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Author: C.S.E. Cooney

C.S.E. Cooney's fiction and poetry can be found in Apex, Subterranean, Strange Horizons, Clockwork Phoenix 3, Ideomancer, Goblin Fruit, and Mythic Delirium. She has novellas forthcoming with Papaveria Press, Drollerie Press, and Black Gate Magazine. She keeps a blog at http://csecooney.livejournal.com/.
Paul Park’s Ragnarok at Tor.com

Paul Park’s Ragnarok at Tor.com

rag2“There was a man, Magnus’s son,
Ragni his name. In Reykjavik
Stands his office, six stories,
Far from the harbor in the fat past.
Birds nest there, now abandoned.
The sea washes along Vesturgata,
As they called it.

In those days
Ragni’s son, a rich man,
Also a scholar, skilled in law,
Thomas his name, took his wife
From famished Boston, far away.
Brave were her people, black-skinned,
Strong with spear, with shield courageous,
Long ago.”

I was flicking through my Flist, and what should I see but Francesca Forrest talking about solar superstorms and poetry and Ragnarok? If you know Francesca even a little, this would not surprise you.

And yet I was astonished.

Following her link to Tor.com, I beheld this magnificent poem by writer Paul Park. It went live in April. Why it has taken me this long to pay attention to it, I’ll never know; it’s a mystery, as Geoffrey Rush says in Shakespeare in Love.

I wish I’d written it. Never could’ve, but there you have it.  I’m snake-hearted and sick with envy. My eyeballs are melting a little. I may still be trembling. What a rush!

Lovers of Nordic sagas, flock over to Tor.com. Strew your comments like jeweled offerings.

And then, go on and read Francesca’s great review of it at Versification, a new site for speculative poetry reviews. Francesca has provided a map, so that you can track the hero’s movements. And links as well, to things like Hallgrimskirkja.

It’s very exciting. I wonder else Mr. Park has done…

We last covered Tor.com with their interview of our Managing Editor, Howard Andrew Jones.

PGS: The Digest of Philippine Genre Stories

PGS: The Digest of Philippine Genre Stories

Philippine Genre Stories Issue Four Cover
Philippine Genre Stories Issue Four Cover

I first encountered the name Charles Tan a few months ago, through publisher Erzebet YellowBoy of Papaveria Press. Mr. Tan kindly agreed to review the first two books in the new Wonder Tales series, Jack o’ the Hills and The Winter Triptych.

I did what one usually does. Commented on his blog. Friended him on Facebook. You know. The rounds.

On Facebook, Charles is a friendly presence, often wishing me a, “Good morning!” with such exuberant emphasis that I realized it must not be morning wherever he was. So I looked into it — and lo! As I’d begun to suspect, he’d been wishing me good morning from his evening — in the Philippines! So I started writing, “Good evening!” right back, which, at 10 AM, never fails to strike my silly bone.

As for who Charles Tan is, the World SF Travel Fund site (a crowdfunding effort to bring Mr. Tan to the states for the World Fantasy Convention — where he’s up for the Special Award – Non Professional ) sums him up nicely:

“Charles is a tireless promoter of speculative fiction. Besides his own Bibliophile Stalker blog, he contributes to the Nebula Awards blog, the Shirley Jackson Award blog, SF Signal and The World SF Blog. He also edited two online anthologies of speculative fiction from the Philippines. Charles is highly regarded in the SF scene both in the USA and internationally.”

But Ms. Cooney, you ask, what does this have to do with your subject line?

Well, darling thing! I’ll tell you.

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Jabberwocky 7 & Goblin Fruit Summer 2011

Jabberwocky 7 & Goblin Fruit Summer 2011

bgfrontjabberMorning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the rye!”

…Dear Mr. Carroll and Ms. Rossetti,

I AM SO SORRY!

But I couldn’t help myself!

I’m just so excited because the summer issues of Jabberwocky and Goblin Fruit are up!

Sincerely,

Claire Suzanne Elizabeth Cooney

P.S. I’ll talk about both issues LOTS if you keep reading! Promise!


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If All Their Sand Were Pearl: An Interview with Jewelry Artist Ashley Full Stop Brown

If All Their Sand Were Pearl: An Interview with Jewelry Artist Ashley Full Stop Brown

"Her Uncatchable Orbit
"Her Uncatchable Orbit" (Title from the Rhysling-nominated poem, "Red Engines," by Catherynne M. Valente.)

…And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

William Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona

Now, I’m not saying that you all have to leap up and go right now to Ashley Full Stop Brown’s new Etsy site, Woodvine, but, you know, if there’s an anniversary or birthday or milestone to be celebrated (either your own or another’s), and you’re a fantastical sort of person (would you be reading this if you WEREN’T???), and you want a gift that is by its nature gorgeously handcrafted, thoughtful, and full of literary significance, travel no further than your browser!

bgissue24_largeI met Ashley… Let’s see… At WisCon. This year. At Cat Valente’s Fairyland Launch Party. Yes, that’s right.

If I recall aright (I should never write memoir, never), Ashley was wrapping keys in wire and jewels, which were later raffled off as pendants. And we all drooled for those jeweled keys. Oh, didn’t we just? (I did NOT win one, by the way. Alas.) We were having a little open mic that night, right after S.J. Tucker and the Traveling Fates gave us a faboosh concert. (Isn’t the word FABOOSH excellent? I have recently adopted it into my jargon.)

…You remember S.J. Tucker, don’t you? I did this whole long interview thingy with her, back in the Olden Days, before I was Black Gate’s FELL AND REVERED Blog Editrix.

I don’t precisely remember how I asked Ashley if she’d give me an interview for Black Gate Magazine. If people do cool things that have a fantasy bent, I immediately POUNCE! For your benefit, of course, DEAR READERS! Ahem. And ’cause I’m awful curious about PROCESS, you see.

It was at that party-cum-open mic I heard Elizabeth McClellan read her poem, “The Walking Man Goes Looking for the Sons of John: Six Cantos,” this amazing bluesy ghost poem in full Southern twang, recently published in Apex Magazine, Issue 24. Later, in the flurry of emails between Ashley and me, I learned that Ashley had created several pieces in honor of this poem.

It’s as if she takes the goosebumps we all get when reading or listening to something really extraordinary, and then transforms them into wearable art.

So. Without further ado, I give you…

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Readercon 22: Meeting Mark Twain, Winning a Rhysling, and Sundry

Readercon 22: Meeting Mark Twain, Winning a Rhysling, and Sundry

PART II.

(Part I can be found here.)

Readercon 22: Saturday

Now. Where was I, where was I?

Ah, yes. Readercon.

Me, Gwynne Garfinkle and My Sinister Puppet Hand
Me, Gwynne Garfinkle and My Sinister Puppet Hand

Think back. Stretch your minds back. It’s Saturday, July 16th. Where are you? Sipping ice tea on your veranda while the dog pants at your feet and the cicadas whine and the barbecue sizzles — and it’s a summery summertime stretch of summeriness — and you’ve even remembered to put on your sunblock? GOOD FOR YOU!

Me, I hardly saw the sun that weekend. I was in the Boston Merriot Burlington, where the air conditioning was fierce and the convention programming intense!

Julia Rios Makes Every Hotel Room a Castle!
Julia Rios Makes Every Hotel Room a Castle!

In the morning, Erik Amundsen and Patty Templeton and I stole away to Panera Bread, to consume an inexpensive breakfast of sandwiches and rubbery room-temperature soufflés. I was back to the hotel in time for my 11 o’ clock interview with Julia Rios.

Ha.

An interview!!!

That makes me sound VERY POSH AND IMPORTANT, doesn’t it? Only it wasn’t like that, really, because the interview was recorded as a podcast for Broad Universe (called “The Broad Pod“), and it was to involve me and Gwynne Garfinkle and Mary Robinette Kowal, and if you think that I’M the posh and important one in that group, then I don’t know which current affairs rack you’ve been hanging your hats on lately, misters and mistresses!

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Readercon 22: In Which the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood (well, some of them) Encounters Cannibal Towns, Dirty Limericks and Googly Eyeballs

Readercon 22: In Which the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood (well, some of them) Encounters Cannibal Towns, Dirty Limericks and Googly Eyeballs

Cannibal Country. (AKA Guilderland, New York)
Cannibal Country. (AKA Guilderland, New York)

The thought that preoccupies me is, “How the heck am I going to find enough pictures to go with this post?”

Unlike that one time when we crashed a Zeppelin into Madison, we did not document our epic journey across America with anything so practical as a camera. No!

Instead, we marked the miles in the bellowing of bawdy (need I say, alternate?) lyrics to “There’s a Hole in My Bucket, Dear Liza,” the scrawling of character notes, place names and plot devices for a story about a stolen moon, the counting of times the word “Beloit” was mentioned in the back seat (Brendan Detzner being an alum and S. Brackett Robertson, or “Brackett,” a current student), in Billy Joel sing-alongs and idle speculations about the nature of certain malevolently leaning shacks in Guilderland, New York.

The B-Train. (AKA, writer Brendan Detzner)
The B-Train. (AKA, writer Brendan Detzner)

“Meth shed?” Patty postulated.

“Cannibals?” I countered.

“CANNIBAL METH SHEDS!” we roared together, with, perhaps, more delighted gusto than was strictly necessary.

“So… Do the cannibals eat the meth heads?” Brendan asked. “Or are the cannibals themselves meth heads?”

The conversation went on. I will not trouble you with further details. By this time we had been driving approximately ten hours and still had nine to go.

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Tattoos and Fantasy! Proposal!

Tattoos and Fantasy! Proposal!

This one's mine. It's a frikkin JESTER! With wings! And a TAIL! It has a story. What's yours? (Art by Rebecca Huston.)
This one's mine. It's a frikkin JESTER! With wings! And a TAIL! It has a story. What's yours? (Art by Rebecca Huston.)

Dear Fantasy Writers,

Pretty soon I (and an Editing Wizard of my acquaintance) will be putting together a thing for Black Gate (possibly an article, possibly a short documentary-type-thingy for YouTube) about Fantasy writers and their tattoos. I know some folks view their ink and its significance as intensely personal. If this is the case with you, please ignore the rest of this message.

But if you are a published Fantasy writer, and have an image on your skin that you want to share, and a short paragraph about it, I’d love to see it!

I’d want a jpg of the image (high resolution) and, if at all possible, a voice clip of the story — from GarageBand or whatever. If not a voice clip, then a written paragraph would definitely suffice.

I’d also want a short bio about yourself and where we might find your published work. We’d link to it in the article-portion of this project. (I see it as both an article and documentary. It’s all still coming together in my own head.)

If participating in this Black Gate YouTubementary shenanigans interests you, I’d love to have your files by August 1st. This thing’ll probably be several months in the making, and we may not a.) get enough material or b.) get too much to use all of it — but whatever happens, I’d update all participants as we make progress.

So! Ideas? Hail and Well-Mets? Flagrant Compliments? “Absolutely want in!”s? Then write to me at claire(at)blackgate(dot) com

Thank you!

Kelly Link’s Some Zombie Contingency Plans

Kelly Link’s Some Zombie Contingency Plans

pretty-monstersSo I’ve been listening to Podcastle episodes while processing my usual insurmountable citadel of books here at Top Shelf.

Podcasts are cool. Especially Podcastle podcasts, because, hey, FANTASY!

They’re usually 30-50 minutes, entertaining, with experienced narrators and great introductions and afterwords by Dave Thompson or Anna Schwind. Since I don’t read as many short stories as I’d like to, when I listen in on these things, I feel like I’m also learning something from my fantasy writing peers (and superiors). Something about structure. Something about character. Something about plot and dialogue and pacing. Lots of somethings, in fact!

Today, I listened to Kelly Link’s Some Zombie Contingency Plans. Now, whatever you think when you read that title, I have to tell you, you can’t possible predict what this story is actually about. Whoa.

And since I’m still feeling shocked and queasy (and astonished at the craft that went into this story, although I don’t know why I should be astonished, because it’s not like I don’t know who Kelly Link is or how highly she’s thought of) after listening to this story, I thought I’d hop on over here and tell you, tell you…

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WISCON SUNDAY: In Which Goblins, Floomps, Flying Spaghetti Monsters and Ice Cream Robot Kings Abound

WISCON SUNDAY: In Which Goblins, Floomps, Flying Spaghetti Monsters and Ice Cream Robot Kings Abound

"Like FIRE, HellFIRE, this FIRE in my skin!"
"Like FIRE, HellFIRE, this FIRE in my skin!"

It was a stormy Sunday morning in Wisconsin. Guests of the Madison Concourse startled awake to the tune of “Hellfire,” from Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, floating in from a nearby hotel room.

The voices were tuneful (well, mostly — given the amount of sleep the singers were operating on) and vigorous (especially for that hour of the morning), and, after all, who could resist lines like:

Voice 1: It’s not my fault!

Voice 2: MEA CULPA!

Voice 1: I’m not to blame!

Voice 2: MEA CULPA!

Voice 1: It is the gypsy girl, the witch who sent this flame!

Voice 2: MEA MAXIMA CULPA!

The guests, satisfied that no poor soul was being murdered and flung from a bell tower in a righteous rage — that, after all, it was only Ms. El-Mohtar and myself greeting the morning in our usual way — rolled back over and went to sleep…

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WISCON FRIDAY: In Which the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood Crashes A Zeppelin Into the State Capital

WISCON FRIDAY: In Which the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood Crashes A Zeppelin Into the State Capital

The Harold Lamb Comes to East Dundee
The Harold Lamb Comes to East Dundee

It was a partly cloudy day in East Dundee, IL.

There we were, three youngish women, frolicking in the flower garden, drinking tea and entertaining toddlers, when all of a sudden, a shadow moved over the sun.

It was Black Gate’s zeppelin, the Harold Lamb, on the descent.

“Ef!” Ms. Templeton twirled her stealth parasol in alarm. “The Gee-Dee thing’s coming down on the roof!”

“Not my roof!” Ms. Redding shouted, a baby on one stylishly jutted hip and a chaenomeles speciosa (a nasty and ubiquitous shrubbery, recently uprooted by dint of chain and pickup truck from her front garden) brandished high in her free arm.

For myself, I was convinced Ms. Redding was set to hurl the shrub (or, at the very least, the baby) at the Harold Lamb in an effort to knock it off its fatal course. Thankfully, at the last moment, the zeppelin veered, mooring itself between two surviving elms. A rope ladder unfurled. A familiar voice over the loudspeaker boomed down:

“Will the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood please climb aboard?”

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