It was cold, very cold. He hadn't expected that. The black stripes were the same.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take it out, just peek at the other side. He started to lift the chip, but then thought about how delicate the leads of real chips were—one wrong scrape and you've turned a very expensive piece of technology into a ballast rock. Even if it was a model he didn't want to take the chance. Dad would show him later. Jason eased the chip back and closed the cover. He returned the plastic case to the box.

Then he felt the pain at his fingertip.

At first he thought he'd poked it on something sharp in the box, but he couldn't see anything. Then the pain flared up and it felt more like a burn. "Ow! Crap."

He looked at his finger. Nothing there. He rubbed it with his thumb.

"What'd you do, Darlin'?" Maggie asked from under the ship she was working on.

"I don't know, but it sure—Oh, Jeez!" The pain exploded now, a dozen times worse. The burning felt like it could have been from a rocket exhaust. He almost put his finger in his mouth, but pain started at his thumb now too and something made him stop.

He looked again.

Now he could see a change in the skin of his finger. It was rippling in little waves, almost as if it was…boiling. The skin puckered and bubbled until tiny drops of blood seeped out, but they quickly boiled into red foam. Smoke came off as the foam evaporated, and the puckering continued up his finger and along this thumb and God oh God oh God did it hurt! "Maggie! Maggie! Something's burning me up!"

Jason twitched wildly and banged into the crate. He wasn't thinking, just trying to get away from the agony. Smoke now billowed from his hand and it stunk and—

"Jason! Let me see it!" Maggie grabbed his wrist hard with both hands. She still wore her welding gloves.

His eyes were closed tight against the pain, but he forced himself to open them and look. Through the smoke he could see that his finger and most of his thumb were…gone. How could they be gone? The skin of his whole hand boiled, ready to vaporize next. He screamed, "What's happening?"

Maggie shouted, "You're not burning! You're being disassembled by nanoids!"