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A Wayward Wormhole Origin Story

Have you ever had a ridiculously lofty desire buried so deep in your psyche that you’ve never mentioned it to anyone?  That’s what the Wayward Wormhole is for me.

Immersing myself into a world of writers where everyone is as obsessed, driven, and crazy about language and story for weeks at a time is my ultimate happy place. That passionate kiss of at a three-day conference only stoked my desire for more. I applied to some of the greats: Clarion and Odyssey and vowed to apply to Viable Paradise and Launch Pad as schedule and finances permit, but I’ve yet to receive an acceptance from any of them. Is that a reflection of my writing? Maybe…but they’re all incredibly popular and competitive. The sheer talent from the other applicants is intimidating. I’m not a natural. I’m a writer who makes all the usual mistakes and has to fight my way up the rejection ladder. On the flip side, I love learning about writing, and I’m damn stubborn, so I’ll keep going as long as I’m having fun.

Tired of waiting for an acceptance and finding that I aged with every passing year, I started giving myself an education from the many instructors that graced the workshops I wanted to attend. That’s where Cat Rambo came in. Their Academy for Wayward Writers was the perfect training ground for my struggling career as a writer. They brought in Tobias Buckell, Michael Underwood, Sarah Pinsker, Ann Leckie, Kate Heartfield, and Jamie Lackey, not to mention all the classes put together by Cat themselves. And it was great.

But it still wasn’t the deep end I dreamed about. Then, one day all the time spent on Cat’s Patreon and Discord brought the opportunity of a lifetime—a month of November—an intensive workshop in Spain. Was anyone interested? I was. Did she have a location? No. So I looked for one. I found a castle (A CASTLE!).  The next step was financial viability—was a venture like this something that could at least pay for itself? Spreadsheet time. The numbers said it could. We wouldn’t get rich, but we could offer a new, high-level intensive writing workshop offering access to exceptional instructors, and bring together fellow writers who were as eager to help each other succeed as you are to helping them. That’s what it’s all about!

Cat received a good deal of flack over the location’s lack of accessibility, and that was my fault. To anyone who wanted to attend and couldn’t, I can only apologize and say we are committed to doing better with each upcoming workshop.

Spending last November with Cat Rambo, Ann Leckie, Sarah Pinsker, and Tobias Buckell, along with eleven excellent writers in their twenties, thirties, fifties, and up, from four different countries, gave my confidence a much-needed boost, and with that, my writing leaped forward. We’re kept the Ride or Die Writing Group together in 2024, and students are getting published!

Cat Rambo has an amazing array of friends in the SFF community. They’ve all experienced her kindness, generosity, and balanced sense of right and wrong.

We’re heading to New Mexico this November with Arley Sorg, Minister Faust, Donald Maass, C.C. Finlay, plus a slate of students eager to repeat the magic from last year.

I can’t believe this is my life. Maybe we’ll see you there one day!

One Response

  1. From Cat’s side of things: Janet made the Wormhole happen, and I absolutely couldn’t have done it without her. Wait till you see what we have cooked up for 2025 – I just got the email confirming one of the instructors and I am SO stoked.

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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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From Today's Writing

Working on a dieselpunkish piece, tentatively entitled “The Blue Train.” People may notice I tend to skip around a bit on project. By my guess, I think I’ve got about a dozen pots boiling at any given time, and at least two of those, right now at least, are longer works. I think this one will end up a reasonable length of around 5k, though.

By six PM, his lordship was up and ready to be shaved and dressed. I had sandwiches sent up, something to tide him over till he went out. His haggard eyes were pouched and heavy as though he hadn’t slept.

“Where to tonight?” I asked as I stirred the lather, smelling of bay rum, and spread it over the black shadows on his jawline.

“Jenkins,” he said. “He’s set up some sort of game in his car on the train. Says it will be novel.”

“Novel” is not a word one likes to hear from an older vampire. So often their ideas of novelty involve pain.

“Have the front desk call me a taxi.” He studied his lapels, fingering the wide black expanse, before he held out an arm and I placed his watch, freshly wound, on his wrist. Gold, not silver. A showy piece, but one vampires would appreciate. They like gaudy on other people.

He looked at me. “Do you want to come?”

He hadn’t asked me that before. It wouldn’t be anything new to have me there waiting on him while he gambled, but previously I’d avoided the vampires. They like nonhuman blood more than human and they’re not hesitant about feeding on servants. Would his presence keep me safe?

But there were tired blue shadows under his eyes. He needed backup. He needed a friend there.

His servant would have to do.

It’s been fun, but lots of research in an era I haven’t done much with. Otoh, the point of divergence from our own is almost a century earlier so lots of leeway.

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