ECLECTIC PROJECTS BLOG
Works in Progress

On the…

A few years ago I wrote a story titled On the Finding of Photographs of My Former Loves, which eventually found its way into Fantasy Magazine in 2008. About a year after that I wrote On the Destruction of Copenhagen by the War Machines of the Merfolk, which showed up in Strange Horizons in 2009 and then went on to be reprinted in a years best collection and pod-casted and other such things. I didn’t write an On The… story in 2010, despite my best intentions to do so. This makes me a little sad, ’cause it’s one of those things that I meant to do and simply didn’t find the time for.  In my head they’re part of an ongoing series, albeit a rather slow-moving one, and there’s a file on my computer where I put notes regarding possible titles. Every now and then I’d open the file, pick a title, and start writing, and somehow the story would always mutate and become something other than an On The… story. I know this, because the series has unspoken rules. First person narration, for starters. Non-linear or fragmented narrative arcs.  Stories about odd relationships, particularly once they’re over. Male protagonists who wish they were more heartbroken than they really are, ’cause really the entire series is me having a conversation with the concept of masculinity, and the interpersonal seems to be the site where rite-of-passage masculinity stories take place these days. When I story doesn’t work out, I usually blame it on

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01/03/2011 No Comments
Journal

The Great Bookshelf Reorganising of 2011

On Saturday night, around 4 am, I started reorganising bookshelves. It seemed like the thing to do, since I’d been studiously not-sleeping for five hours after going to bed. Bookcases are one of the places where mess accumulates in my flat, largely because there’s so many of the damn things and I’ve developed a bad habit of taking things down, reading a couple of paragraphs, then putting them back somewhere else. What starts as a workable system quickly devolves over time, and every couple of years I have to start from scratch and reorganize the entire system. The whole process tends to start around 4 AM, ’cause insomnia is my response to doing to much and thinking too much and generally feeling like things are out of control. Reordering shelves is my way of figuring out what is and isn’t important in my life, and everything goes on from there. It’s a mental reset, fighting back against my natural tendency towards entropy. So far I’ve got two shelves down. There are many, many more to go. # I mention this primarily because my friend Alan, and possibly my dad, were interested in knowing when the issue of Weird Tales with my story in it was available. And it now seems as though Weird Tales #357 is out in the world, and when all your friends are Lovecraft geeks this is about as cool as it gets. # This has been doing the rounds of twitter and facebook recently, but for those behind the curve: a guy

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28/02/2011 2 Comments
Works in Progress

Shadows

So there’s a  shortlist for the 2010 Australian Shadows horror awards available online, which includes Bleed in the Long Fiction category alongside such brilliant works as Angela Slatter’s The Girl With No Hands and Other Stories and Kirstyn McDermott’s Madigan Mine and a handful of books I haven’t yet come across but I’m sure are excellent ’cause, really, once you start with Madigan Mine and The Girl with No Hands I’m inclined to just trust the judges tastes – those books are freakin’ great. So it’s a happy sort of day, even if it feels a bit odd to be on the short list because Bleed isn’t really a horror story. The complete short-list looks something like this, and it’s full of names that I’m very happy to see on short-lists. Congratulations to all who made it. LONG FICTION Madigan Mine by Kirstyn McDermott (Picador Australia) The Girl With No Hands by Angela Slatter (Ticonderoga Publications) Guardian of the Dead by Karen Healy (Allen & Unwin) Under Stones by Bob Franklin (Affirm Press) Bleed by Peter M. Ball (Twelfth Planet Press) EDITED PUBLICATION Macabre: A Journey through Australia’s Darkest Fears, edited by Angela Challis & Marty Young (Brimstone Press) Scenes From The Second Storey, edited by Amanda Pillar & Pete Kempshall (Morrigan Books) Dark Pages 1, edited by Brenton Tomlinson (Blade Red Press) Scary Kisses, edited by Liz Gryzb (Ticonderoga Publications) Midnight Echo #4, edited by Lee Battersby (AHWA) SHORT FICTION “Bread and Circuses” by Felicity Dowker (Scary Kisses) “Brisneyland by

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25/02/2011 3 Comments
Journal

Storms & Minotaurs & OMG, Sleep

On the evening of my dad’s sixtieth birthday we were all sitting on the thirteenth floor balcony while a storm rolled in. If we were in a movie the rapidly moving sheet of clouds would have been the special effect that signified the end of the world is nigh, so we all unearthed our mobile phones and digital cameras to take photographs. About fifteen minutes before I took the  shaky, blurred mobile photo featured in this post the view from the thirteenth floor was all clear skies and blue ocean, and it was pretty enough that even my jaded-towards-beaches approach to life acknowledged that it was a pretty good place to celebrate someone turning sixty. I gave my dad a book – the Collected Stories of Gabriel Garcia Marques, ’cause everyone should read A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings – and a CD/DVD of Leonard Cohen’s 2009 tour ’cause we were meant to go to Cohen’s show last year, but dad’s heart-attack derailed those plans. Then the family collaborated to get him a kindle, ’cause it seems the thing to get a man whose using retirement to catch up on reading. Given my dad’s taste in fiction, and the existence of Project Gutenberg, he may never have to buy a book again. # The inimitable Jason Fischer released a free ebook version of his story House of the Nameless, which won one of the quarterly contests in the Writers of the Future competition and scored him both publication and

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23/02/2011 No Comments
Journal

I’m working late at the dayjob today, having started late under the assumption that driving back from the Sunshine Coast would be a foolhardy undertaking this morning. I’ve had to much good food and not enough sleep, and I’m suffering from the vague ick that comes from sleeping in an overly air-conditioned room. When I got to work I was told about the earthquake in Christchurch, New Zealand. Every couple of minutes someone plays a youtube clip of the events, or downloads a snippet of news from the internet, or simply sees something new on twitter. Some people have family over there, others were just planning to head over to NZ for a holiday in the near future. I’ve never been to Christchurch, but I hear it’s nice. I’m starting to suspect that  nature has  it in for the whole southern hemisphere of the planet at the moment. If you have the resources to do so, it may be a good time to consider donating to the New Zealand Red Cross and similar organizations. # In happier news, I was paid for a story today. There is nothing like receiving payment for stuff you’ve written to remind you that it really is the best job in the world. This is important because tonight I’m going to go home, tired and cranky and my lungs filled with air-conditioner induced muck, and I’m going to try and do some more work on Flotsam, and some more work on the novel with the

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22/02/2011 No Comments
Journal

Happy Birthday Dad

My father turns Sixty today, so I’m going to take this opportunity to wish him a very Happy Birthday. Given the health problems he had towards the end of last year, turning sixty isn’t something we take for granted in our family anymore. The rest of my family is already in a resort up on the Sunshine Coast, kicking the celebrations off early. I’m stuck in Brisbane until lunch time, but I’ll be disappearing after my shift at the dayjob this morning to join them. In theory I’ll attempt to do some writing – I’ve packed Fritz the Laptop – but in practice I expect I’ll be spending time with my dad for the next 48 hours or so. We are, after all, very glad he’s around to spend time with after his  heart surgery last year. # In totally unrelated news the web version of The Birdcage Heart went live over on the Daily Science Fiction site, for those who weren’t subscribed to the email versions last week. # The Brisbane summer seems to be making a resurgence this week, assaulting us with the heat and humidity that has long been part of living in the city. This year summer’s been relatively mild, lacking the kind of punishing days where I turn into a puddle on the floor of my apartment, but they’ve made up for it now. I am not a fan. Having lived in Queensland my entire life, much of that near the coast in one form or

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21/02/2011 2 Comments
Journal

Let There Be Cake

Last night I felt like cake, so I climbed into the car and did up my seat-belt and drove out to the store to acquire cake. Then I proceeded to curl up on the couch with a coffee and a fan and the first season of Gilmore Girls on the DVD player. I got to remember all sorts of things about the series I’d forgotten: the stilted way they initially delivered the dialogue, back before they got used to its rhythms; a really young Jared Padalecki in his pre-Supernatural incarnation, who is tall and not quite so filled out and in possession of the kind of haircut I look at and think “yes, children, the nineties really do deserve to be mocked like the eighties and the sixties for its fashion choices”; the little things that get retconned out, like Mrs Kim having a Mr Kim whose ostensibly around, even if he’s never seen, and Kirk showing up as someone who isn’t Kirk, and Kirk not knowing Miss Patty despite the fact he’s known her since childhood and been one of her star pupils. The woman at the store was worried I’d picked up a cake with cracks in the icing. I convinced her it wasn’t a big deal, and the uncracked cakes should probably go to people who worried about such things. I threw that bit in there for people who don’t watch the Gilmore Girls at all and thus have no idea what I’m talking about. Just in case they’re weren’t satisfied

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18/02/2011 3 Comments
Conspicuous Acts of Cultural Consumption

The Lady of Situations and Moby Dick

I’m always a bit ish-ish about recommending books to people. Giving books to people is fine – there are few things I enjoy more than randomly giving friends books they might enjoy – but asking people to trust my taste and spend their hard-earned money on something is…ish-ish. This doesn’t mean I don’t do it. And after slinging stones in their direction last month about some writer’s guidelines I thought I’d take a moment to recommend a few of  Ticonderoga Publications publications, especially since they’re running a sale that takes  10% off pre-orders and 20% off direct orders of their existing fiction until the February. The former, for instance, would include Bluegrass Symphony by L.L. Hannett in both Hardcover and Softcover, while the latter would include Angela Slatter’s The Girl With No Hands and Other Stories, and ordering work from either of these fine writers would be a worthwhile use of your hard-earned discretionary cash. I’d also point out that aspiring writers could do worse than ordering a copy of Stephen Dedman’s The Lady of Situations, which is the book I reach for when I contemplate short story collections and how they should be put together. The writer David Jauss once put together an essay, Standing Stones, on the various ways short story collections become a unified whole, a brilliant read in and of itself, and every single thing he identified is at work in The Lady of Situations; the hand-offs from one story and the next are beautifully coherent without being obvious, there

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17/02/2011 6 Comments
Journal

Ditmar, Etc

So about six months ago I won the Best New Talent Ditmar, and I have to admit that I’m rather fond of the trophy. It’s a clean design and it’s got a nice weight to it, and it makes for a nigh-perfect book-end on the brag shelf in my living room. Plus its not made of glass like the Aurealis Award, so it’s somewhat easier to photograph with the camera in my mobile phone. I didn’t really expect to win it, so it was rather nice when it happened, even if I was so convinced I wouldn’t win that I wandered off to have dinner with friends instead of going to the ceremony. At the time my name was announced, I was tucking into a particularly good hamburger at a nearby restaurant. Oops. On the plus side, at least I was surprised. I mention this for two reasons. The first is that my dad’s health problems hit not long after Worldcon last year, which means I’m not entirely sure I got around to thanking all the people who actually put me on the ballot to begin with and then voted for me. It’s further complicated by the fact that I have no idea who they might have been, ’cause I was quietly believing that no-one actually read what I wrote at the time. To those people, whoever you were, thank you. The trophy is both shiny and useful and it’s always rather nice when someone says “hey, good job.” The other

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16/02/2011 1 Comment
Journal

The Day After Valentine’s Day

I’ve just seen the first review of Electric Velocipde 21/22, courtesy of Lois Tilton at Locus online, and it says very nice things about Memories of Chalice and recommends it to readers. I’m going to steal a bit from the end, since the beginning mostly sets up what the story’s about: While the narrator speaks of dollars, rock stars and penthouses, the setting seems more to be some timeless European castle in a valley isolated from the mundane world, where wealthy gnomes guard vast fortunes in their vaults beneath the mountains. This author is one I always look forward to; his offerings are fine and well-crafted. And really, there are worse ways to begin the day than reading that, aren’t there? You can read the entire review for EV 21/22 and a few other fine magazines over at the Locus website. # Yesterday I stopped off to buy some groceries on the way home from work and the guy manning the register asked I’d taken off early for Valentine’s Day. Probably not an unreasonable question given that I was there at 1:40 in the afternoon, but it perplexed me none-the-less. “Er, no,” I said, “I’m always done with work around this time.” “Oh,” the check-out guy said. “Do you at least have to start early? Otherwise I’ll have to hate you.” “Sure,” I said, lying through my teeth ’cause it’s easier than explaining why I only work part-time, “early starts. That’s the trade-off, of course.” Then I paid for my

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15/02/2011 7 Comments
Journal

Credit Where Credit’s Due

On Friday night, after a panel at the QWC’s One Book, Many Brisbanes program, I got the opportunity to go hang out with Cat Sparks, Trent Jamieson, and the elusive Ben Payne. There was beer and chatter and hot chips with tomato sauce. The true value of this experience probably doesn’t sink in unless you know Cat and Trent and Ben, but fortunately for me I do, so I got to be there (although, given I had to drive home, I elected to drink coke. This seems to keep happening when I find myself in pubs; somehow I seem to have lost the ability to get my drink on). Should you not know Cat and Trent, the short version goes something like this: one is the author of Death Most Definite and Managing Death and more quality short stories than you can poke a stick at, while the other possesses a resume similarly stacked with quality short stories and recently took up the position of fiction editor for Cosmos magazine. Should you come across them in bar, they may look remarkably like these two: Should you not know Ben, you will just have to imagine him, for he’s not among the photographs on my phone (such are the perils of being an elusive gentlemen). I can point out that he edits a zine with one of the quirkiest titles in Australia and he’s known for his damn fine taste in writers. – ahem – Er, sorry, the spokesbear gets snarky when

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14/02/2011 No Comments
Journal

Sunday Morning

When I was about twenty I lived in a motel, and it was the weirdest place I’ve ever rented in my life. If you’ve read Bleed, you’re already kinda familiar with it, ’cause it served as the basis for Palm Tree Row and abandoned motel where Aster finds the corpse. If you read the second installment of Flotsam when it comes out, the motel pops up again, albeit in a more inhabited form.  It’s one of those touchstone places in terms of my fiction, a secret I’m still trying to unravel. The motel had these green fluorescent lights running along the first floor patios that turned on automatically at sunset and stayed on until midnight, which meant my second floor bedroom was lit up with an alien-abduction glow that was accompanied by the unearthly buzz that close comes from close proximity to bad lighting. One of my neighbours was a six-four American hip-hop fan with tourette’s who used to come home at weird hours, frequently bombed out of his mind. Another was an short, gnome-like older woman in a leather cap who friends used to spot as a patron at the local strip clubs. Someone living in the neighbouring unit block used to keep a black cat that was easily the size of a small Alsatian, which would freak people out when they first saw it and couldn’t quite work out what it was. I was broke and sleeping on a mattress on the floor and drinking far to much cask wine.

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13/02/2011 1 Comment

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