A Hard Rain, out the door. I'm hoping to have 74 packed off by the end of the week, just waiting for a microphone. It's an audio submission.
I just finished a draft of chapter seven of The Inner Workings of the Artificial Mind and sent it out to early readers (by that I don't mean preschoolers), so now I'm thinking about what I'll work on this week. Longtime readers of this blog may recall that every so often I pull out a story with the working title Process Five and say, "This will probably be number (whatever the next number is)." But it never is. Process Five is the story that never launches. Therefore, I won't say that Process Five will be diamond number 75. I will say that I may make it a draft or two better this week and maybe work on something completely new next week. We'll see.
Doing a thing a week, whether it's a story or a chapter is working well for me and it's definitely a better gear in which to be. My short term goal is to reach one-hundred stories by the end of 2008. It won't be the optimal speed for The One-Thousand but it's a hell of a lot better than any speed it's seen so far.
I've got nine days of vacation beginning Saturday, so I'm looking forward to getting more than one thing done next week. Time now to dive back into the fray. Talk to you soon.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Bent Objects - The Motion Picture
I've blogged before about Terry Border's brilliant work over at Bent Objects. Here, a couple of hep cats in the employ of everyone's favorite seltzer interview the master in his lab:
Friday, July 18, 2008
Aural Delights 33 On The Sofa
This week, the StarShipSofa presents:
Aural Delights No 33
http://www.starshipsofa.com/podcast/Aural_Delight_No_33_Robert_Reed.mp3
Aural Delights No 33
http://www.starshipsofa.com/
Poetry: Staying the Course by Mark Rich
Flash Fiction: A Modest Proposal by Vonda N McIntyre
Fact: Point of View Terry Edge
Main Fiction: Roxie by Robert Reed
Narrators: Jim Campanella, Amy H Sturgis, Diane Severson
This podcast is brought to you by Audible.com. Download a free audiobook of your choice at audiblepodcast.com/sofa
Who Watches This Blog Post?
Even if the movie sucks, they made one fantastic trailer. I can't stop watching it. They truly brought those memorable comic book frames to life. If I ever doubted that I'd sit through this thing, those doubts are behind me now.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Friday, July 04, 2008
On The Sofa, 4th and 71
The title of this post sounds like an insane football game, doesn't it?
First off, on the StarShipSofa this week:
Aural Delights No 31 Mary Rosenblum
First off, on the StarShipSofa this week:
Aural Delights No 31 Mary Rosenblum
Poetry: Interstellar Tract by Bruce Boston
Flash Fiction: Sunday Dinner by Matthew Sanborn Smith
Main Fiction: The Rainmaker by Mary Rosenblum
Narrators: Paul Caggegi Julie Davis Dale Manley
Dale Manley read my story Sunday Dinner (first seen on this blog, faithful readers) and I thought he did a great job. Made my mouth water just listening to it. If you're not familiar with the tale, it's a story about a guy who sniffs magazines. And if that doesn't entice you, well friend, you are unenticeable.
Next up, Happy 4th! I didn't do anything very fourthy today, just worked for extra pay. I'll be celebrating that on the 11th when the money's in the bank.
Only 929 to go! Story #71 went out the door today. It's called Dritty Does. And he does, too. As for me, I feel myself picking up speed.
One of the greatest science fiction films is going to soon become even greater. A full length version of Metropolis was found in Argentina: http://film.guardian.co.uk/features/featurepages/0,,2289177,00.html?gusrc=rss&feed=media
I, for one, can't wait to see the restored version.
At this moment, life is good. I've got the weekend off, I'm eager to write and I'm going to have some Maple Walnut Ice Cream. I have to put that in capitals because it's the official ice cream of displaced New English everywhere.
Monday, June 23, 2008
George Carlin Has Died
I can't even begin to explain the huge influence George Carlin had on my sense of humor, much less my entire way of thinking. My sister turned me onto him in the early eighties with his 'best of' album Indecent Exposure. I taped it, shared it with all of my friends outside of school and even shared it with my mother (what was I thinking there?). Shortly thereafter, we discovered his HBO specials and the world was never the same.
His comedy became meaner and angrier in the last ten years and there was more commentary than before, but when he wanted to be funny, he'd still get me. Even at seventy years old the guy could have me in tears, I was laughing so hard. One reason that I was in awe of him was that even after fifty years in comedy, his act was still one of the most offensive and provocative out there. Who else could say that? Who, in any profession, spent forty years on the cutting edge?
George Carlin was insane, immature, biting, ridiculous, brilliant, insightful, and a host of other magnificent adjectives. From him I learned the term "Mongolian cluster fuck," and I always think of him when my dog freaks out upon my return from getting the mail at the end of the driveway. The world has lost someone special and important. I'll close with my favorite Carlin line:
"I never had a ten, but once I had five twos."
His comedy became meaner and angrier in the last ten years and there was more commentary than before, but when he wanted to be funny, he'd still get me. Even at seventy years old the guy could have me in tears, I was laughing so hard. One reason that I was in awe of him was that even after fifty years in comedy, his act was still one of the most offensive and provocative out there. Who else could say that? Who, in any profession, spent forty years on the cutting edge?
George Carlin was insane, immature, biting, ridiculous, brilliant, insightful, and a host of other magnificent adjectives. From him I learned the term "Mongolian cluster fuck," and I always think of him when my dog freaks out upon my return from getting the mail at the end of the driveway. The world has lost someone special and important. I'll close with my favorite Carlin line:
"I never had a ten, but once I had five twos."
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Our Story So Far
I've added twelve stories to The One-Thousand this year. By that I mean, I've added them not to this blog but to my ultimate goal of one thousand stories sent to editors by the time I'm fifty. I guess naming your blog after your goal can get confusing, especially when you're blogging about your goal. Although I need to work faster in order to achieve the goal, I'm still happy because last year I only added five stories, and the year before that only four. If the year ended today, it would still be my most productive year so far in terms of number of stories, if not words written.
I'm working on a novel around the edges. I imagine I've mentioned it here before. It's called "The Inner Workings of the Artificial Mind." This will count as part of The One-Thousand when it's finished and whatever year it's done will certainly be a record-breaker in terms of words completed. I only count words sent to editors as words complete when I mention that stat here.
I have 3,959 days left to complete The One-Thousand. I have 970 stories left to complete. It boils up to a story every four days. I'm not at that point yet and because I'm not, there will come a time when I'm down to having to complete a story every three days or less. I hope I'll have more free time when I get older.
Signing off now to go work on stories.
I'm working on a novel around the edges. I imagine I've mentioned it here before. It's called "The Inner Workings of the Artificial Mind." This will count as part of The One-Thousand when it's finished and whatever year it's done will certainly be a record-breaker in terms of words completed. I only count words sent to editors as words complete when I mention that stat here.
I have 3,959 days left to complete The One-Thousand. I have 970 stories left to complete. It boils up to a story every four days. I'm not at that point yet and because I'm not, there will come a time when I'm down to having to complete a story every three days or less. I hope I'll have more free time when I get older.
Signing off now to go work on stories.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Aural Delights #29
This week StarShipSofa is pleased to present:
Main Fiction: The Last Science Fiction Writer by Allen Steele
Poetry: Time Travel Verb Tenses by Laurel Winter
Flash Fiction: Downtown by John Kessel
Fact: Science News by Jim Campanella
Narrators: Diane Severson, Grant Stone and Mark Nelson
This podcast is brought to you by Audible.com. Download a free audiobook of your choice at audiblepodcast.com/sofa
Great show this week, I just listened to it myself. Click and enjoy!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Herb, Accelerated
HERB, ACCELERATED
By Matthew Sanborn Smith
Herb could only count to four because he always wore mittens. The world, full of more than four things, overwhelmed him. He cried. Once, when a low flying snowball tore the mitten from his hand, the world suddenly became a more manageable place. The things that were grouped in more than seven were far less than the things that were grouped in more than four. Herb felt that his intelligence had increased by seventy-five percent. He lorded it over his friends, shunned his wife for never believing in him. Never again would he re-mitten his red, numbed hand. Of course, it never occurred to him to remove the other mitten. For even sporting seventy-five percent more brain power, he was still pretty dumb.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Today on the StarShipSofa
Hello Everyone. I've acquired a new piece of life as a promotional guy for my favorite podcast, StarShipSofa, so you'll be seeing posts from me here as new episodes come out. See here:
Today's show:
StarShipSofa, The Audio Science Fiction Magazine, presents:
Main Fiction: Secret Life by Jeff VanderMeer
Article: Fouque by Amy Sturgis
Flash Fiction: Toujours Voir by David Brin
Poetry: Confessions Of A Body Thief by Bruce Boston
Narrators: Grant Stone, Jim Campanella, Julie Davis
This podcast is brought to you by Audible.com. Download a free audiobook of your choice today at audiblepodcast.com/sofa
http://www.starshipsofa.com/podcast/Jeff_Vandermeer_Secret_Life.mp3
Interview in iProng!:
Learn about the inner workings of the StarShipSofa and her captain, reformed pyromaniac Tony C. Smith, in the June 10th issue of iProng. http://www.iprong.com/
Coming Soon:
The Sofa touches down in Paris for its first ever video transmission! An interview by Tony and Ciaran with science fiction and fantasy legend Michael Moorcock. Details to come!
Today's show:
StarShipSofa, The Audio Science Fiction Magazine, presents:
Main Fiction: Secret Life by Jeff VanderMeer
Article: Fouque by Amy Sturgis
Flash Fiction: Toujours Voir by David Brin
Poetry: Confessions Of A Body Thief by Bruce Boston
Narrators: Grant Stone, Jim Campanella, Julie Davis
This podcast is brought to you by Audible.com. Download a free audiobook of your choice today at audiblepodcast.com/sofa
http://www.starshipsofa.com
Interview in iProng!:
Learn about the inner workings of the StarShipSofa and her captain, reformed pyromaniac Tony C. Smith, in the June 10th issue of iProng. http://www.iprong.com/
Coming Soon:
The Sofa touches down in Paris for its first ever video transmission! An interview by Tony and Ciaran with science fiction and fantasy legend Michael Moorcock. Details to come!
Monday, June 02, 2008
The Sexiest Story Number
Story 69, The Guy Who Made Only McDonald's has been sent out into the wilderness to fend for itself. Wish it luck. In the words of Ned Flanders: "Godspeed, little doodle!"
Sunday, June 01, 2008
I’m Taking My Books And Going Home
I have snapped. I have flipped. I am swan-diving into the abyss. Whyzat, Matt?
Because you guys are bringing me down.
This isn’t just about the blog comments, e-mails and forum posts of the last week. This is about the blog posts and comments, emails and forum posts, editorials and everything else from the last few years. The genre-bashing has reached felonious levels. I have read (and yes, partaken in) so much sub-genre and author clobbering that I’m starting to feel nauseous. And I can taste the blood and bile burning up my esophagus.
The field is in decline, we say, and what’s more, it’s the fault of the writers. The jargon’s too thick, the gateways aren’t there, no one is writing real Hard SF anymore, Mundane is a stupid idea, Fantasy is taking over, where’s the sensawunda, no one has any new ideas.
The Golden Age of science fiction is twelve, yes, we all know that. I’m not sure what age you haters have reached. Whatever age it is, I’d say it’s the Raw Sewage Age of science fiction. Apparently, it has all turned to shit.
Consider the towel thrown in.
Guys and Gals, I love you all and I know that not a one of our hates weighs that much. You still enjoy the field. But the accumulated crush of the pig-piled lot of our snipes has finally squashed me.
I no longer care if the Big Three mags are in decline. I no longer care if there is a dearth of gateway books for young science fiction readers or our mainstream friends. I don’t care that no one is reading and video is overtaking us and Harry Potter has doomed us all. I don’t give a shit about Hard or Soft or F vs. SF, analysis, book sales or the state of the field.
I’m taking my books and I’m going inside. I’m going to go to my room, sit on my bed, spread out the tales before me and enjoy my stuff. I’m going to savor the evocative prose of the masters and delight in their mad ideas. I still have untold Bradbury to explore. I still have Clarke that I haven’t read. I still have untouched Simmons and Lovecraft and Brin and Haldeman. Today I delved once more into the thick, art deco glories of Saint Gibson’s fantastic, psychological, anything but science fictional, “The Gernsback Continuum” and I gleefully anticipate his next novel, again likely to be rooted in the near past. There are a few Howards and Herberts I haven’t gotten to. There are rich, untapped veins of Ellison, Lem, Wilhelm and Delany! And there are countless other names I haven’t even picked up yet. Watts, Reynolds, Banks -- I salivate as I type this.
Yes, I’ve been disappointed. I’ve read crap. But I’ve also read so much good stuff and I’m looking forward to reading so much more that I’m still excited! I can’t wait to pick up the next book or mag or computer screen and dive into some past or future award winner or overlooked treasure.
You folks read fast, much faster than I, that’s a fact. You’ve already devoured everything that is good. Your crops are gone and your fields lay barren. I can’t imagine having tackled all that’s worth tackling, but you’ve done it and they don’t write ‘em like they used to. Your future is dystopian bleak.
I’m done arguing or recommending. Your time in the field has passed and I mourn your loss of summer days when ink met paper and stars were born of galactic furnaces. The full-on pressure of our years of e-bitching together has popped me. If only I had spent that time reading more stories.
Because you guys are bringing me down.
This isn’t just about the blog comments, e-mails and forum posts of the last week. This is about the blog posts and comments, emails and forum posts, editorials and everything else from the last few years. The genre-bashing has reached felonious levels. I have read (and yes, partaken in) so much sub-genre and author clobbering that I’m starting to feel nauseous. And I can taste the blood and bile burning up my esophagus.
The field is in decline, we say, and what’s more, it’s the fault of the writers. The jargon’s too thick, the gateways aren’t there, no one is writing real Hard SF anymore, Mundane is a stupid idea, Fantasy is taking over, where’s the sensawunda, no one has any new ideas.
The Golden Age of science fiction is twelve, yes, we all know that. I’m not sure what age you haters have reached. Whatever age it is, I’d say it’s the Raw Sewage Age of science fiction. Apparently, it has all turned to shit.
Consider the towel thrown in.
Guys and Gals, I love you all and I know that not a one of our hates weighs that much. You still enjoy the field. But the accumulated crush of the pig-piled lot of our snipes has finally squashed me.
I no longer care if the Big Three mags are in decline. I no longer care if there is a dearth of gateway books for young science fiction readers or our mainstream friends. I don’t care that no one is reading and video is overtaking us and Harry Potter has doomed us all. I don’t give a shit about Hard or Soft or F vs. SF, analysis, book sales or the state of the field.
I’m taking my books and I’m going inside. I’m going to go to my room, sit on my bed, spread out the tales before me and enjoy my stuff. I’m going to savor the evocative prose of the masters and delight in their mad ideas. I still have untold Bradbury to explore. I still have Clarke that I haven’t read. I still have untouched Simmons and Lovecraft and Brin and Haldeman. Today I delved once more into the thick, art deco glories of Saint Gibson’s fantastic, psychological, anything but science fictional, “The Gernsback Continuum” and I gleefully anticipate his next novel, again likely to be rooted in the near past. There are a few Howards and Herberts I haven’t gotten to. There are rich, untapped veins of Ellison, Lem, Wilhelm and Delany! And there are countless other names I haven’t even picked up yet. Watts, Reynolds, Banks -- I salivate as I type this.
Yes, I’ve been disappointed. I’ve read crap. But I’ve also read so much good stuff and I’m looking forward to reading so much more that I’m still excited! I can’t wait to pick up the next book or mag or computer screen and dive into some past or future award winner or overlooked treasure.
You folks read fast, much faster than I, that’s a fact. You’ve already devoured everything that is good. Your crops are gone and your fields lay barren. I can’t imagine having tackled all that’s worth tackling, but you’ve done it and they don’t write ‘em like they used to. Your future is dystopian bleak.
I’m done arguing or recommending. Your time in the field has passed and I mourn your loss of summer days when ink met paper and stars were born of galactic furnaces. The full-on pressure of our years of e-bitching together has popped me. If only I had spent that time reading more stories.
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