I’ve been a bit radio-silent for a while, and for that I apologize. Just like I do every time I go radio silent, I suppose. This writing thing, I’m telling you people. It is not for the weak of heart or the lazy. It just isn’t. Between some tight writing deadlines, some pretty rigid (but self-imposed) editing deadlines, and two conventions (to say nothing of the day-jobbery), I’ve been a bit busy. The upside of all this is that I have all kinds of fun stuff to talk about. Today’s installment: what’s been going on in my world of short fiction.

In a recent flurry of submissions, I got six stories out—two which are now picked up, and four which are in the waiting period. The two that got picked up were both written in the last month, and other than that, are about as different as you could get. One was the high-octane sci-fi story “By Gods Damned and Bounty Blessed” which will be appearing in the upcoming Bulldogs! Anthology. I encourage you to go toss some money at the anthology so they can add even more amazing authors to the book before it’s too late. My story involves a tough-as-nails bounty hunter on a quest for revenge. The other story is called “Bethlehem Glen” and is atmospheric horror set in the early 80’s in the wilderness of central California. I can’t tell you where it’s going to appear—that much is a closely guarded secret for now—or too much about certain elements. But I can tell you that it features a trio of hapless bank robbers and their prisoner.

And I can also tell you that, despite no deliberate planning on my part and having them set galaxies apart, both stories found an unexpected intersection on the theme of religion.

In my sci-fi story, a bounty hunter goes to collect a conman passing himself off as a messiah in a small mining community. She quickly learns that her partner, a new recruit on the ship where she is assigned, is a priest of a small, possibly heretical sect.

In the horror, I got to play with the concept of cults and communes that seemed to be everywhere in the seventies—especially in California.

Two stories, three religious traditions, no waiting.

And it was interesting to me how that theme played out differently across the two genres.

When dealing with matters of fantasy/horror, there is a certain automatic acceptance of things of a supernatural nature. So when you bring religion/spirituality into a story of this nature, there’s a certain amount of baggage. A person of faith can either make a huge impact, or his lack of impact can be seen as a critique on how religion is a sham, or even how his faith is lacking. But to the best of my (admittedly limited memory) it’s rarely there just as a meaningless background element.

But in much sci-fi, it’s either a bit of characterization (like hair color or accent), or absent entirely. I know I’m setting myself up for a barrage of people citing exceptions. I’d actually kind of welcome that. But I still maintain that religion in sci-fi is largely a matter of individuality, or a political overlay. I can’t think of a single instance of someone calling on their Gods and actually have them listen.

Compared to fantasy novels (or horror, where the Gods are less than friendly), where something might actually happen, it’s a huge difference.

Does this mean that effective religion, with divine powers and worship that has real effects automatically kick fiction out of sci-fi territory? Is there room in sci-fi for a devout character of faith who maintains that faith despite all scientific evidence to the contrary? And does this devotion make him noble or a fool?

I’m honestly not sure of the answers to that myself. But it does make me want to explore it more.
I touch on it in “By Gods Damned and Bounty Blessed,” where one character is a priest of The Gun Saint.
I guess in the future, it’s all about who you worship that gets you the results you want.

Again, I encourage you to check out the Bulldogs! Kickstarter. The kind folks at Galileo Games have put up a short preview of my story there. It only gets more insane from there. Like, fist-fight with a God insane.

And when I can announce where the horror story is appearing, I heartily recommend you pick that up too. I can say without fear of contradiction, it’s one of the creepiest things I’ve ever committed to paper. And for me, that’s saying a lot.

Pink Elephant

So in the interest of talking writing, let’s dredge out the old chestnut of scene descriptions. Specifically, let’s talk about something that’s real easy to overlook because we’re so used to seeing it, but that can be used to really sell the realism of a scene. Take a look at that picture, the glowing pink neon of the Elephant Car Wash. That sign is a landmark in Seattle. Most cities have something like that–several, in fact–roadside beacons designed to get butts in the door or sell product. Sure, anyone can toss in the Space Needle to show their story takes place in Seattle. But that doesn’t necessarily make it feel more real. Throw in the slowly-spinning Pink Elephant sign and you achieve two things–you’ve sold locals with your insider savvy, and for those who don’t know the sign, you’ve added a concrete detail that makes the place feel more real.

This works for Sci-fi and fantasy (though to a lesser degree, or at least different degree in primarily illiterate cultures). My story “Odd Jobs” in the Space Tramps anthology took place entirely upon a space station. Even so, there were commercial districts, and at one point, our protagonist books a hotel room. The name had changed since the last time he had been there, the old name painted over in color that was a close–but not exact–match to the surrounding walls, with the new hotel name in neon above it. Was any of this important to the story? Not really. But it was important in setting the sense of place.

Signs say a lot–not just their design, but their condition. Old brick buildings used to have signs painted on the sides, and many of these are now long out of date. A mention gives a place a sense of history–the faded name of a hotel that’s no longer there, the space now turned over to offices or apartments, a 24-hr coffee shop that’s been gone for decades and is now a small bar or boutique shop.

Different communities have exhaustive rules for what kind of signage is allowed, so give that a thought because it says a lot about the place. Are the signs lit from behind or carved or painted on? Are the list signs brightly colored or more muted? Huge and gaudy or small and tasteful. To you have the Bavarian-themed signs of Leavenworth, or Seattle neon?

Placement is important, too. Seattle has this huge Pepsi sign that’s somewhat of a landmark on Aurora. Thing is, it was built back when Aurora was known primarily as U.S. Route 99, the chief means of travel up the coast until the 60′s. Filled with neon tubing, it was a sight to behold. Though it’s still there, I don’t recall the last time the sign was lit up. It’s a poignant reminder of how people move on and patterns shift when big interstates connected the country.

For homework, I want you to look up next time you’re out and about. Pick out three distinctive signs/landmarks in your town. And for extra credit, what is one thing that the sign implies other than the name of the business or product?

Class dismissed.

Featuring "Odd Jobs"

My sci-fi noir story “Odd Jobs” leads off Space Tramps: Full-Throttle Space Tales #5 which goes on sale today. I’ve already read it, and it is a fun celebration of space opera fiction. Mine is a classic tale of fringe characters with uncertain motives, deals too good to be true, revenge, and a sex bot with a heart of gold. So I’m giving you a taste to whet your appetite. Here, have a few hundred words. On the house.

The bartender returned the smile. He left the bills on the bar. With a steady hand, he poured a pair of shots for the two of them. “Folks call me Chet. You got a name?”

Roscoe pursed his lips, wondering how much Iron Mike might have told this bartender. Considering the nature of his newfound employment was still very much undecided, he chose to play it close to the chest. “Haven’t you heard? Hull rats like me don’t have names anymore.”

It could hardly be further from the truth, of course. When a person had nothing, like most of the stowaways and drifters who scavenged for a meager existence in the bowels of the Django’s hull, a name was one of the few things they truly owned. He wasn’t surprised when Chet accepted the casual lie. The bartender would never understand what it was to live like vermin in the near perpetual darkness of the lower decks.

Chet lifted his glass, more focused on it than on Roscoe. “I got a tourist in here the other day, member of a delegation negotiating an embargo. He booked time with a consort bot I run. Like a sucker, I take cash. He went to town on my girl, and I have no way to collect on damages.”

Sunset, Greenwood

I knew formatting a document for publication was tough. Hours spent getting just one of 11 stories read for the anthology and I find myself having a conversation with myself, with the computer, with, it turns out, the offending document.

“So, we’ve decided that you’re going to be in Garamond. All the way through, from header to footer to everything in between: Garamond,” I say.

“Garamond. Got it. So, you selected it up top, right?”

I sigh. This is at least the tenth time we’ve had this part of the conversation. “Yes. I selected the entire document and chose Garamond as the font.”

“And?” The voice is tauntingly chipper. The document is either trying to drive me to madness, or has the short term memory of a Dave Mathews Band groupie.

“And? And nothing! It doesn’t change the font name in the drop-down menu. It should, because I’ve clearly selected all of the document. It stands to reason that it would then change all of the font.”

“Well, except for the hidden fonts,” it offers helpfully.

“Hidden fonts?”

“Yeah, there are probably a few hidden fonts in there. Might only be used by a single character. Heck. might even just be a space.”

“But a space doesn’t have a font…”

The document blathers on, oblivious. “Doesn’t matter. It’s there. Somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you. Did you go through the whole document looking for changes in the font as you went?”

It knows damn well I did. All 15 pages, character by character from front to back. Nothing. Then I selected the document page by page by page. They all said the same thing. Garamond. “I didn’t see it. It isn’t in the document. But if it isn’t in the document, then why does the font field remain blank when I select the whole document.”

“It’s just hiding. If you can’t see it, why does it matter?”

“Because the printer needs you in a different file type. And when I convert you, it says there are extra fonts. And that’s a show-stopper with the printer. They kick it back to us.”

The document laughs, just like it always does when we get to this point. “Wow! That’s some pickle! Wish I could help you! Have you tried copying all the text, pasting into notepad, then from there back into a clean document?”

Voice choked with tears, I manage a strangled, “Yes.”

“Ah…so no luck there.” There’s a silence as the document seems to be thinking of a solution. “Garamond, you said?”

“Garamond.”

“Hey, I know,” it offers helpfully. “Try selecting the whole document, then selecting the font you want up top! Maybe it will work this time!”

The scene goes dark to the sound of sobbing. Eventually, the editor will fall off into an alcohol-fueled sleep tinged by dreams where he finds the exacts a vengeance on the programmers who let this “feature” slip through. The vengeance goes on for a long time, and is too gruesome to be discussed in polite company. The editor smiles in his sleep, as if forgetting that the un-formatted document awaits him for another conversation tomorrow.

See, there is this knot of authors working on projects set in the city right now. And no matter how much I think I’ve fleshed it out, there are always going to be unanswered questions. It’s natural for them to come to me for answers, and the fun begins when I realize I don’t have an answer.

Because that’s when things get collaborative! And being able to figure out those answers makes the whole world richer.

For example, I got this text: “Where did the name Cobalt City come from?”

I’ll be honest with you here and now. I never gave it a moment of thought. I mean, I figured it was coastal, and water is blue, so I came up with a name that reflected that. But that’s a lame-ass reason for people in a real city to name something. Maybe one of the early settlers was Bob Cobalt, and he was a used canoe salesman. Maybe it’s something else entirely. A few of us, including the person who asked the question, talked it over at writing group. Cobalt is used for ceramics. By making Cobalt City an early hub of ceramics manufacture, it does all kinds of things for the world. For instance it gives us a ceramics museum in Cobalt. It gives us nice ceramics in old buildings – door knobs, for instance. It gives us failing companies as the industry changes, leading to shuttered industrial kilns for disposing of bodies. It gives us the possibility of someone trying to innovate and create ceramic armor. Harlequin, one of the villains (to appear in an upcoming Neighborhoods story) uses a ceramic-coated staff, and now that ties in cleanly.

I had another author ask me about sports teams in the city. I figured there had to be a few pro teams. I gave them an NBA team called the Cobalt Blue Blazers. There’s probably a baseball team and hockey team also, possibly both minor league, but they’re there. That neighborhoods story I mentioned? It involves basketball. So answering that question provided me with a story and a richer feel for the culture of the place.

And this morning, I was asked for details on the riverfront part of downtown, particularly what kind of industries were there. The ceramics thing had come up previously, so I was able to offer that up. And the sports arenas are there, as is a bit of warehousing, including rented cold storage facilities. This was all easily available, not because I had written it up in notes years ago when I stared the Cobalt City process, but because they had come out of discussions and development as part of a shared universe.

The best thing about working in a shared universe, at least for me, is the opportunity to be constantly inspired by the things other people bring to the table. For instance the word Cobalt has roots in the German “Kobold,” and there are a lot of immigrants from Germany, particularly in the Karlsburg neighborhood. Does that mean there are kobolds in the hill? Maybe humans weren’t the first people to settle there! Maybe there is a deeper, stranger history that we have yet to tap.

Only the future can tell us.

Well, the future and the five exciting projects we’re developing at Timid Pirate for 2012.

Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have to get back to the carnival before the Ringmaster realizes I’ve slipped out.

Cthulhu Abides. Green Arrow pint glass is optional.

Before this summer, I had edited one anthology: Cobalt City Christmas. It was a small affair, just a few stories written by me and four friends. Timeslip was a bigger anthology, but by then we had formed Timid Pirate Publishing, and the gifted Caroline Dombrowski edited that book. Then along came the Dark Carnival, and like the candy-colored-chaos of its namesake, this anthology is threatening to take my soul, leaving me a broken, sobbing wreck.

Now, before you call the authorities and have me shipped off to the Hemingway Home for Literary Wrecks, know that it isn’t as bad as all that. I’m not one of those “a writer must suffer to create” types, but I do know my limits, and I’m not there yet. I can see the rocks up ahead and I’ve eased back on the throttle.

Because if it were just the anthology, I’d be fine. But it’s never just the anthology, or the novel, or the new story. And this is where I discuss what I call the Two-Fold Lesson that is essential for success and sanity as a writer. Are you sitting down? #2 pencil at the ready? There will be a test afterwards.

In a nutshell, the Two-Fold Path is this. 1) When you say “Yes,” to a new project, bookkeeping to make sure you have the time to deliver is crucial. 2) Learn when to say “No,” to new projects and don’t be afraid to say it.
Let’s break that down a bit.

If you’re a creative person who consorts with other creative people (and if you aren’t I’d love to hear how you found this blog), then you are going to get ideas coming at you like Randy Johnson fastballs. (For you non-baseball readers, that’s real freaking fast. It’s also just about the extent of my baseball knowledge, so you’re safe to continue.) Every party, ever chat over coffee and donuts, every drunken Twitter chat, you’re going to hear or come up with an idea that you’d love to write. That’s excellent. It’s also a trap.

Did you know that ancient cultures used to make javelins out of lead? The reason was two-fold. (Coincidence? Damn right!) The tips would dent, making them impractical to throw back at the original attackers. But most importantly, they would get stuck in armor or shield of their opponent, weighing them down. New projects can be like that. Get enough stuck to you, and you’re as good as dead.

But if you track everything VERY carefully, you’ll be surprised what you can accomplish. I use a little pocket notebook and an online calendar to keep deadlines in mind with reminders of interim checkpoints. The real trick is to allow for extra time. Just because you blocked out four hours on a Saturday to write, doesn’t mean you’ll be inspired to write on that particular project. You might not be able to force anything worthwhile out of that time. It happens. And that story you thought you could knock out in a weekend turns into a half-finished piece that drags down your shield for a month, demanding to be finished.

A trick that I’ve used with some success in the past is to prioritize the projects. That way if you have to scrap something, even temporarily, you have some clear options. That neat idea about ghost bicycles that you want to write for a semi-pro market might have to wait while you focus on the story for the high-profile anthology with a hard deadline.

And this factors directly into learning when to say “No.”

Write down the idea for that ghost bicycle story. It isn’t going anywhere. Put it somewhere that you can find easily, and if another idea or two comes to you, something to tack onto that, put it in there as well. At some point it might take on an inertia of its own, but until then, a good idea is just that—a good idea and not the obligation to turn it into a finished project. Some projects have deadlines. There’s no way around that. But even that shouldn’t equal an automatic “Yes.” One of my heroes, Guillermo del Toro had this to say about big projects earlier this month at San Diego Comic Con:

“A lot of people who tackle big properties, they tackle them for money or career. But they don’t tackle them because they have a boner for it. I think you have to. You have to get a chubby to tackle. I think it’s very important to do things you absolutely love.”

And he’s absolutely right. Don’t agree to submit to an anthology just because you were invited to it if you aren’t jazzed about writing for it. There will be other anthologies, and if you got invited to this one, you’ll likely get invited to another. And if you try to force a story that you just don’t give a shit about, you might not make it into the anthology anyway. And you would have been banging your head against a wall for something you didn’t believe in. But if your reasons for wanting to write are along the lines of, “Holy crap lions, I have an idea that would be perfect for that! And I’ve been wondering what to do with it for months!” Well, that’s an entirely different kettle of fish, isn’t it?

By saying “No,” we free up our creative energies to work on the projects we really WANT to be working on. Even if there’s no market for that story. Even if it’s something you just need to write and put in a drawer for a few years to ferment. Ultimately, that will make you a better writer in a way that forcing something that takes you four times as long and isn’t as rewarding.

As for my own projects, I’m very excited to bringing Cobalt City Dark Carnival to completion soon. And I’m genuinely happy to be working on the other projects as well. Just today I received unexpected reminders that hard work pays off. In the space of a few hours, an interview I did with the wonderfully talented Angel Leigh McCoy went live, I found out that the Cobalt City Adventures Unlimited podcast made the finalist list for the Parsec Awards, and I secured a surprise guest blogger on my Fringe Candy post for Wednesday. Oh, and Sauza liked my Twitter-posted recipe for the Cthulhu Abides (1 oz Sauza silver, sour mix, 2 oz Kraken dark rum floater), so that’s a lovely surprise.

Most importantly, I finished a story last night just because I wanted to finish it. And tonight, I’m going to take it easy and celebrate my first year as a publisher. There’s always tomorrow to be busy.

Get your tickets. The Carnival is coming for you soon.

And then came yesterday.

Early in the process, Erik Scott de Bie proposed (possibly as a joke), that we should get a few of the authors from the anthology together in one room and write out a big showdown with the carnival. It was an insane idea. I mean, who does that?

Well, we did, for one.

Yesterday I weathered the rain to fetch a box of Top Pot donuts and descended upon base camp offered up by Rosemary Jones in her condo. She already had coffee brewing, Gods of Caffeine bless her heart. Dawn Vogel and Jeremy Zimmerman were next to arrive, followed shortly thereafter by Erik Scott de Bie. I had prepped a shared document for everyone to work in with a few pages of journal entry by the instigator of Cobalt City’s defense. I won’t name names, but for fans of Cobalt City, it is the perhaps the most unlikely of heroes. I wrote on behalf of the mission leader and dropped in a few markers to seed scenes and the final confrontation. I also gave up a few of the secrets of the Golden Apple Carnival and let them brainstorm a bit.

Then, fortified by coffee and donuts, they sprung into action writing the characters they worked with for the anthology.

It was like riding lightning at times. Writing with other writers is always fun. When you’re all helping to shape the same thing, it’s a whole other world. It was fascinating to think that the technology to do cleanly didn’t exist just a few years ago. And even then, we ran into a few crashes. I compared it to making a butter sculpture in a kitchen where Paula Dean was cooking: one minute everything is smooth, the next it’s all “Where’s the arm?”

#Wheresthearm became our hashtag rallying cry as we got booted and had to restart our browsers. Our other rallying cry, supplied by de Bie’s Stardust was #ihatemagic.

I’ve spent a little while shaping it today, fine tuning bits here and there, adding an extra action sequence for Wild Kat because she deserved it, and basically making this the most epic throwdown I think we’ve put in a Cobalt City anthology. Once I finish up the edits for the other stories tonight, I’ll go back in and add a bit more.

The Dark Carnival is coming together, mysterious and dangerous, and full of adventure. Cobalt City deserves nothing else.

Cody the Timid Pirate goes adventuring.

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. Sounds like the perfect time for an update!

• Writing: I took the initiative to re-prioritize a few projects, so that bought me a bit of breathing room. I have two stories out making the rounds and one I need to revise and resubmit. I have a project due for another publisher in a few weeks, but I feel in control of it, so no pressure there. I have one story I’m looking to finish for my own peace of mind, one I was invited to write for a super-secret project, and one I’m collaborating on for submission somewhere else. I’m still trying to find some time to work on the novel, but it’s been coming in fits lately, so fingers crossed I get back to it very soon. Oh, and I have a podcast script due end of the month as well. Wonder where I’ll be from now until, oh, 4th of July? Writing.
• Editing: I finished up a guest editing gig (which I’ll get to announce soon), and I’ll be hip deep in editing Cobalt City Dark Carnival for Timid Pirate when submissions close end of June. We still have a bit of room if you haven’t submitted yet. I’ve been promised stories for Libertine, Knockabout, and Gallows but haven’t seen them yet. And to the best of my knowledge no one is touching Archon, Huntsman, Louis Malenfant, or Gato Loco. I would love to see a take on any of th0se characters. Fingers crossed I see something else I like soon. Once I have the stories I need, I get to knit them together and work on a special project for the anthology with a few, hand-picked authors.
• Publisher: Marketing and promoting…always with the marketing and promoting. We’re looking at the budget and picking out which conventions to appear at. Most people who take a bite out of Timid Pirate like what they taste, and that’s reassuring. We just need to get more exposure, and figuring that out goes hand in hand with exploring new distribution models. A lot of work going on behind the scenes. A lot of planning. One thing I’m excited to have on the table — we’re looking to represent at Emerald City Comic Con in 2012.
• Random Geekery: I contributed to this awesome Kickstarter for an awesome RPG. I was fortunate enough to play an advance version of the game, and I’m psyched to see the book coming out soon. I’m looking forward to running a few random one-shot games at venues around Seattle in late summer, early fall. Around that time I’ll also be diving into the world of digital comics (as a reader, not a writer), with the relaunch of DC’s whole line. I grew up a DC fan in a time when all my friends were Marvel junkies. Sure, I read X-Men and the occasional Spider-Man book, but my heart was really with the big DC team books like Legion of Superheroes or Teen Titans (during the truly legendary Marv Wolfman / George Perez era). Seeing some of the things that DC is doing, I’m genuinely thrilled in a way I haven’t been about comics in a long time. While I feel there are some potential missteps, there are also a lot of things they’re doing right. I point specifically to historical books, teen books, folding the Wildstorm universe into the main DCU, and the return of a new Static series (Dakota City represent!).
• Music: On top of it all, there are two fantastic concerts coming up in the next month. I already have my tickets for Neko Case on July 10th, and The Damnwells are playing my favorite joint, The Tractor Tavern on July 22nd. Not a bad month for music at all!

I now return you to your regularly scheduled blog posts.

Horror in the key of Eeeeeee!

If you’ve ready my other, somewhat irregular Soundtrack for Writing posts (all conveniently located in the Music category on the right), you know the drill. I talk about writing, and how music from the mentioned artist has inspired various stories or writing breakthroughs.

That’s not entirely the case with Nirvana.

It’s not that I don’t like them. I appreciate their contribution to rock ‘n roll, and find several of their songs surprisingly well written. And there are a few that I downright enjoy – “Come as You Are” being the first one that comes to mind. But I don’t own any of their albums. Probably never will. Again, it’s not that I have anything against Kurt and the boys. I’m just not exactly a fan, and wouldn’t think to put on one of their albums if I did own one. The only likely exception would be their unplugged gig, but that would mostly be for their delicious cover of Bowie’s “Man Who Sold the World.”

And therein lies the inspirational root for my story “The Invitation” in Blood Bound Books “Rock ‘N’ Roll is Dead” anthology. (As an aside, I’ve read the whole book at this point, and though I’m loathe to review an anthology in which I appear, this is a damn good, genuinely spooky, and occasionally disgusting read. Check it out.) The call for submissions was looking for stories inspired by a specific song of the author’s choosing.

As often as my writing is inspired by music, how could I pass this up? The short answer: I couldn’t. I chose, not a Nirvana song (stay with me here, people), but one of my all-time favorite David Bowie songs. And probably not the one you expect. I picked “Rock and Roll Suicide,” primarily because of the impact it had on me the first time I heard it. I used to put it on a constant loop, listen to it six, seven times in a row if not more.

And when you think famous rock suicides, Cobain is generally one of the first names you think about. It should come as no surprise that his corpse turns up as the conversation partner for our protagonist in “The Invitation.”

Inspiration is a strange beast. Nirvana inspires me not because of their music, no matter how good it may or may not be. Nirvana inspires me because of the mythic feeling of Cobain’s death. He was such a part of the culture, so much a part of the public eye, (both of which might be responsible for his life-ending depression), that when he died, it made a huge impression. But what if he had wanted to make his death stand for something? What if he decided, “Well, I’m pulling this trigger anyway. Everyone is going to be looking and picking this apart. What message do I want to send? What do I want to stand for, be remembered for?”

My first Cobain-related story was called “Gospel Truths” and appeared in a long-forgotten college literary journal less than a year after his death. In it, I turned the front-man into a guy who wanted to change the world, and seeing the band’s popularity as the short-lived beast it was likely to become, arranged a Christ-like martyrdom during a live concert. Before the body was cold, the surviving band members split the scene with a box full of un-released songs filled with the lead singer’s political and social message.

But it’s the third piece that is the odd man out. A straight-up mystery novel set in Tuscon, AZ, it asks the question, “What if, after the end of Nirvana, Dave Grohl left music, moved to the desert to be close to his estranged family, got a few Boston Terriers, and when he got bored, solved an occasional mystery?” Not that it was Dave in my novel. In many ways, it was a wish fulfillment novel for me, where I got to own a motorcycle, a couple of adorable dogs, and not have to work again ever.

But for all intents and purposes it might as well have been Dave, which is sad, in a way. Because I enjoy the Foo Fighters more than Nirvana, and if Dave had retired to the desert, we never would have gotten “The Pretender,” which kicks ass. And who knows. Maybe that song will inspire a story from me somewhere down the road as well!

Looking for the Man With No Face

It’s not that I don’t write much science fiction. It’s more that I write across a wide swath of genre, so the love is spread pretty randomly. Looking back at the past year, it’s been mostly horror and urban fantasy. The last pure sci-fi story I wrote was “Deacon Carter’s Last Dime,” for Crossed Genres. That was a while ago. Even “Frames of Reference,” for the CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE URBAN KIND anthology last year was just as much horror as sci-fi. In fact, since it was contemporary, it was just as much a noir study as well.

So it was with a bit of surprise that Jennifer Brozek invited me to submit to SPACE TRAMPS: FULL THROTTLE SPACE TALES #5 by Flying Pen Press. I mean, the last story I had sent to her for the just-released HUMAN TALES from Dark Quest Books had freaking Brownies in it…you know, like sprites that help cobblers repair shoes. I’m not sure what she was thinking when she dragged me in to this. But damned if I didn’t have an idea.

I was just notified that my story, “Odd Jobs,” was selected for the anthology.

Because thankfully Jennifer likes noir as much as I do. This little piece could be set in Los Angeles in 1950 with no science fiction elements at all and still be, at it’s heart, the exact same story. But it is also, beyond question, a sci-fi story in its current form. I could even rewrite it with very few changes and make the exact same story work in a fantasy setting.

The thing is this: when I write, I’m telling stories about people. There are genre settings that revolve around time (sci-fi, western, fantasy), and there are genre flavors that are more atmospheric (noir, horror, mystery, action). I love being able to get the combination plate; a little from category A, a little from category B, and a side of stir-fry noodles. I’m thrilled to be able to share my far-future sci-fi noir story with you all in the coming year. In the meantime, I’m toying with an idea for a horror western that I need to put down on paper.