Reviews

The ethics of accepting free things for review is being debated amongst comic reviewers. Can you give an unbiased opinion about a book or comic or DVD or whatever if it’s a freebie? Etc etc blah blah blah.

Please! Of course, you can.

I have to admit I find this debate a bit yawn-worthy. Reviewers and critics have been getting stuff for free and then completely slamming the stuff they don’t like since the dawn of the printed word. If someone out there is giving only good reviews to the free stuff then they’re not worthy of the name “reviewer” or “critic”. They’re poorly paid advertising. Readers can tell the difference.

Colleen Mondor agrees the debate is pretty silly. She also makes a really excellent point over at Comics Worth Reading:

I am sure it is frustrating for creators to know their books (or comics) are being sent out there and then not hear anything from reviewers, but it is just one more step in the long frustrating game of publication. Honestly, I think writers should be glad that there are so many more venues for their books to be reviewed now then in the past —at least with the web you can get your work reviewed by literally hundreds of places, rather than relying on a very few the way it was twenty years ago. At least you have a decent shot to get some publicity.

This is so very true. In the last six months or so I’ve been finding accidentally stumbling across roughly a review a week of one of my books somewhere on the intramanets. Some are just a line or two, others are much longer. That’s a lot of talk about my books that would not have existed ten years ago. Or even five. Not all are positive, not all sites have a tonne of traffic. So they’re not generating oodles of sales. Doesn’t matter. It’s absolutely delicious to be able to read what my audience thinks. To have tangible proof that I have an audience. No matter how small.

I remember way back in 1993, at my very first science fiction convention, meeting a published writer who had already published five or six books. She told me one of the things she liked best about cons was getting to meet people who’d read her books. “Otherwise, I’d just be writing in a vacuum. Most of my books haven’t been reviewed anywhere.”

My eyes bugged out. It had never occurred to me that you could be a published author and not be reviewed. (It had never occurred to me that you could be a published writer and not be living on champagne, mangosteens, and caviar with rainbows of happiness cascading all around you.) Now, of course, I know better.

I’ve just finished a trilogy. The first book was widely reviewed in the offline press, the second book—not so much. I’ll be interested to see what happens with the third. I’ve heard that the longer a series goes on, the less you get reviewed. (You know, unless you’re J. K. Rowling.)

But I do know that even if I get no “official” reviews at all. There’ll still be online ones. There have already been a few. I came across the lastest one today. It’s from one of the regular commenters here, Rebecca, and it’s her very first book review. I think it’s excellent, but I’m incredibly biased. She says

Magic’s Child does everything I could have hoped for and more. If you aren’t already reading it, or on the waiting list to borrow my copy of Magic or Madness (hehe, I have a waiting list), then you should go out and get the books RIGHT NOW. Plus, Magic Lessons just came out in paperback. And so I must conclude that Magic’s Child is awesome and was an excellent, surprising, and exciting end to the trilogy (which, incidentally, I pulled an all-nighter to read. Yes–it’s that good 😀 ). Read it. Everyone. Now. 🙂

So, yeah, what Colleen said. This writer is very glad indeed that the intramawebbies has produced so many more venues for reviewing and talking about the things we love. Yay intramanets!

I love my job: part the millioneth

There are many reasons I love my job: I don’t have to wake up at any particular hour, I get to work in my pjs, I get to travel and meet lots of fabulous people, and I get paid to make shit up. But all of that pales in comparison with the joy of having fans and their wonderful responses to my work. Tis really the best thing about being a writer.

Breca Halley has created a movie poster for Magic or Madness. Isn’t that fabulous? I particularly like the idea of Rupert Grint as Tom. And at one point Keisha Castle-Hughes’ name came up as someone who could play Reason. (That option never happened, alas. Hollywood! They just toy with you.)

And Kate Egan has created some more Magic or Madness art. I’m putting it behind the cut on account of it is a tiny bit spoilerish for Magic Lessons Continue reading

Expectations and embarrassment

In a comment in the previous post, ace Aussie writer Penni Russon wrote:

This reminded me that when I was little I thought all writers were old and had gray hair and walked with a cane. So when I met Angela Carter (not proper met—she was just signing a book for me) I was astonished at how young she was (though she did have grey hair).

Did any of you have such expectations?

And have any of you made a fool of yourselves when meeting a fave writer? I made such a fool of myself when I first met Ursula Le Guin that I cannot even share the anecdote. I’m still too traumatised. She’s one of my favourite writers ever! And I buggered up meeting her! Aaargh!

Please to share your anecdotes, though. Anonymously if necessary.

Giving up

How long before you give up on a writer that you once loved? Or a TV series you adored? Or film director? Or actor? Or band you loved? How many dud books, TV eps, movies or songs before you say, “That is it. I’m never spending money on you again?”

Or do you never give up and keep hoping against hope that they’ll regain form?

I’d tell you who this was apropos of, but then I’d have to kill you.

Why do you like sport?

This is not a question I get asked very much. Not directly, anyway, but every single time I post about sport someone writes and asks me when I’m going to post about interesting topics again. That’s right, the biggest complaint I get from you, dear readers, is that I talk about sport too much.1

Now I ain’t never gonna stop writing about sport, no matter how many of you are bored into a coma by it. I writes about what I wants to write about. You can suggest topics if you want but if I can’t be arsed to write on that topic then it ain’t gonna happen.

I digress. The complaints do get me thinking about why it is that I like sport so much. Seriously, for me to learn the rules of a sport is for me to become addicted. I’ve had to start studiously avoiding contact with new (to me) sport just to have enough hours in the day to, you know, get books written. I try very hard to only pay attention to cricket, the Tour, and women’s basketball. And the Olympics. I cannot get any work done when the Lymps are on.

I’m not that fussed about playing it. Tennis is great fun, I love swimming and riding my bike but I have zero interest in doing any of them competitively. (Gah!) But I can watch pretty much any competitive sport and I can do it for days and days and days. For me it brings together the aesthetic pleasures of watching athletes at the top of their form, with the soap-opera like joys of a long-running story (what can I say I’m a narrative junky in all its forms), together with the gossip and politics. A good sporting scandal is prolly my most favourite thing in the world.

Clyde Walcott, one of the West Indies' greats.I love how knowing about the history and politics of cricket (West Indies not getting a black captain until the 1950s and then only after a long-running campaign orchestrated by C. L. R. James; the long campaign to get an Untouchable to play for India), and about women’s basketball (Title IX, and when it was allowed into the Olympics, and how little coverage it gets in the mainstream press) adds so much to watching any individual game.Picture purloined from abc.net.au

I love the majesty and pomp. I love supporting (and hating) individual players and countries.

Why do you love the particular sports you love? Sing it, please!

No offence intended but I’m uninterested in why any of you don’t like sport. I’ve been hearing it long and loud from my fellow arty-farty types my entire life. I get that you’re an oppressed minority. I feel for you. But enough already! Let us sport obsessives bond for a bit. And, yes, I will delete anti-sport diatribes.

So fellow sport lovers—time to share that love!

NB The first image is of Sir Clyde Walcott who died earlier this year. He was one of the greats of West Indian cricket. Bless him.

The second is of the Australian women’s basketball team winning the world cup. Bless ’em.

  1. It’s particularly weird as I’ve hardly blogged sport at all this year. Very little mention of cricket, the World Cup, or the Tour de France; pretty much nothing about the Liberty’s unhappy WNBA season, and hardly any mention of all the various Australian triumphs this year. I’ve been busy, okay? []

Fan art, my next novel, & reading

I got my very first fan art by the lovely Kate of Refrigerate Kate. Here are her sketches of Jay-Tee:


Isn’t that fabulous? (Though for the record Jay-Tee doesn’t smoke.)

There are also sketches of Tom on her site. I’m dead chuffed! I have fan art! Really good fan art! Thank you, Kate.

I’ve also neglected to mention what novel I decided to write next. On account of it was youse lot’s overwhelming favourite (and me having already written 25 thou words of it) I will now be turning my attention to finishing the Great Australian feminist monkey-knife fighting Elvis mangosteen cricket fairy young adult novel.

Anyone who’d like a sneak preview—I’ll be reading the first three chapters later today:

NYRSF Reading Series
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
7PM (doors open at 6:30PM)
Scott and me
Melville Gallery
213 Water Street
New York, NY

Hope to see some of you there. Now it’s past my bedtime . . .

Writing tickets

For this year’s WisCon I figured that with such an overcrowded progam full of the likes of Samuel R. Delany, Nalo Hopkinson, Ursula Le Guin, Vonda McIntyre, Lois McMaster Bujold, Geoff Ryman, Kate Wilhelm, Jane Yolen and etc. etc. it would be a good idea for me to not do a reading. I’d step aside and make room for the lumies and the up-and-coming writers such as Meghan McCarron and Lauren McLaughlin (just to name two of my faves).

Plus, I really hate doing readings. Ugh! And there are enough occasions throughout the year when I can’t skip ’em. I’m glad I did. I’d’ve been so stressed about it . . . So phew.

I also decided to skip out on the sign out which is the massive signing held on the last day where all the published writers sit with pens poised ready to scribble their name on whatever their readers want. Again, I was thinking about making room, if only for Ursula Le Guin’s massive queue. And such a queue it was curling around and around the enormous ballroom!

But I was also having a fit of the Australians and thinking that putting my name down for it was kind of writing tickets. I mean I haven’t been publishing for that long—my pro fiction career’s only 14 months long—I’m not that well known, don’t have many books, who do I think I am anyway?

But on the second day someone asked me if I’d be at the sign out. I started to say, “Well, you know, I figured there was no need—”

“Really?” they responded. “Because it’s so convenient to just take my books along and get them signed all at once. Otherwise I’ll have to walk around with your book, hoping to run into you again.”

“Oh,” I said, not having thought of it like that. “Sure, I’ll do the sign out.”

In all the discussion about self-promotion and what’s appropriate we not-hugely-successful writers forget that we do, in fact, have readers. That there are people who really, really want our signatures on their copies of our books. Just like I’m extraordinarily glad that I have books signed by the likes of Octavia Butler, Angela Carter, Dorothy Dunnett, Karen Joy Fowler and Kelly Link. Those are all books that mean a huge amount to me. The signature of their authors makes them that extra bit special.

I don’t know why this is so, but it is. I guess it’s the idea that Butler or Carter or Dunnett once touched these books that I own that sends a thrill through me. No matter how daggy that sounds. And in the case of Link and Fowler, who I know personally, I read their inscriptions and am instantly reminded of our friendship, of times spent together talking and bitching about writing, love, life and etc.

So I did the sign out and despite a cold and fatigue, I enjoyed it. I sat between John Scalzi and Nalo Hopkinson and in the lulls between signing we gossiped and giggled together. I signed for a young Japanese PhD student, writing about James Tiptree, Jr. who was a big admirer of The Battle of the Sexes in Science Fiction, for the wonderful Deb Stone who spends her working hours battling the demons of censorship, and for a teenage girl who was maybe fourteen or fifteen years old—maybe younger—who came up to me just as I was putting my pen away, clutching a copy of Magic or Madness.

Was I still signing? she asked tentatively. Sure I was. So I did and then her father took a photograph of her beaming beside me, MorM still in hand and I was even more glad I decided to do the sign out after all. And that I’d finally gotten it through my thick head that sometimes this writing game isn’t about the author at all.

This is writ ironical

In the olden days, some newspapers got so fed up with folks going off in high dudgeon about certain articles which proposed, say, that the rich eat the poor, that they took to ending such pieces with the following line, This is writ ironical. (Think of it as ye olde smiley face.)

Which is to say that a tin ear for irony while depressingly widespread nowadays, alas, is not a new development. Long before the intramanets, certain early readers of Jane Austen did not notice her tongue placed firmly in her cheek.

I know I don’t need to say this to the esteemed and learned readers of this blog, but for newer readers please to imagine those words—This is writ ironical—at the end of most posts.

I.e. Margo Lanagan is not Satan she’s just a very naughty Aussie girl.

That is all.

Definitions (updated)

In an excellent essay on fantasy Teresa Nielsen Hayden elegantly points out the problem with trying to define fantasy literature:

It’s hard to come up with a good definition of fantasy literature. It’s easy to come up with a definition that includes fantasy, but most such definitions also take in a lot of other kinds of storytelling. For instance, it has been observed that, in a sense, all fiction is fantasy. This is true, but it isn’t useful.

That’s why my favourite definition of science fiction is Damon Knight’s: “science fiction is what I point to when I say science fiction” (or something like that). Most of us know what we mean when we talk about a certain genre, trying to narrow it down absolutely, and get other people to agree with you is futile—way more trouble than it’s worth.

Update: What Knight said was something like this: “Science fiction is what we mean when we point to it”.