Well, it is near two weeks since the peep of the year and have you heard anything from me..?!
I am very chuffed to break silence (as it were), do as others have done and post up a shortlist from the up and coming Cybils Awards in my own chosen genre, Fantasy & Science Fiction:
Cabinet of Wonders written by Marie Rutkoski, Macmillan
Graveyard Book written by Neil Gaiman, HarperCollins
Magic Thief written by Sarah Prineas, HarperCollins
Savvy written by Ingrid Law, Penguin USA
Airman written by Eoin Colfer, Hyperion
Curse Dark as Gold written by Elizabeth C. Bunce, Scholastic
Explosionist written by Jenny Davidson, HarperCollins
Graceling written by Kristin Cashore, Harcourt
Hunger Games, The written by Suzanne Collins, Scholastic
Wake written by Lisa McMann, Simon & Schuster
... and (*drum roll*)
Lamplighter written by some weird fellow surrounded by notebooks in a darkened room, Penguin USA.
A true and dare I admit astonishing honour - (watch for my over-use of this word in Book 3... :( - to be included amongst such lights. Congrats to us all, to the judges for hour upon hour of reading to get to this list, to anyone who dares attempt to write a book - shortlisted, awarded or otherwise - and to you most excellent folk who read! Thank you R.J. Anderson for pointing my shortlisting out to me; thank you Laini Taylor-Di Bartolo for you great summary and to you all for your continuing support.
Only a couple of weeks away from the 2008 Aurealis Awards too.
My head is so swollen at the moment I am having trouble fitting through doors and cannot drive my car. Of course, ego takes a big hit when confronted by the daily struggle with the English language, which often feels a lot like...
English language & Plot not doing what it ought to: 1 - D.M.Cornish: nil.
Never-the-less, we are getting there folks!
Klesita (welcome to you!) was asking... "Is it true that Jim Henson Co has the rights of the series? Do you still retain some kind of rights over the script that will allow you some control over the final product? It would be a shame if the movie trashes this beautiful/fearful/incredible world and its inhabitants..."
Yes, the Henson company does indeed have the rights to MBT; no, I think they have to right to make the story what they want it to be, and if I get any say in how it turns out it will be purely on the condescension of the director etc. I too am nervous of what the final product my morph into; I reckon at this very moment the Henson Company are probably nervous how I actually end the story (and me along with them) - so nerves all round.
Ben Bryddia ponders... "Do they have land mines in the Haacobin Empire? You know, big ceramic or porcelain spheres full of mordants, just waiting for some hulking unterman to step on, and crack open? Which makes me wonder, are there any poisonous potives of the gas variety?"
Not in the way we have landmines, no. More like buried or hidden bombs with long fuses, and with or without potives. There are devices known as belchpots (amongst other names): large cauldron-shaped pots of cheap iron or clay with a metal base plate and filled with black powder (sometimes called cannon char) and lots and lots of langridge (or langrage, read: shrapnel). These pots are then buried into the soil, their mouths pointed in the desired direction of the blast, and when needed are set off with a long fuse. Variable and messy, but very cheap and relatively simple to produce.
Most repellents and the like work on a rapid expansion in air principle, so it that sense much of a skold/legermain's arsenal is somewhat gaseous, if not to start with, certainly once "deployed". There are a few pure gas potives, but they are rare due to difficulties of storage (usually in a tightly stitched animal bladder of some variety).
Breakfast today: Apricot Fruity Bix
Showing posts with label early writings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label early writings. Show all posts
Steampunk - to steam or not to punk?
I found - well "found" is a bit of a fib, I was actually Google-alerted to the existence of this post... anyway - I was alerted to this interesting and most excellent article by S.F.Winser upon the humble topic of "steampunk", which included a brief mention of my own work.
Now, previously I would have reacted with a little heat to someone lumping MBT into the steampunk genre because by my own definition of the term, MBT has neither steam nor magic crammed together in that wonderfully uncomfortable manner that is a hallmark of the scene (such as in Mr Mieville's wonderful world). Neither is the Half-Continent and the lands about a Victorian world (as sooooo many keep mistakenly identify it - I defy anyone to show me evidence of the wearing of tri-corner hats in Victorian England, except perhaps by the most rustic) - no it is as, I have conceived it, Georgian, Hanovarian and a wee bit of the Enlightenment too.
Yet if you take Mr Winser's definition: "Steampunk comes from a time when a scientist could make anything in his basement. It might be something clunky-looking, it might be something beautiful - but dammit it would look interesting and it would work..." then, by the precious here and vere! it IS most certainly steampunk, through and through. Some of my earliest writings upon the H-c and beyond were of benighted laboratories where mad dabblers concocted wickedness to let loose on the ignorant world, and people would disappear to end up as parts in a some thrice-wretched experiment.
So steam the punks I say, though maybe go easy on the steam and invite some frock-coated folk along instead.
(I must confess I quoted Mr Winser's article without permission - I hope he does not mind, it is done in the spirit of conversation. If you do mind, sir, I apologise and humbly ask you if I might use this quote...)
Now, previously I would have reacted with a little heat to someone lumping MBT into the steampunk genre because by my own definition of the term, MBT has neither steam nor magic crammed together in that wonderfully uncomfortable manner that is a hallmark of the scene (such as in Mr Mieville's wonderful world). Neither is the Half-Continent and the lands about a Victorian world (as sooooo many keep mistakenly identify it - I defy anyone to show me evidence of the wearing of tri-corner hats in Victorian England, except perhaps by the most rustic) - no it is as, I have conceived it, Georgian, Hanovarian and a wee bit of the Enlightenment too.
Yet if you take Mr Winser's definition: "Steampunk comes from a time when a scientist could make anything in his basement. It might be something clunky-looking, it might be something beautiful - but dammit it would look interesting and it would work..." then, by the precious here and vere! it IS most certainly steampunk, through and through. Some of my earliest writings upon the H-c and beyond were of benighted laboratories where mad dabblers concocted wickedness to let loose on the ignorant world, and people would disappear to end up as parts in a some thrice-wretched experiment.
So steam the punks I say, though maybe go easy on the steam and invite some frock-coated folk along instead.
(I must confess I quoted Mr Winser's article without permission - I hope he does not mind, it is done in the spirit of conversation. If you do mind, sir, I apologise and humbly ask you if I might use this quote...)
A New Year A New Post - or bad, indulgent poetry
Well here we are a new year and all that - already it is a week old and I have not posted anything.
What is up with that?
How are folks liking the Word of the Day and the Match Up? Keep them? Ditch 'em? I thought they give a bit of extra interest - since I do like words and all. I play the Match Up one very often and glow at myself for how many words I know (which is mostly fluke, 'cause once I have sussed those I do actually recall, the half-known words soon match and then there is usually one set left that must fit by default. Easy!)
Well, in moving house I dug up a few weird odds and sods including some bizarre poetry from the very midst of my childhood. If I may, I am going to indulge myself in exposing one of my first poems (which, let's be honest, I cannot think is too bad or I would not be prepared to share it now, would I...) So here is the beginnings of the "great writing career" called Look to the Fly on the Wall.
Look to the fly on the wall,
For there lies your sense of vulgarity.
I stand at the door and knock,
To enter the exit
And come in to go out.
Why is water wet?
Why does a ball come down,
To send ripples of green cascading over
Locks of dying shoelaces.
Twinkle twinkle little star,
How I wonder what Rhinos are.
Mushrooms of cloud
To eat for dinner;
Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
To chew some gum for breakfast.
Far away, an infant
Dropped his ice cream
Drip drip
Closer to home, I blow my nose
To direct my thoughts to amoebas
swimming in their void of fulfilment.
So -
Look to the fly on the wall,
For there lies your sense of vulgarity.
Deep is it not... Not sure what it all means; clearly a late cold war piece with that "mushrooms of cloud for dinner" line - very high school art project of me.
Ok, self-indulgence now finished.
What is up with that?
How are folks liking the Word of the Day and the Match Up? Keep them? Ditch 'em? I thought they give a bit of extra interest - since I do like words and all. I play the Match Up one very often and glow at myself for how many words I know (which is mostly fluke, 'cause once I have sussed those I do actually recall, the half-known words soon match and then there is usually one set left that must fit by default. Easy!)
Well, in moving house I dug up a few weird odds and sods including some bizarre poetry from the very midst of my childhood. If I may, I am going to indulge myself in exposing one of my first poems (which, let's be honest, I cannot think is too bad or I would not be prepared to share it now, would I...) So here is the beginnings of the "great writing career" called Look to the Fly on the Wall.
Look to the fly on the wall,
For there lies your sense of vulgarity.
I stand at the door and knock,
To enter the exit
And come in to go out.
Why is water wet?
Why does a ball come down,
To send ripples of green cascading over
Locks of dying shoelaces.
Twinkle twinkle little star,
How I wonder what Rhinos are.
Mushrooms of cloud
To eat for dinner;
Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
To chew some gum for breakfast.
Far away, an infant
Dropped his ice cream
Drip drip
Closer to home, I blow my nose
To direct my thoughts to amoebas
swimming in their void of fulfilment.
So -
Look to the fly on the wall,
For there lies your sense of vulgarity.
Deep is it not... Not sure what it all means; clearly a late cold war piece with that "mushrooms of cloud for dinner" line - very high school art project of me.
Ok, self-indulgence now finished.
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