Yay! Yesterday the publisher dropped by to bring me the proof version of Near + Far. It is GORGEOUS. Absolutely GORGEOUS, managing to look modern but still have a touch of that retro, Ace Double feel.
So here’s NEAR, with fabulous art by Sean Counley:
The Near side of Near + Far. That's fabulous art by Sean Counley, pulled from "The Mermaids Singing Each to Each". Cover design is by Tod McCoy.
And FAR, cover art by the same artist.
And here's the Far side, by the same artist, referencing the story "Amid the Words of War."
One of the things I’ve been doing in preparation for the launch party at WorldCon is making jewelry using the interior art by Mark Tripp. Here’s a little sample of that. If you’ve attending WorldCon and attend the party, you’ve got a decent chance of receiving one, but no matter what, stop by and you will get something. 😉
We've tried a couple of different approaches to this, using both the black and white images as well as versions printed on colored paper.
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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."
The crescent moon is a fingernail mark pressed into the darkening sky. An anxious star tugs at it, trying to pull it up farther. Hands swim below the surface of the water. Birds cradled in the wickerwork of leafless branches eye the restless fluttering of the fingers.
Someone calls, but no one answers. Shadows sweep along the banks of the lake, pulled and stretched into awkward shapes by passing headlights. No one answers.
Someone walks and feels the dry stiff grass lace itself around their ankles, tracing lines of frost. The hands continue to crawl and the moon creeps up the sky.
No one answers.
Tin dancing mice revolve in the warmth of the kitchen. One watches the light of the moon as it moves down the blue stripes of the wallpaper. It marks the time with one ticking paw. The mice click and whir, dancing frantically, trying to forget that their clothes are only painted on.
The salt and pepper shakers, shaped like ears of corn, sit sullenly. Upstairs, sleepers move restlessly, their dreams escaping, leaking into the feather comforters.
The moonlight reaches the fifth bar of delphinium.
There is still no answer. Someone longs for the heated air of the kitchen, but instead sits on a bench and watches the movements of the hands. Fingers break the corrugated surface of the water and return to counting the pebbles in the silt below.
Ducks whisper among the reeds, revealing their secret journey. Their tickets are crumpled birch leaves, spiderwebs of veins eroded by the autumn rain, gilded by the guilty starlight. Someone takes one and tucks it in the pocket of their jacket, where it tangles with milkweed down.
The moonlight reaches the twelfth bar,and the mice spin slowly, regretfully, back into their boxes. The comforters are stained crimson and ebony with the dregs of dreams.
The hands swim like memories in the process of being forgotten. Someone waits, and no one answers.
Also accomplished: organized some of the study bookshelves. Here we’ve got F&SF writing stuff plus podcasting equipment (top shelf); lingusitics and writing (middle shelf) and WMST and lit crit (bottom). It’s nice being able to find books when I want to refer to them.So far I’m cranking along. Part of the impetus is a Thanksgiving trip, which effectively means I’ve got 20 days, not 30, to finish. But I’m well on track so far, with over 6000 words banked so far. Here’s some of them, taken from Hearts of Tabat:
“I need your help,” Sebastiano told Letha, “but oh”¦” His breath caught at the thought of her seeing what he had seen. “It is too much to ask.”
She came down the steps as he spoke, reached out and took his hand.
“Tell me,” she said, looking up into his face and the sound of the love and worry in her voice undid him. He collapsed to his knees, burying his face in her skirts, and sobbed like a child of five whose worst nightmare has come true.
She held him without speaking, let him sob away all the horror and terror of those moments and the coppery stench of the blood and the horrible way its sheen changed as it dried. Finally he drew away and she released him. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, pressing hard on his eyeballs, as though to extract what he had seen.
“A murder,” he said. “No, a slaughter, really. And they think it was a Beast.”
“Beasts do not murder,” she said. “They may kill in the moment, but they do not plan and enact such acts.”
“This one did. I think. I don’t know.” In his head he ran through lists. “Are there any creatures that thrive on death?”
“There are the Mandrakes, which suffocate and then try to put their infants in place of the human child,” she said. “There are the fairies, which sting so many travelers, but they must be provoked or drawn by injury, usually. You mean a creature that is fed by killing. That is not a Beast, Sebastiano. That is sorcery.”
He knew the truth of her words the minute he heard them. How had he not realized that before? Perhaps some clouding spell had overlaid the house? A golem, constructed by sorcery, using Beasts. Was that possible?
He must have spoken his thoughts aloud, because Letha replied to them, her voice tart as a winter apple. “Of course it is. What else does Tabat do with Beasts but use them to fuel magic?”
I’m also finishing up edits for the story that will appear next year in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, “Red in Tooth and Cog.” A recent publication is As the Crow Flies, So Does the Road in GrendelSong.
One Response
Wow, the book looks wonderful! And the promo things are pretty.