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The Spontaneous Knotting of an Agitated Awards Process

Image of a baby two-toed sloth, taken at the Sloth Sanctuary in Costa Rica.
This is a baby two-toed sloth. I figured it would be more appealing than an award logo.
Hugo nominations have opened and with that, an array of canvassing and promotion techniques have begun to be deployed, which will no doubt continue until the actual awards are awarded and everyone can briefly calm down before a new season begins.

The thing I’m not fond of, which has arisen in recent years, is the idea that one should vote according to one’s politics, and plunk down a vote for the “right” books without bothering to read them. Some people like to justify this by pointing to something that is undeniably true — the award is often less often the expression of the opinion of SF fans overall than that of a small subset of those fans and sometimes — perhaps even often — popularity, access to high-traffic websites, or other factors not related to quality of writing affects those results. In these cases, that’s usually used as a justification for throwing the votes in what’s perceived in the opposite direction.

And my reply is this: FFS, people, read stuff and vote for the stories you like, the stories which YOU find well-crafted and appealing. Go download the excellent Campbell sampler that Marc Blake has been putting together each year and take the time to read through it. Look at the ‘year’s best’ lists. Ask people what they liked that you might. Look at the five kerjillion “here’s what I have eligible this year” posts, particularly if you have a favorite author and want to make sure you don’t miss anything by them.

But read it and apply your standards to it and then vote for what you thought was the best story/novella/whatever. Anyone telling you to vote any other way, anyone offering their work and saying “you should vote for this because we belong to the same category” rather than “I hope you’ll vote for it if you like it” has an agenda that is not at all about quality of writing.

Yes, there are “taste-makers” — critics whose likes and dislikes are listened to, and often used for guidance. But those folks fall all over the spectrum and the answer, if you think there’s not someone representing your particular niche of opinion is to become one yourself, by putting your opinion out there articulately, clearly, and interestingly, which is the very same process by which those taste-makers got to that position.

You may well not agree with a particular award’s results. Opinions are like…well, you probably know how that saying goes. There’s plenty of room in a world this size for a vast array of opinions. But when a piece you didn’t like wins an award, saying that it did so because of politics comes off as soreheaded sour grapes more than anything else. Let’s face it, a shitty, badly-written piece has an awfully steep (but again, admittedly not impossible) hill to climb before accumulating the avalanche of votes something needs to win one of the major awards. But assuming that because you don’t like something no one else is justified in liking it is narcissistic egotism.

Want to see the stuff that you like on the ballots? Nominate it, vote for it, spread word about it on social media, through reviews, and via blog posts or other writings. Work at that, not trying to handicap the other candidates just so yours can limp home. And read stuff and decide for yourself, don’t just take the slate of predigested candidates someone has prepared so you don’t have to read any of that nasty conservative/liberal/whatever prose and actually think for yourself. Read all over the spectrum, not just one color. You’re shortchanging yourself of some good stuff otherwise.

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The Inevitable Award Post

I have been noticing a lot of these over the last couple of months, and I was going to skip it, but then I was totting up the publications from last year, and I’m proud of the fact that I had 19 stories published.

They are all either short story or flash (Swallowing Ghosts, Futures, Lost in Drowsy Dreams, The Forbidden Stitch) and are eligible for various short story awards. There’s some favorites from last one (marked with *), but the one I’m hoping will get some notice is “Long Enough and Just So Long” which appeared in Lightspeed in February, 2011.

Here are links to the online stuff:

Long Enough and Just So Long – Lightspeed, SF

Love, Resurrected – Beneath Ceaseless Skies, fantasy
Pippa’s Smiles, Swallowing Ghosts – Daily Science Fiction, fantasy
Bots d’Amor – Abyss & Apex, SF
Karaluvian Fale – Giganotasaurus, fantasy
Whose Face This Is I Do Not Know – Clarkesworld, horror? sf? fantasy?
The Immortality Game – Fantasy Magazine, fantasy
TimeSnip – Basement Stories, sf
Lost in Drowsy Dreams and The Forbidden Stitch -10 Flash , fantasy
Futures – The Dream People, sf? fantasy?
Zeppelin Follies – last issue Crossed Genres, sf

I am happy to send the stories not available online to anyone reading for Hugos, Nebulas, Tiptree etc. They are:
Close Your Eyes – Apex Magazine, horror
A Frame of Mother-of-Pearl – Intergalactic Medicine Show, fantasy
A Querulous Flute of Bone – Tales From the Fathomless Abyss, sf
Flicka – Subversions, sf
The Coffeemaker’s Passion – Bull Spec, fantasy
Aquila – Shadows and Light II, sf

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Clarion West Write-a-thon Progress: How Deep Is Red

Kittywampus
Kittywampus
As many know, I’m participating in this year’s Clarion West Write-a-thon. Last week I let people choose the title of the story I’d write for the write-a-thon’s first week, and the people’s choice was “How Deep Is Red”.

So here’s a chunk from this morning’s writing so far. The story will be the sequel to “Sugar”, which is available in Eyes Like Sky and Coal and Moonlight. If you’re interested in getting to see the whole story, then I invite you to support me in the Write-a-thon! I’ll be sending a weekly e-mail that will include the stories that I write for the Write-a-thon over its six-week course, so for a small donation, you’ll be getting what I’d like to think of as high quality fiction. 🙂

Laurana used a bowl of mercury to watch her lover’s battle. The thick, silvery liquid showed the ships from above, a fat-bellied Tabatian merchant, and the two pirate ships, lean-lined and fanged with cannon, converging on it from either side, the wind behind them making them race forward.

Tiny toy ships. The name of the merchant was Saffron Butterfly The pirate ships bore no names, only figureheads of women, one with a flaming skull for a head, the other with bracelets and necklaces of snakes. Flame’s Kiss and The Serpent.

The liquid didn’t transmit sound. For that Laurana relied on imagination: the deep-throated boom of the guns, the crash of cannon balls, the shouts of despair and defiance.

The Kiss neared the merchant. Laurana leaned forward, trying to find Cristina among the mass of pirates: some readying spidery hooks and ropes, others with hackbuts raised and aimed, all braced for collison, another sound dependent on Laurana, whose mind rendered it down to the taste of salt on one’s lips from the relentless wind, the crash louder than anything one had ever heard. There. A purple bandana tied across orange curls. Cristina, swinging herself aboard the pirates’ prey.

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