New Story: If Only Kissing Made It So

“If Only Kissing Made It So,” my story about boys kissing and possibly time travel, is live at Cast of Wonders today, narrated by Max Gladstone.

Yes, that Max Gladstone. To say this was a pleasant surprise would be whatever is more under than under in understatement. I’m just saying: the email listed the narrator, and then I did a few double takes and at least one “wait, for real?” I did not do a spit take, because I am professional and have composure. And also I wasn’t drinking anything.

Also also: Gladstone knocks it out of the damn park. So.

It’s appropriate to get an awesome surprise as this story finally makes its way in the world, since that’s what this story was.

I’ve talked before about my decade and change of writing nigh-on-nothing. “If Only Kissing Made It So” is the primary exception. Before I finally managed to drag myself back into the thick of things, I made a largely abortive attempt several years prior.

Attempt is probably a mischaracterization. It suggests there was a lot of maturity and willpower. The first draft of this story was more what happened when my story brain crossed its arms and refused to eat anything because oh my god that is so groooossss, and I told it dessert was available if it would just try one bite of everything on the plate.

I pretty much never go into a story without expectations for what it might be, but this time I did. I sat down, set a timer for twenty minutes each morning, and wrote whatever the hell came out. I think the first day or so wasn’t even narrative. I vaguely recall things like “what am I even doing this is stupid” and “you will never write anything else, no you shut up” on those pages. Eventually, after much eye rolling and sighing and assorted other protestations from my story brain that it hated all of this and I couldn’t make it change its mind, we got to “If I’d known Lucas Medina had rung the doorbell, I would have thrown on a good shirt.”

No, that isn’t the first line of the story now, but part of that is because I had no idea what the first line was, because I didn’t even know what the story was. Lucas showed up, and there was awkward interaction and trying to tamp down on crushing and then, eventually, story brain looked up and said oh wait, what if we did this. And I tried not to smile visibly when story brain started eating like macaroni and cheese wasn’t the only acceptable meal.

As I mentioned, this wasn’t the triumphant return to regular writing it sounds like. When I finished the first version of this story, I subbed it to exactly one market. When that editor failed to marvel at the wonders offered, story brain went to its room, slammed the door, and sulked for several more years while Lucas and Marty sat abandoned on my hard drive.

Though, obviously, we did eventually reach a day when story brain came back out to play. And when it did, and Submit All The Things Dammit brain joined in, “If Only Kissing Made It So” got to see daylight again, and now it’s made friends with the lovely folks over at Cast of Wonders.

So, if you haven’t already, it’s not too late. click on over and join the loop.


Story About Not Letting Go Returns

Hey, so happy surprises in the new year. “Blood and Water,” my story that dropped from Cast of Wonders in May of last year, is back again as a 2017 Staff Pick. It’s always nice to get another spotlight, and Marguerite Kenner’s new commentary is the kind that gives me all kinds of writerly warm fuzzies.

If you didn’t have a chance to read / listen before, now you’ve got a second chance and more options. Huzzah!

Monsters On the Internets

So I fell off the wagon with doing story posts, but in a turn of good luck, “Drowning Joys,” from the second issue of Aliterate recently made its way to the Aliterate site, so for anyone who didn’t buy the issue, it’s new to you, which is an excuse I’m fine exploiting for some new wonk.

The origins of this one are, honestly, pretty simple: I wanted a story where no one wondered for a minute if that jerk who walks around telling people to smile was, out of the gate, the villain, because fuck that dude. The problem is that the story I started with wasn’t much of anything: smile-guy wound up eaten after asking the wrong person to smile, the end. Cathartic, sure, but it didn’t really serve as much more than some dark wish fulfillment.

But then I thought, well, what if smile-guy is the monster? I mean, all the smile-guys are monsters, but I mean the kind of monster entire cultures write warning stories about. A vampire seemed obvious (smile = teeth = fangs, you get the idea). And since smile-guys are a breed one hopes is maybe dying out, I wanted a monster that didn’t get quite as much pop culture play.

Enter Callum the Kelpie, sexy murder horse with more swagger than he deserves and a history of judging humans for failings he may be just as full of:

Still, when a wild stallion’s coat and mane are fine and strong and carry a whiff of the river far from shore, you’re courting death to touch his hide as well you are to eat dark berries when you can’t tell black nightshade from deadly. If you’re eager enough to survive, you learn the difference. If you’re not, then it’s hardly fair to ask the world to write clearer signs for you.

And by maybe I mean pretty much guaranteed. He’s still opens up with that damn “give us a smile” line, after all.

On Well-Wishing: A Parable

Imagine for a moment that you’re a personal assistant, and further, that you share the same birthday as your boss.

You’re totally excited for your boss’s birthday. They’re a wonderful person. They pay you well. They even give you your joint birthday off.

But every year in the days and weeks leading up to your birthday, every call, every office visit, every delivery comes with someone saying “Tell your boss Happy Birthday!” There’s nothing wrong with it, though after a few years of it, you do feel a bit invisible.

So you decide, hey, it won’t hurt, so when people say “tell your boss Happy Birthday,” you good-naturedly respond. “Of course I will. It’s my birthday, too!”

Some people say happy birthday back to you.

But then you get that person who snipes back, “I’m RSVP-ing to your boss’s party, not yours. What, am I supposed to go to a birthday party for you, too, at the same time?”

And you calmly tell them, “Well, no. You should go to the party for the person you’re celebrating.”

“Do you hate your boss?”

“No, they’re great.”

“But you need me to wish you a happy birthday, instead.”

“No. I don’t want to take away. I just figured, in addition, since we were in a celebrating mood–”

“Why does this have to be about you?”

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Tell. Your. Boss. Happy. Birthday.” And they hang up.

You mention this to your boss, who brushes it off. “Honestly, you should just assume that anyone wishing a happy birthday is wishing it to both of us.”

“Even when they say it’s just for you?”

“Totally. That’s what I do.”

“Do people tell you to wish me a happy birthday a lot?”

“Not really.”

After this, there are people who remember, who say “Happy Birthday to you both,” which is not only just as easy to say, it’s a little breath of fresh air in the flurry of the other people. But when people only wish your boss the happy birthday, you know, thanks to your boss, that it’s really for both of you.

Kind of. But not really.

What’s this little parable got to do with anything? Probably nothing.

In any event: Happy Holidays.

There’s Always (More Th)a(n One) Woman

I’m perpetually behind in my reading, so it’s only just now that I got around to listening to Aimee Ogden‘s “The Forty Gardens of Calliope Grey,” which went up on Cast of Wonders several months ago. Spoilers for anyone who’s similarly behind, but there’s no way to talk about the positive buttons this pushed for me without them. You’ve been warned.

The story premise is intimate and simple: small gardens have a tendency to find Calliope, sprouting suddenly in teapots and baking dishes, thriving in all manner of tiny spaces throughout her cozy apartment. Then one day, a garden goes missing. But even after Calliope retrieves it, the garden seems to want to leave her for the teenage girl downstairs. Cue angst.

As with most things, the wonderful bits happen here in the execution. Not least of all in the way Ogden deconstructs the notion of the Kick Ass Woman.

No, nobody enters into fisticuffs. I’m talking, instead, about the idea that there is only ever one Kick Ass Woman, where kick ass is a stand in for “really good at something.” We see it all the time: an ensemble of male characters of varying abilities and specialties, and the The Woman, who is better at her one thing than any other man (for which: hooray), but who also seems to be the only woman around who is competent at anything, much less her kick ass thing.

And should another woman show up, she will either be completely artless so as to show us our woman’s kick ass-ness, or she will be kick ass on exactly the same vector as our woman. In which case, what must inevitably ensue is a showdown to prove who’s really the kick ass one and who’s the pretender who will give it all up.

Because, of course, there can be only one. It’s yet another riff on the stale maiden-mother-crone paradigm no one who’s made it through high school English can avoid learning, and for which there is no real male parallel. This isn’t just a fictional trope, though. It’s a trope built on a persistent societal thread, that women are replaced by “the younger model.” That unlike men, women aren’t competing against their entire field, only against their fellow women for those limited spaces available to them.

And for a moment, as Calliope worries that the loss of one of her gardens will inevitably lead to the loss of more, to the loss of all, that if she shares the thing that makes her feel the most wonderful with another woman, she will lose it to her, I’ll sheepishly confess I worried the same thing. Like Calliope, I wasn’t sure where this was all headed. Like Calliope, I fell right back on that tired societal trope that told me if a new, younger woman was showing up with a similar skill, things could only end if one of them soundly trounced the other.

Ogden has other ideas. And she’s had those ideas from the beginning. The story’s resolution isn’t a twist so much as an object lesson in paying attention, in the reminder that worldbuilding isn’t just atmosphere, it’s integral to story. We know that gardens have been finding Calliope for years, that the number of gardens has been growing. There is literally nothing to suggest that one garden departing changes this fact. But because we’re ensnared in a binary, in societal notions that one woman can’t succeed unless another woman fails, we ignore logic and reason and facts.

The author doesn’t, though, and the result is an incredibly kind surprise as the story takes its final turns, and a reminder that, like surprise gardens, life isn’t nearly so restricted as we’re wont to believe.

Resist Share 2

For real, last night resistbot actually texted me on its own to remind me this Cassidy-Graham horror show is still on the horizon. On the upside, I’ve used it enough to have unlocked the ability to actually specify which congress person I want to send to. That means I no longer have to try to come up with something that expresses my ire without making it sound like I think poor Bill Nelson has supported the garbage pile of this perpetual repeal attempt. Here was last night’s first Rubio-only fax:

I faxed yesterday, but then I wandered by your official Twitter feed, where your staff wanted us all to see just how supportive and giving you are of the victims of Irma.

I cannot fathom how you can claim sympathy and support for Americans suffering from the force of nature which is a hurricane, but spare none of those emotions for Americans suffering similarly inescapable tragedies such as cancer, type 1 diabetes, or (to bring us back around) long term medical requirements due to injuries sustained in this hurricane and its aftermath.

The Cassidy-Graham legislation on deck to decimate the ACA is the exact opposite of the support you’ve pledged to aid your fellow Americans. Whether it’s removing pre-existing condition protections outright, or encouraging insurance companies to price people with them out of reach, the result is the same: robbing some of the most vulnerable Americans of the help they need to survive.

Please, stop posturing about empathy and unity and start doing something to actually create empathy and unity.

Vote NO on the Cassidy-Graham repeal legislation. Stop engaging in partisan power plays and reach across the aisle to make actual improvements to the ACA. Build, don’t destroy.

Resistbot Share

Some day I’ll sit down and actually talk substantially about the sorts of things I find overwhelming re: anxiety, but let’s just start with the fact that talking on the phone, especially confrontation on the phone, leaves me quite literally breathless. I’m a writer for a reason: my brain works a whole lot better (or at least feels a whole lot better, which I recognize may not be the same thing) when I can compose, consider, revise.

Which is why I’ve been in love with resistbot. Disclaimer: I am well aware of the fact that phone calls have a more sizable impact than pretty much every other kind of contact with a legislator. I also realize that faxes are still doing more than staring at my phone incapable of hitting the “dial” button.

In any case, my faxes aren’t what you’d call short. When I said I like to compose, I meant it. So I decided maybe I’d share them here, in case anyone else is (1) considering Senate contact (if you are and are capable, I cannot encourage you enough) and (2) under the notion that seeing someone else’s ideas and objections might help solidify their own. Here’s my latest (actual fax was preceded by my name and location to prove constituency):

While Floridians and Texans are trying to piece together their lives after the destructive forces of Harvey and Irma, Senate Republicans are trying to rob people of their access to healthcare with the current Graham Cassidy legislation. Again. Still.

I cannot believe I am contacting my senators again about the same horrific, partisan, power-before-people legislative choices. Correction: I believe it, I just cannot properly express just how disappointed I am in the basic lack of humanity shown by the Republican Party.

As before, as ever, I cannot express strongly enough my complete and total opposition to the Graham Cassidy monstrosity which once again threatens the most vulnerable among us.

In the wake of natural disasters, as we have all seen how precious and fragile life is, I urge you to vote for the nation that came together in support of their fellow Americans, that redistributed its resources to help those in dire need.

Vote NO on Graham Cassidy, urge your fellow senators to work on ACTUAL improvements to the ACA, and to abandon this phyrric war which puts showing power at all costs above using power to HELP our fellow Americans.

I continue to watch, and will be sure to use my voice and put my vote to work based on what I see.