This short story about a woman and her appliance was originally published in Bull Spec.
Subscribe to my newsletter and get a free story!
This short story about a woman and her appliance was originally published in Bull Spec.
Want access to a lively community of writers and readers, free writing classes, co-working sessions, special speakers, weekly writing games, random pictures and MORE for as little as $2? Check out Cat’s Patreon campaign.
"(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."
I spend literally less than a day at home, then get a haircut in the morning and head off to Sasquan in Spokane with my bestie, the fabulous Caren Gussoff. I’ve posted my convention schedule here, and if you’re wondering what sort of SFWA events I’ll be attending, here’s a video about that:
I’m working on a blog post about how to create videos like that — it’s much easier than you think. But you should make time for the SFWA auction, because there are some frickin’ amazing and very much one of a kind things for sale, including authors doing your voicemail message, supplying creative profanity, critiquing stories, and Tuckerizing (including one award winning novelist’s very first Tuckerization ever.) And lots of signed books, including ones from Worldcon toastmaster David Gerrold, George R.R. Martin, and Guest of Honor Vonda McIntyre.
I’ll also be spending a good bit of time at the Wordfire Press booth — please stop by and say hi (and buy a book if you like — I’ll have copies of both my new novel and story collection Near + Far!). If you’re coming to the con and are a vegan or vegetarian, here’s a handy list of food options.
In various news, Rappacini’s Crow will be reprinted in the BCS Best of Anthology and Abyss & Apex has accepted a novella that Bud Sparhawk and I wrote together, “Haunted.”
Tor.com had a nice piece about the SFWA cookbook — I’ll have copies of that with me for sale and there will be copies at the SFWA table in the Dealers Room and in the SFWA suite.
Here’s a piece from what I’ve been working on lately, near the beginning of Hearts of Tabat:
“Why do you always pick this teahouse when you are troubled?” Leonoa asked.
Adelina’s eyebrow raised and she smoothed a hand self-consciously over the garnet silk of her blouse. “I wasn’t aware that I did,” she said. And then, with mock severity, “That is the peril of associating with artists, Gilly. They are often dangerously observant.”
Gilly laughed nervously.
“But it makes sense. At one point,” Adelina said, “I became convinced that I was aberrant.”
Leonoa gave her a sidelong glance, but Adelina continued. “I thought I was different from all the other merchant children of my age, in that they all seemed very concerned with some sort of invisible game of unexplained points.”
Gilly frowned in noncomprehension.
“They all cared deeply about this game, and part of it was caring what other people thought ““ or more importantly, said ““ about each other. And I, honestly and completely, did not care what most people thought of me. My mother, the nurse who had raised me until the age of thirteen, my poetry tutor”¦ I did care about what they said, but no one else.”
“You were a prodigy,” Leonoa said wryly.
Adelina shrugged. “Perhaps not a prodigy. But I was one of those children who are capable of discerning the layers of adulthood mysteries that were truly not mysteries at all but simply things that adults were either too busy or bored or whatever to explain or which they thought were inappropriate for children for some reason or another.”
“Was there a moment of revelation?” Gilly asked. Her eyes were downcast, her voice a little lower. She’s flirting with me.
Adelina checked Leonoa’s expression and the wry flicker when the little woman realized she’d been caught amused and watching.
Not this one. Ah, Vyra Serena, send me someone eloquent, who loves words and will woo me with them, not innuendos and touched knees.
“I was given a child’s catechism of the Trade Gods,” she said, pulling her leg away from Gilly’s as she sat back.
Gilly looked nervous in the way one sometimes does when anticipating someone else is about to reveal some overly religious sentiment. Leonoa, who had heard this story before, maintained a polite, amused silence.
“The Trade Gods are an analysis of the way the world works,” Adelina said. “The ebb and flow of coin, of trade, of wants and necessities. Everything is there in the religion, because that is what it is. It is not that a God who is the personification of Coinage or Surplus or Fairspeaking, walking the street, the way the ignorant speak of such things.” She rolled her eyes. “Every religion is that ““ a way of understanding and teaching about the world.”
“But there is a natural order to things,” Gilly protested. “Surely someone came up with that.”
Adelina shook her head, one quick definite shake. “Not at all. As you said, a natural order, one that could not but happen to arise. It is the only thing that could given the circumstances.”
Gilly chewed her lip in perplexity, trying to summon a reply.
“It is not so,” Leonoa said. “There is no natural order, just happenstance. The reason that Humans are elevated over Beasts is that we are more numerous and they have not been able to successfully ally.”
Gilly’s eyes widened.
“Please,” said Adelina. “Before you get us all hauled in for Abolitionism, at least lower your voice when making such pronouncements.”
Leonoa pursed her lips but took a silent sip of tea.
ETA: And HEY I am part of this great Women in SF Bundle through the end of the month. Catherine Asaro, Janis Ian, Nancy Kress, Vonda N. McIntryre, Linda Nagata, Jodi Lynn Nye, Mike Resnick, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, and Judith Tarr — holy smokes can you really pass that up when you can get all that for as little as $15?
...
Monday, I got up at 4:45 AM and drove over, first making sure I’ve eaten half a protein bar despite my stomach protesting the early hour. Because I’m always anxious about getting places late, I was there fifteen minutes early and got a chance to chat with the instructor, Carrie, a peppy woman maybe 10-15 years older than I. The gym’s fairly minimal: mats and bags. Four other women arrived, and we got started.
Shock number one. We’re learning self-defense, but this is also a fitness bootcamp with a hearty dose of circuit training included. I find the fact that I walk a lot and do a plank once every few days has totally deluded me to my state of fitness. This is brought painfully home during the jumping rope section. I haven’t done it in decades and simply cannot do more than a couple without hitting my feet. Still, I persevere.
We spend some time hitting and kicking the bags. It’s satisfying. I like it because it’s getting me used to the idea of using my body like that. This part of the drill is kinda killer, though, as we alternate hitting/kicking with things like push-ups, side bridges, and jumping squats.
It’s a long time before an hour is over.
Wednesday I get up at the same time, eat some yogurt, and decide I’ll walk over. Things are dark at 5 am, but not too bad, and I get there in plenty of time. We’ve lost one person and are down to four now. It’s much like the last session, particularly the humiliation of the jumprope session, but this time, somewhere in the middle of sit-ups, I find myself on the point of tears at how unfit I am and how painful all of this is. It’s unpleasant to the point where the thought of just apologizing and walking out flits across my mind. But again I persevere. Towards the end, we learn how to break free if someone grabs your arm, by always moving towards the spot where the resistance is least.
Afterward I walk home. It feels uphill all the way, and actually is, due to West Seattle’s geography. It’s highly unpleasant and I stride along grumpily wishing I’d driven.
Keeping that in mind, I decide to drive over on Friday. I’m surprised by the internal objections to going I’m feeling when I get up that Friday morning. What if it’s as bad as it was on Wednesday? What if it’s worse? I finally talk myself into it with a promise: if it’s that bad, then I will let myself quit after this session. Having managed my yogurt and drunk some water, I head over.
And it’s not as bad as I thought. I actually manage five jumps in rapid succession with the jumprope. (I do follow this triumph up by somehow managing to tangle myself in the rope to the point where I feel absurd and pray that no one is watching.) I’ve ordered my own online and it’ll arrive Saturday, so I can practice a little before Monday’s class. Overall I feel peppier than I have before, to the point where there are moments where I might actually be enjoying myself, such as the warm-up where we’re circling to the sound of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and the dodgeball session. Make no mistake, though, there’s still plenty of pain.
I leave feeling pretty good about the week. The class is one quarter over, and I think I’d be a bit better equipped if someone came at me. Next week includes the Ladies Basic Gun Training on the 4th so that should come with its own set of revelations, given that I grew up in a household where we were forbidden toy guns.
...