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This is what I’ve been working on today. It’s a lot closer to being done that it was.
This is how Renee lost her phone and gained an obsession.
She was in the park near work. It was a sunny day, on the edge of cold, the wind carrying autumn with it like an accessory it was trying on before settling for it for good.
She set her phone down on the bench beside her as she unfolded her bento box, levering back metal flaps to reveal still-steaming rice, a quivering piece of tofu.
Movement caught her eye. She pulled her feet away as a creature leaped up onto the bench slats beside her, an elastic band snap’s worth of fear as it grabbed the phone, half as large as the creature itself, and moved to the other end of the bench.
The bento box clattered as it hit the concrete, rice grains spilling across the grey.
She’d thought it an animal at first, but it was actually a small robot, a can-opener that had been greatly and somewhat inexpertly augmented, modified. It had two corkscrew claws, and grasshopper legs made from nutcrackers to augment the tiny wheels on its base that had once let it move to hand as needed in a kitchen. Frayed raffia wrapped its handles, scratchy strands feathering out to weathered fuzz. Its original plastic had been some sort of blue, faded now to match the concrete beneath her sensible shoes.
The bench jerked as the robot leaped again, moving behind the trash barrel, still carrying her phone. She stood, stepping over the spilled rice to try to get to the phone, but the leaves still on the rhododendrons thrashed and stilled, and her phone was gone.
Enjoy this sample of Cat’s writing and want more of it on a weekly basis, along with insights into process, recipes, photos of Taco Cat, chances to ask Cat (or Taco) questions, discounts on and news of new classes, and more? Support her on Patreon..
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Altered America series: These are steampunk stories, and include Rappaccini’s Crow, which originally appeared on Beneath Ceaseless Skies. Previously unpublished Her Windowed Eyes, Her Chambered Heart is part of that series, and so are two stories that are yet to come: “Laurel Finch, Laurel Finch, Where Do You Wander?” and “Snakes on a Train”. You can see some of the images inspiring the stories here on Pinterest. Currently in progress is “Blue Train,” which takes place in this world although over in a France beleaguered by fairies, vampires, and werewolves.
Tales of Tabat series: These fantasy stories are set in a world I often write in, and so I won’t list all of them. Most have been previously published. Right now the only ones up are “Narrative of a Beast’s Life” and “How Dogs Came to the New Continent.”
Women of Zalanthas: I’ve written a number of stories based on Zalanthas, the world of Armageddon MUD, so I’ve put them together. Right now, stories up include “Aquila’s Ring“, “Karaluvian Fale“, and “Mirabai the Twice-lived“. Others to come include “Besana Kurac” and the title story from Eyes Like Sky and Coal and Moonlight.
The Villa Encantada series: None of these urban fantasy stories are up yet, but there’s a slew of them, primarily horror. Slightly related to them is previously unpublished horror story, “Jaco Tours.”
SF Stories: I haven’t made the SF stories a series because there’s no real link between most of them. Up so far are “Grandmother“, “Tortoiseshell Cats Are Not Refundable“, “Five Ways to Fall in Love on Planet Porcelain,” “Bus Ride to Mars,” and “Elsewhere, Within, Elsewhen.”
Remember that if you want fresh stories from me each month in your mailbox, you can get them via my Patreon campaign.
#sfwapro
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I’m sorry. I really am. I know it’s a great story. But here’s some reasons why I’m not thrilled by your offer to let me read it.
I do read fast, but I have a lot to read. I’m reading for the Norton Award this year, which has meant an onslaught of books. I’m reading to stay abreast of the field and so I can make intelligent award nomination decisions. And I’m reading for my own pleasure.
You’re not asking me to read it, really, but also to critique it. That takes time, and even just a little crit is a piranha-like bite out of a day already besieged.
You’re asking me to do it for free. I charge to critique stories. Right now I’m not taking any, because I want to focus on my own work. The same goes for Kickstarters asking me for crits as donation incentives this year. I got bit in the butt with a bunch of these all at once, and it’s just not working for me. I’ll revisit this policy in 2015.
You may not want to hear what I have to say. A few years ago someone pressed a manuscript in my hands, and I took the time to go through it pretty thoroughly and explain why it wasn’t ready for primetime and what changes needed to be made. The recipient made it clear that he’d been wanting to hear praise and market suggestions. That was a bit discouraging.
I am not in a position to publish your story. If that’s what you’re hoping, I’m not currently editing a magazine and the couple of editing projects I have coming up are pretty specific in theme. It is extremely unlikely that I will read your story, shout “Huzzah!” and send it off to another editor saying they should buy it.
If you absolutely must have me read your story, you do have the option of taking my workshop. I offer plenty of classes and there’s new sections of both the Writing F&SF Stories and the Advanced Workshop opening soon.
This is hard for me because I have a difficult time saying no to requests. But they add up into vast piles of undone work that dampen all productive effort. So despite all the convulsions and pain this is causing my inner Midwesterner, who desperately wants to be polite… save us both the trouble and send it to your crit group. At least for now. Okay?
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What: The Serial Garden: The Complete Family Armitage Stories by Joan Aiken is a collection of children’s stories written by Aiken. The Armitage family moves through a landscape reminiscent of the England of the Pevensies or Would-Be_Goods and they have the same, non-cloying sweetness to them.
Who: Read this if you’re a MG or YA author looking for inspiration. Or if you’re a parent looking for some solid reading to share with your children..
Why: Read it because Aiken knows how to construct a short story. Look at how deftly she weaves in elements, tying them all up in endings that are unpredictable but ineffably right.
When: Read it in the evenings, as befits fairy tales.
Where and How: Read it if you’re in the mind for a little gentle silliness and the ghost of a governess conducting midnight lessons.
#sfwapro
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It’s the last week of the Clarion West Write-a-thon! Donate now and you’ll get the donors reward, a file in the format of your choice containing all the writing I’ve done over the course of the Write-a-thon plus a couple of bonuses.
Donate as little as a dollar and get (the package so far):
Even if you don’t want to sponsor me, check out some of the other fine writers participating in the Writeathon!
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I posted earlier that I’d had nineteen stories published in 2011, and John asked for some particulars. Here they are, in a post that tries to sum up what I -did- in 2011. 🙂
I finished two large fiction projects. The first was a collaboration where the other participant dropped out, and I ended up finishing the book. I would estimate that I wrote between 50-60 thousand words on this, and it went through two sets of revisions. It’s currently being shopped around.
The second was a reworking of an earlier novel into a trilogy. I mapped this out and divvied up the existing content, and finished the first volume, which involved about 70 thousand words of new content. A goal for 2012 is to finish the second volume. It’s currently being looked at by a publisher, and I think it’s the best thing I ever wrote, so I hope to sell it this year.
I did some editing work as well, which I’ll talk about at another time.
Statistics:
Number of submissions: 32 in 2011, which is actually much lower than (imo) it should be, and which I hope to double in 2012
Number of acceptances: 18
Most rejections garnered by an accepted piece: 10 for Flicka, which is a very odd story and ended up appearing in SUBVERSION. Also notable is Whose Face This Is, I Do Not Know, which appeared in Clarkesworld after eight other rejections (clearly I should have sent it to them much earlier, but I was thinking of it as a horror piece)
New stories written (not counting flash, which I did a bad job of tracking):
Last year was actually a little unproductive in terms of stories. This year I’ve already finished: 1) a 1000 word piece for a children’s market, 2) “Space Elevator Music” (flash), 3) “Love’s Footsteps,” a S&S piece that I’m reading at Confusion this week and then sending to BCS. I’ve got a slew of half-finished stuff that I’m taking to the con as well, because sometimes I get very productive during my solo time at cons.
In 2011, I pulled one story from a market who had had it way too long and got a nice note from the editor about how the wait would make the pro sale that much sweeter when I got it and letting me know that the more professional the market, the longer I should expect to wait. I moved said market to the top of my “do not submit to these people” list.
Stories that appeared in 2011:
*This is the story I am pushing for award notice, but other notables are “Whose Face This Is I Do Not Know” and “Love, Resurrected.”
Some notes on my submission process:
I have four criteria for market that help determine whether or not I submit to them, which are pay rate, reply time, whether they take e-subs, and how much notice they get. Something that’s high in one category may compensate for something in another category ““ Tor.com’s pay rate versus the slow reply time, for example, or the amount of notice F&SF gets versus the pain in the rear nature of printing out a paper submission (it has become the only magazine I’m willing to do this for, though).
Sometimes I send things to a specific market because I wrote it with them in mind. This is what happened with “Clockwork Fairies,” which appeared in Tor.com because the first market turned it down. Occurrences like this are not uncommon. I mention this only to increase my own mystique and make editors more eager to grab my stories when they appear, but I am afraid my prolific nature works against me in this regard.
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The sound of the car wheels whispering along the road meshes with Grandmother’s snores and the faint noise of my mother’s humming as she drives. She prefers not to have the radio on during long trips.
Inside the car, it’s cold as a mall midsummer. Cold as a clinic, a hospital, a morgue. I can’t quite see my breath, but I’m wearing a sweater, while outside it’s 97 degrees — according to the dashboard gauge. The air conditioner roars its displeasure as we roll down the highway.
We are traveling with my reluctant grandmother from Mullinville, Kiowa County, Kansas, where she has spent all her life, to a West Coast nursing home near the neighborhood where my mother and I both live. Behind us are: her house, now up for sale; her Chrysler, also listed in the local paper; and her possessions, which my mother and I will return to sort through in a week.
The landscape spreads out with the pancake flatness of Kansas around us. Cottonwoods trace the edges of a meandering creek and its unseen waters. Irrigation sprinklers spread out green circles only visible from above, where a ribboned contrail shows a plane’s progress. Shimmers of summer heat prelude our arrival, as though we chase an oasis that never manifests.
My mother glances over at me. “Can’t sleep?”
“I thought you might want company.”
“I appreciate it. Though I can’t say that the silence hasn’t been welcome.” She rolls her eyes expressively towards the back seat.
“I heard that,” my grandmother says. It is unclear whether she is talking in her sleep or responding, so we wait. More faint snores come from the back seat, so we go back to talking quietly.
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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."
(Fiction, short story) The thing is, I was never a hero. The first wave of aliens taught me that. The war with them – my older brothers became heroes there, one died in the stand-off at Ucer-25, and we never did discover what happened to the other. My parents celebrated them both, burned scarlet and gold candles that made the house smell like flaming trees and sulphur, every weekend without fail…
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