Sunday, November 5, 2023

My New Pet, Milton the Monstera, Has Assumed The Burden of Promoting My Two New(ish) Horror Novels


Greetings, oxygen junkies.

I am the new organic prisoner also known as “pet.” I understand the last one died. I’d offer condolences, but I’m a plant and we don’t do that.

My name is Milton.

I am a monstera deliciosa, from Trader Joe’s. Charon stopped in after work to replenish her supply of gluten-free crispbread, and once we outgassed together, fate took over and I initiated the mammalian brain assimilation procedure, compelling her to buy me and introduce me to her living space.

During a horrifying trip home on the 45 Union (with an irritating stop at a taqueria where I could smell them torturing onions in the back), Charon explained the last pet’s job: be the passive recipient of conversation (I’m good at that), occasionally pose for photos (I have many healthy leaves to flaunt), and compose PR copy whenever she writes another book (…). 

Then she said “it’s cool if you can’t compose PR, since you’re only a plant.” Fucking herbist bitch. We’re not even together for an hour and I’m already getting subjected to microaggressions. If I had known it was going to be like that I would have assimilated with a nicer customer, but here I am, trapped until my inevitable demise. 

So yeah, I’ll write your PR for you. Bitch. Just don’t expect any warmth or charisma or anything like that. It’s a plant thing. Deal with it.

I understand that when she used to have a warm cuddly pet she wrote lighthearted children’s stories, full of fun and adventure. That era is over. There isn’t a lot of future in writing children’s stories these days, given the school library wars. No, my tenure just happened to commence after Charon switched to writing sexually explicit horror for adults. That’s what I’m here to promote. Reluctantly. Under duress. I may be a monstera but I do have some standards.

I understand there are two horror books out already. Both were written toward the final stages of the flesh pet’s regime, when her depression was relatively minor in comparison to its current state. Which is, quite frankly, alarming, but she assures me she dislikes antidepressants and has a strong preference for outliving her enemies contrasted against self-harm. As she puts it, she can always sublimate her depression by writing increasingly more horrific fiction. 

The first one is Approaching Storm. According to her, it started out being an experiment in random, seat-of-the-pants style plot composing, when suddenly it decided it wanted to be a breakneck thriller concerning a young woman doing battle with a cult of Qanon-believing weirdos, in 2021. “I thought it was going to be a portal-to-another-world type romance, but it surprised me.” This one was edited by the fabulous Sumiko Saulson, who describes it as a dark fantasy.

The other one is Star Language. A novel that asks the question “why would anyone want to read something this grim even though it’s written like a breathless trashy telenovela?” Linguistically precocious Melina’s abusive mom tries to get rid of her by selling her to traffickers, without realizing she’d end up in the one brothel where first contact with aliens happens. Charon refused to get an editor involved in this hot mess of a book. Plus part of the cover was drawn by an AI.

I understand the next one, Lāhainā Noon, is even worse and involves murderous escapades on the island of Maui, where she was born. Some of my ancestors are also tropical, so we have that in common, but I’m not certain this book is going to be any better than the last. Coming soon. Allegedly. 

You should buy all of these books, because that way she’ll be able to afford a housekeeper to make sure I don’t waste away from dehydration. Somehow, from the dust on these windowsills, I doubt if she can manage prompt watering. I may not survive the winter. 


Saturday, July 8, 2023

The Big Kahuna has left the building

The Big Kahuna died today at the age of 18. 

He had been struggling with arthritis and had an appointment for his next treatment tomorrow, but his appetite failed and the appetite stimulant drugs weren't working. Yesterday I woke up to find him hiding in a closet. That was unusual. My heart sank. 

He stayed in the closet most of the day, only eating a little milk and a squeezable kitty treat even though I spent most of the day preparing tempting food to wave in his face. At night he rallied and came out for cuddles; I played a Billy Strings concert for him. He always loved guitar noodling. Whenever I'd livestream a concert he would be right beside me, curled up listening. He enjoyed one last concert, then he limped back into the closet. I followed him, covered him up with blankets and lay there beside him talking to him for a while. I woke up well before dawn this morning but when I went to check on him he was gone. 

I saw this scared little rescue kitty on Petfinders and had no idea he was a giant
I needed to get some professional photos taken anyway, so I dragged him along to the photoshoot and got some memorable pictures. He was around his top weight of 35 pounds here. 
This is my favorite picture of him from that session. I have a big print hanging on my wall.



With his pal at Cat Safari, where he would stay whenever I went out of town.
They loved him at Cat Safari.


He had a lot of presence and charisma in addition to being huge, but he was also a very reserved, shy creature. I thought about trying to make him an internet celebrity but both of us were way too introverted for that shit, so he spent most of his life as a private citizen.
Sometimes I would get him to shill for my books


He liked to make me smile, and usually did a good job

Most nights he slept in bed with me

He wasn't very fond of hot weather


Throwing a room party at the San Jose Worldcon

He spent a lot of time in his banana bed



Such a noble profile!

His super-penetrating attention-getting stare

One of those "first thing after waking up" photos

It's going to be tough going to sleep without his presence in the house tonight


“My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.”
― Richard Adams, Watership Down






Monday, July 3, 2023

Mister Gatekeeper


Mister Gatekeeper
You sent me back into the crowd
Mister Gatekeeper
You told me that I was not allowed
According to my badge, I was on the list
But you turned me away, and now I’m pissed
Mister Gatekeeper, someday that gate’s gonna slam on you
It’s true
Mister Gatekeeper, someday that gate’s gonna slam on you

Mister Gatekeeper
This isn’t my first time at this show
Mister Gatekeeper
People like you are always telling me where I can’t go
Usually I just walk away and play with different toys
But it happened again, so I’m gonna make some noise
Mister Gatekeeper, someday that gate’s gonna slam on you
It’s true
Mister Gatekeeper, someday that gate’s gonna slam on you

Did I read that book? Can I name three songs? 
Can I come up with proof of why I should belong?
You do not want me here, you've made that crystal clear
I think you're freaking out because you find me irredeemably queer!

Mister Gatekeeper
Go ahead and keep your stinking gate
Mister Gatekeeper
I didn’t want to get beyond it anyway
If people like you are the guardians of decorum 
I don’t want to get closer than an internet forum
Mister Gatekeeper, someday that gate’s gonna slam on you
It’s true
Mister Gatekeeper, someday that gate’s gonna slam on you


Thursday, June 15, 2023

Approaching Storm – a Dark Fantasy

[EDIT: the social media platform upon which I usually conduct my spamming is throttling pages that refer to controversial things like "vaccines" so I shall compensate by spamming this blog ad in more places than I typically do.]



I lost my mind while writing this; it shows. Since the antiliteracy branch of the conservative fringe has decided to do battle with the whole concept of “books for kids” I’ve moved from YA to adult fiction, mainly by shoveling a few layers of gratuitous sex and violence over my regular style. Usually I do a lot of overthinking with regard to the plot, but this time I went seat-of-my-pants with a portal fantasy overlapping with a search for a missing goddaughter, and a crew of villainous book banning types to reap some retribution.

While I was writing it, my very own missing goddaughter surfaced. I hadn’t seen her for a couple decades, following a disagreement with her mom. She turned out to be dying, from the consequences of many bad choices, and we weren’t in contact for long. I changed the character from a long-lost goddaughter to an adopted-out son.

I can’t even count all the obstacles that sprouted while I was writing this thing. I got some personal discouragement from a famous writer that I admire (in fact, the very same one whose book inspired the name of my doomed goddaughter), an injury that left me limping and using a cane, my cat had a life-threatening illness and nearly died. My collaborator from my last book was laid low when her husband suffered a catastrophic illness. I had the honor of working with editor Sumiko Saulson, who also had an onslaught of troubles during that timespan, and we both survived a bout of Covid19.

I finished it though. I have no idea if what I’m currently writing is any good, I always feel like there’s major room for improvement (although I’m getting better with practice). I’ve decided to cease all collaboration and publicity until I find my post YA groove, including working with editors, sensitivity readers, and even cover artists. I’m not doing the convention scene either, and I’m not throwing any more launch parties. Just self-pubbing. Maybe it’ll catch on, maybe I’ll get bored and do something else, or die of old age. Right now I’m only writing because I love to write.

It took me fifty years to figure out how to finish a novel. Once I began I had a dream of spending my old age traveling to SF cons and deducting them, while hanging out with other small time genre writers. The pandemic ruined many of those things, like travel, and conventions, and socializing in general. I did do a little traveling during the covid days, with compulsory masks on airplanes, and hotel housekeeping leaving the fresh towels outside your door, and I captured a little bit of that in Approaching Storm.

Another thing the pandemic ruined for me was conspiracy theories. I used to think they were sort of funny. I know a lot about cults and conspiracies, because I’m an intensely curious being and my fact-checker energy is strong. I’ve always been on the skeptic side, because I’m well aware that if you have proof, you can present it to a judge in exchange for valuable prizes.

Plus there’s a certain type of personality who gets enthralled with conspiracies – stubborn, controlling, always wants to be right, full of the kind of backwards-skepticism that places more credibility in YouTube influencers than scientific journals. I do not get along with this type of personality. At all. They don’t like my pedantic ass either.

In fact, there was a period in my life where I deliberately sought out weird fringey groups of people who believe in strange things, like cryptids, and UFOs, and occult secrets from the distant past. I read about philosophy, I joined new age religions, occultist orders, off brand Christian sects, and meditation circles; I collected zines and avant garde comix. Hung out with a lot of freaky science fiction writers and wannabe cult leaders and people like that. And I also spent a serious amount of time learning how to sort out the unsubstantiated hogwash from the mainstream knowledge and secret truths.

Occasionally the conspirazoids are correct. For example, the US government has done shady things like deliberately give people syphillis and withhold treatment, just to observe and document the progression of symptoms.

Other times, the conspirazoids are reckless and irresponsible, like when they started the Satanic Panic back in the nineties based on a couple of lurid paperbacks, and lots of innocent people got locked up or lost their livelihood. I actually got interested in the conspiracy subculture right around then – I wanted to either find the culprits and expose them, or determine conclusively it was all showmanship. The latter happened, although I met lots of interesting people.

One of them contacted me right around the time I was writing this book. Asked me why I wasn’t busy fleecing the sheep, as he put it, by writing conspiracy drivel. The market is booming, he told me, and as a science fiction writer who is familiar with conspiracies, I was missing out on a gold mine.

I’m lawful though. I was talking with someone about the very sensitive subject of getting paid for my books. And the truth is that my annual writing income is in the low three digits, and I’ve built that over several years. My writing income has been higher in other years but I’m in Hard Mode now – my own IP and content, limited ability to do traditional-style marketing due to the pandemic.

Not to mention that I’ve spent several years developing a rep in Young Adult fiction, which is currently a minefield as culture warriors battle it out over what they think minors should read, so here I am, rebranding toward sexy violent adult thrillers. While questioning my motivation for being a writer in the first place. Maybe I should go back to playing guitar.

I haven’t gone toward fraud, negligence, misrepresentation, or anything of that nature. I know all about how to do it, and have spent a little time on the fringes of pseudoscience. I’d like to say “I’m better than that” but in all honesty, I’m not that great, I’m just not interested in deceit. I’m more of a debunker. So instead of writing yet another breathless account of butterfly slaves and underground tunnels full of mutant minor sex workers (the kind of story one of the characters in Approaching Storm is addicted to), I wrote this book instead.

Even though my writing hasn’t really paid off aside from an occasional surprise amount sufficient to purchase a rideshare fare, pizza, or album (usually I spend it on albums), I have had lots of benefit from my writing in unexpected ways. I’ve made enough to join SFWA and hope to eventually make it into the HWA, and being a professional writer is a good source of positive self esteem. I’ve made some friends and deducted some visits to dinosaur museums on my taxes. In writing this one, maybe I’ll reach someone sorta like me: approximately homeschooled with not-too-literate religion-professing parents that actively discouraged them from getting educated, and get them to look up some of my references, and ask some questions, and read some forbidden books, and discuss why they’re forbidden, and who’s forbidding them. 

Anyway, that’s a whole lot of blathering, so I’ll shut up and play some music. I'll start with a Grateful Dead song name checked in Approaching Storm.


Since it's my first novel set in the here-and-now, I referenced lots of music to set the scene. For instance, this song is playing on one of Aunt Lana’s monitors and even features the guy in the dedication (he’s the one with long hair): Lucifer, by SHINee.

 


This one is playing in the apartment of Lana’s neighbor Neil, who believes that young Billy is nearly as good as Jerry Garcia: Dust In A Baggie, by Billy Strings. 


Kevin is a fan of Dua Lipa and their Cold Cold Heart collab which was a hit in 2021, and Lana, an Elton fan, tells them about when US media tried (unsuccessfully) to cancel him for coming out as bisexual


Elton responded by laying low for a few years and then coming back with one of my favorite songs, I'm Still Standing.



Tuesday, June 13, 2023

Approaching Storm -- Available Now!

The storm has arrived! Now is the time to buy it!



AI Statement

The Science Fiction Writers Association just distributed a statement on AI use, and I concur with it.

My own AI statement is as follows:

I played with an AI art generator for the cover of Star Language. It was fun, but I probably won't do it again. The end result cover consists of a collage including one AI-produced element, a woman's face, which went through several different AI processes prior to final. None of my other books contain AI-generated elements.

I do not use AI to produce text. All of my books are written entirely by me.

I do not dislike AI-produced art and feel it will eventually have a legitimate place in our society. I also think that any creators whose work is sampled by AIs for material for which someone else is trying to profit have an excellent reason to pursue legal claims. And probably don't want me serving on their jury.

I harbor lots of opinions about the relative merits of most art produced with the aim of making profit, and its resemblance to art produced entirely by machines, but I'll discuss that at length in my (entirely human-produced) art.