My story, Acquainted with the Night, can be found in a really fun anthology of superhero fiction put together by Lincoln Crisler, CORRUPTS ABSOLUTELY?
I’m appearing at MidSouthCon this weekend as their Editor Guest of Honor. While there I’ll be giving a talk entitled “We’re All Bozos On This Bus: The Truth About Electronic Publishing.” I’ll put the text up on here afterwards.
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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
~K. Richardson
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Snippet: Villa Encantada
Yellow lines stretched across the parking lot, marking out the zones of the Great Game.Excerpt from Villa Encantada (working title), an urban fantasy short story set in Villa Encantada, a condo complex on Lake Sammamish. For those familiar with “Eagle-haunted Lake Sammamish” or “Legends of the Gone,” it’s the same complex.
The doorbell rang as soon as Simone’s hands were covered with dirt from repotting primroses. That was how it always was lately. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, regretting the dark smears as soon as she saw them. The dish towel landed in the sink; she hurried to the door.
As abrupt and perfumed as a magazine advertisement thrust in her face, a broad-toothed woman in red polka-dots that shouldn’t be chic, but were, atop a teeter of matching red heels.
Presenting her hand in a direct overhand shake, “I’m Cherry Abramson, Unit #8.”
Simone wished she’d washed her hand instead of just wiping it, but she shook anyhow. Cherry’s face remained set in the same smile, but somehow Simone was sure the other woman had noted the half-moons of dirt underneath her fingernails, the scatter of dirty dishes visible in the sink, the cloth across them like a soggy wick.
She squared herself in the doorway. No way was she asking this woman in for coffee. She didn’t want that appraising blue eye noting the stack of boxes, the unfolded laundry heaped on the sofa, already marked with a cat-shaped divot.
“I’m still in the middle of unpacking,” she said.
“I saw you out on the balcony on my way over,” Cherry said. “Of course, you want to make sure they all have saucers or some other water catching dish underneath them,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll get marks and the Board will fine you.”
Her tone was edged with unfriendliness. It surprised Simone and she hovered in the doorway at a loss for words. Then Cherry’s smile re-shuttered her face. “I’m sure you will, but I’m on the Board and need to mention things like that.”
“Sure,” Simone said.
“I wanted to invite you to our next board meeting. We always need new voices in the community. You’re an owner, right? Not a renter?”
“That’s right,” Simone said. “Got a good price and it seemed like time to settle down.”
Cherry nodded in tight satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.” She looked at the hallway mirror past Simone’s shoulder. “Well, I see you’ve got plenty of work to do.” She turned and trotted down the stairs.
Simone felt the bounce of her steps. The two-story building was several decades old; you could always tell when someone was coming or going via the cement planks leading down to the courtyard between buildings.
“Bitch,” she said, half to herself as she closed the door. Turning, she stooped to pet the cat winding itself around her knees pretending not to be investigating the door’s opening.
Taco, as often happens, agrees with me.So Beyonce appeared at the VMAs and called herself a feminist. More than that, she stood in front of an enormous glowing sign saying “Feminist” in an image that’s exploded across the Internet.
I think that’s pretty darn cool. Because I am so tired of what’s been done to the word feminist by those who oppose it, the redefinition of it to a hateful caricature. I taught Women’s Studies for a while and time after time, smart, fierce, wonderful young women would say to me, “I’m not a feminist, but…” and then something aligned with feminism would come out of their mouth. And it made me want to weep, every time, that the word had been recast to the point where they did not want to be identified by it.
I read a piece today that said, “Before you call her a feminist, know she’s voted Republican!”
So what? Does that author really think there aren’t Republicans who are feminists? Another piece said OMG she poledanced in a music video. Again, so what?
Feminism isn’t about policing other people’s expressions of sexuality. It’s about being able to make choices. It’s about a view of the world that says women are human beings as much as men are (which sometimes hasn’t been the case in the past, and which, sadly, some people still believe today). It’s about being able to fuck if you want and not be labeled a slut just as much as it’s about being able to choose not to fuck and not be labeled frigid or aberrant. It’s about neither gender getting relegated to pink or blue, but being able to choose whatever they want, including pink and blue and purple and black and white and whatever shade you like. It’s about getting out of all the sad and narrow little boxes that our world tries to shove us into on a constant basis.
It’s about saying yes. Not saying no. Unless you want. Or maybe you say maybe. That’s okay. It’s about women being able to make a choice.
Here’s a useful passage from the Geek Feminism Wiki:
