For one day only, John and Kristine Scalzi will match donations made to Strange Horizons, up to $500. I got to meet Kristine and John at Worldcon, and they are fully as amazing people as this act of generosity would suggest. Let’s help them make the most of this awesome gesture. Donate to Strange Horizons today.
Tag: Strange Horizons
Karen Meisner has explained that she and the other editors of the online SF magazine Strange Horizons, which is run as a donation supported NPO, have a problem I can easily relate to: a lack of facility for self-promotion. I need to merely think back to how my high school councilors tore their hair trying to get me to sell myself in my college applications to empathize with this. I feel healthier and happier when I let people decide for themselves what sort of person I am, without trying to convince people I’m awesome, so I am right there when she says that the self promotion push makes her feel icky. But Karen is very clever, and knows that while tooting one’s own horn is unfun, gushing about things you love and are unconnected with is pleasant and wholesome. So she has declared this Strange Horizons appreciation week, and asks that people who like the magazine talk about it and explain why.
I first came to Strange Horizons as a reader in 2006. I originally got sucked in by the stories of Meghan McCarron and Joey Comeau, and I stuck around, finding new authors and voices to love. At this time I was still working on my physics degree, and in retrospect I can see Strange Horizons as an early step in my focus shifting from science to fiction. I got unexpectedly excited reading reviews by such cogent and incisive critics as Abigail Nussbaum and Paul Kincaid. The next semester I carved out a place in my schedule for a class called Fiction Writing, and the semester after that I took Advanced Fiction Writing.
In both of these classes the professor asked that we stick to mimetic fiction rather than writing genre fiction, as he would be focusing his lessons on qualities (complex characterization, exploration of meaningful human scenarios) that mimetic fiction had and genre fiction largely did not. By the second semester of his course I had built up enough good will that I felt comfortable challenging these stereotypes, and tried to write a piece of genre fiction that ticked all of his mimetic fiction checkboxes. It was a story of decrepitude and self deception and zombies. A couple of years later I decided I wanted to go to Clarion, and used that story in my application. And when the people at Clarion convinced me that it was worth trying to get my work published, I sent that story to Strange Horizons. They published it earlier this year — my first professional sale.
This is the wall over my desk. The photographs on the right are my high school creative writing class, my college graduation, and my Clarion class. On the left is a National Merit Scholarship certificate and a print by John Picacio. In the middle there is a lot of empty space that it is my intent to fill with more letters like the one I have framed from the fiction editors of Strange Horizons telling me they wish to publish a story of mine. They gave me the first chance to fill some space on my triumph wall, as they have done for many others. Championing new talent is part of their mandate, the fund drive page says that over 10% of their stories in the past year were first publications, like mine. There are lots of of reasons to love Strange Horizons, but one of the most important is that they are a conduit through which new voices come into the field. They supported me, and will support other talented people in the future, if we support them.
Go give the Strange Horizons fund drive page a look.
Well, at least, I’m big enough to have had my work plagiarized by someone ostensibly from Ghana. The Grin Without A Cat blog reports the receipt of a strange submission for an anthology of fantasy stories by Filipino authors:
Specifically, someone sent in a pseudo-submission with this intro:
From: samuel ansah asare
Date: Thu, Apr 9, 2009 at 6:44 PM
Subject: SUBMISSION OF MY 7500 WORDS OF SHORT STORIES.
To: estranghero@gmail.comNAME :MR. SAMUEL ERNEST ANSAH ASARE,
P.O.BOX 1049,
KANESHIE-ACCRA.
GHANA.
TELEPHONE NUMBERS: +233(0)242517475, +233(0)267307499NOTE :PLEASE IF I WIN FOR MY 7500WORDS OF MY SPECULATIVE SHORT STORIES, KINDLY USE MY REAL NAME MR.ERNEST ASARE IN MAKING WESTERN UNION TO SEND MY CASH OF PRIZE OF MONEY TO ME. MY GHANAIAN NATIONAL VOTER ID CARD IS MISSING SO DO NOT USE SAMUEL AS A WESTERN UNION TO ME IN GHANA.
[…]
But what made this doubly-interesting was when– on a whim– I googled the first line of the first story and what came out was Eugene Fisher’s Husbandry in Strange Horizons. The others were Nira and I by Shweta Narayan, The Spider in You by Sean E. Markey, and Turning the Apples by Tina Connolly.
So, there we have it. My first plagiarization. (Also, the first misspelling of my name in attribution of published work. This will almost certainly happen again.) This brings to my mind Neal Stephenson’s remarks upon learning that text from his novel Cryptonomicon was being used by spammers:
e-mail filters learn from their mistakes. When the Cryptonomicon spam was sent out, it must have generated an immune response in the world’s spam filtering systems, inoculating them against my literary style. So this could actually cause my writing to disappear from the Internet.
If this blog–or worse, Strange Horizons–should suddenly go dark, blame the Ghanan fiction spammers.
My parents met and socialized with Theodore Sturgeon at the University of Kansas before they were married–they claim to have the only copy of Venus on the Half-Shell (written by Phil José Farmer pseudonymously) signed by the real Kilgore Trout. EDIT: My father wrote to correct me: they got Breakfast of Champions, by Kurt Vonnegut, signed by Sturgeon as Trout. I grew up on Sturgeon stories. Memory fades, but I think my first Sturgeon was “Microcosmic God,” which was either actually read to me as a bedtime story, or was put in my hands by my parents as something to read myself to sleep with. In college I wrote a comparative literature paper on the treatment of the mentally disabled by Theodore Sturgeon and Philip K. Dick.
This week’s story in Strange Horizons is a Theodore Sturgeon reprint. And I can tell you, because I just got off the phone with them, that my parents are totally geeking out about their son’s name appearing next to Theodore Sturgeon’s on a table of contents. My mother insists she is going to print out the page and frame it. I’m pretty happy with this turn of events also. I told my dad, “This is the nicest thing that doesn’t really mean anything at all that’s happened to me in a while.” So thanks for the unexpected gift, SH! As a Sturgeon fan, this is a clipping for my archives:
My short story “Husbandry” has just gone up at Strange Horizons! I encourage you to read it, and hope you enjoy it.
I have never been able to characterize this story to my satisfaction in terms of genre. I can’t decide if I think it is fantasy or science fiction. To that end, a poll:
Yesterday I had a tickle in my throat that metamorphosed in the night into something more akin to a forest fire. And I’m on day 2 of a weird, intermittent nose bleed. And as I mentioned a little while back, I’ve lately been suffering from an increase in the severity of my Crohn’s symptoms. But for all that, I’m feeling pretty happy today, for the following reasons, listed in ascending order of importance:
- Magic robe.
- I had an appointment with my gastroenterologist on Monday, and he decided that the backwards progression of my symptoms called for several aggressive steps to be taken on my behalf, including giving me stronger pain meds. So now I have a magic robe and a big bottle of hydrocodone. Even at this level of pain, hydrocodone seems to be strong enough to keep Zelazny’s Toothache at bay.
- If you have clicked over to the “Writing” tab since last night, you will have noticed that there is now a firm publication date for the story of mine that Strange Horizons is publishing. I’m going through the galley now.
- I’ve spent the last three months on prednisone (which I was only supposed to be on for a matter of weeks) due to a protracted and ridiculous battle with my insurance company. As of this morning, that battle is over. I am finally going to be allowed to start on one of the class of medications my doctor first prescribed for me back in January. If things go as planned, I will finally have a gleaming syringe full of specially tailored monoclonal antibodies delivered to me on Friday.
I’ve been putting off writing up a long, detailed account of The Harrowing Tale of E. J. and the Crohn’s until the insurance issues were resolved one way or another. If I actually get my meds on Friday, that will give the narrative enough closure for me to be willing to commit it to text. I expect it will be somewhat cathartic to write, though I can make no promises that it will be particularly pleasant to read. And I might wait a little while to post it, as I’m not convinced that thousands of words about misery and blood and pain are what I want on the front page of this site when my first published story goes live. But if my discussion of my health issues up to this point has, to borrow a phrase from Neal Stephenson, sounded like the terse mutterings of a pilot at the controls of a damaged plane, know that that has been more or less by design. For the last 2/3 of a year, my life has been awfully one-note; limiting the degree to which I let it dominate my conversation has been an intentional coping strategy to force me to pay attention to more positive things.