Anthology cancelled

I heard late yesterday that From the Asylum has finally and completely closed its doors and will no longer be honouring publication of its last two anthologies, including a science fiction one that my short story Boyfriend From Hell was slated to appear in.

To be honest I'm neither surprised nor disappointed. From the Asylum's print magazine closed several months ago and the web zine followed suit soon after. I never did receive the signed copy of my contract back from them and every enquiry, after almost a year of waiting, led only to vague promises that the anthology 'would be going ahead' together with thanks 'for my patience'. Nobody ever gave me a specific release date, and nobody ever answered my biggest question, which was 'how are you going to sell the books given that you no longer have either a print magazine or a web presence?'

On the whole I'm rather relieved to have my rights back and will be looking around for another market where, hopefully, people will actually be able to get hold of the story to read it!

But for now, Boyfriend From Hell is without a home.

First snow

We had the first snow of the winter yesterday. Not much - only about half an inch - but it was enough to turn everything wedding-cake white, and as it was only snowing for less than half an hour you can tell how thickly it was coming down.

Needless to say it thawed slightly and then froze hard overnight so all the local roads look like they've had a spray-coating of mirrored glass and are treacherous in the extreme. I wanted to go into the city centre for a few last bits of shopping but was beaten back, twice, because I couldn't get across the roads to where the bus stops are.

The house is none too warm either. Not only was it -4c last night, but the wind was at gale force, so it was blowing all that freezing air through every gap in the windows. Brrr. Even with the heating on it never seemed to get warm.

I ought to be working today since I can't get out, but cold and concentration don't seem to go together. At least that's my excuse...

Early Christmas present

I had some wonderful news from Byker Books this morning - they've accepted another story, this time for Radgepacket 4. You may (or may not) remember that I had a humorous story about an ageing rock star in the second Radgepacket volume, and they were such a good bunch to work with that I submitted another story earlier this year. I just missed the deadline for volume 3, but the editor has stayed true to his word and hung onto it for this latest collection.

The story is called Lemon Sour and is a dark, almost vicious little tale of childhood humiliation and revenge, involving a pair of yellow gloves!

The book should be out early-ish in the new year (probably by late February/early March) but I'll keep everyone posted about its progress.

Pre-Christmas panic

It's suddenly hit us that Christmas is less than two weeks away, so this weekend we had a bit of a panic trying to do everything at once. Dave's parents came to stay on Friday as part of their 'Santa sleigh-run' taking presents round the family, so Friday morning we cleaned, dusted, and put up the Christmas tree. On Saturday all four of us hit the German Christmas market here in Brum, which this year is bigger than ever, and apparently only 20 stalls short of overtaking the main market in Frankfurt. We bought all sorts of bits and bobs and Dave and his dad had a German sausage each while mother-in-law and I headed for the rather more genteel (and warmer) Edwardian Tea Rooms at the museum for a hot drink. After that we got hopelessly sidetracked looking round the museum at some of the treasures of the industrial age - beautiful Morgan and Ruskin ceramics, Burne Jones stained glass, Royal Worcester porcelain, Black Country crystal and wrought iron work, and of course, lots and lots of silver from all the foundries and electro-plating works in the Jewellery Quarter. The inlaws hadn't seen any of it before and were bowled over. We must take them in again some time and show them the rest of the collections, especially all the Pre-Raphaelite art.

Saturday evening Dave and I crouched over the coffee table scribbling endless messages in endless Christmas cards; then yesterday we dashed up to Ikea to buy a couple of bedside cabinets ready for our friends spending New Year with us. Needless to say, they'd stopped doing the ones I saw in their current catalogue which would have been ideal, but we got something similar which will do almost as well, plus a car load of other rubbish that we didn't realise we needed until we saw it. And after that, we dashed out again to find a new duvet for Dave as he's shivering under a particularly thin one. We couldn't find what we wanted, but came home with four scatter cushions, two rolls of gift wrap, a box of crackers and a thermos flask. Don't ask!

Strange research

I'm amazed sometimes at the weird things I end up researching for the sake of stories. Yesterday and today I've been reading up on angels, and especially fallen angels, for a possible story for QueeredFiction's latest 'angels and demons' call.

I went to a Church of England primary school so I knew about the main archangels - Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. I'd also heard of one or two of the fallen angels including (of course) Lucifer, and Azazeal who featured (fictitiously) in a teen gothic series on telly a couple of years ago. But it seems there are dozens, if not hundreds more - around 200 fallen angels, and positive heavenly hosts of angels, archangels, cherubim, seraphim, guardians, powers, spirts and gawd knows what else. Many of the names were invented during the Middle Ages, apparently, when scholars juggled the letters of the Hebrew alphabet to come up with names, or added '-el' (of God) to suitable Hebrew words. The end result is, um, confusing, but I actually rather enjoyed poring over the lists and finding out who was who.

A cracking good read

I finally finished reading 'Queer Dimensions' last night - it's taken me slightly longer because I wanted to savour each story.

My overall impression is that this is a really good, lovingly crafted collection of science-fiction stories with a gay twist. There were one or two stories that I was less keen on, but only from personal preference, not because there was anything wrong with them. My favourites included Jacques L Condor's The Night Hunters (vivid and warm-hearted); Erastes' fun tale Whatever the Risk; Mallory Path's sensuous transgendered story The Prettiest Girl in the Room; and the heart-rending and original The Sister Bush by Joel Best, but I enjoyed pretty much everything else as well.

If you're after smut this probably isn't the anthology for you (there's one story I'd call erotica and another that's heading that way, but that's all). But if you like original, thought-provoking and beautifully written science fiction, and you like gay fiction, then rush off and buy a copy now!

Too fuzzy to write

No, that's my mental state not my physical appearance. Yesterday I dosed up on painkillers and then found they made my brain so fuzzy I couldn't concentrate, and I ended up doing no work at all.

Today I have the wonderful choice of sitting here and throbbing but perhaps writing a bit, or wimping out and reaching for the pills again.

Aargh. Who'd be a writer?

Cold - and ouch.

It's suddenly turned wintry here - there's a thick white frost on all the lawns and roofs and according to iGoogle's weather gadget, it's still only -2c at eleven o'clock in the morning. And there may be snow on the way.

Normally I'd go out for a good walk to warm up but earlier this morning I managed to fall down stairs. I landed awkwardly with all my weight on one big toe and it bloomin' hurts! I don't think it's broken but I can't put any weight on it or get any of my shoes on. Currently I'm hobbling around with an extra sock on that foot for a bit of warmth.

Ah well - it gives me the perfect excuse to stay in and write....

First floods, now snow...

There was snow on the fells on Friday night. It's not the first they've had but it may have been the most so far since there was quite a covering - enough to turn them into surprisingly Alpine peaks.

We bowled over to Keswick for the day and had a smashing time. It's pretty much business as usual in spite of the floods, apart from a couple of road bridges which are still closed for safety reasons. We had a lovely walk down by the lake, which has emptied out massively but left a ring of debris at an astonishing height above the usual level - and the Theatre by the Lake smelled strongly of pond water when we popped in there. It's good to see everyone pulling together to clear up and get back to normal and we were glad we'd made the effort to go and spend a bit of money in the town.

We took some photos of the amazing weather. The snow was causing sublimation clouds to form over the fells so it was quite hard to catch more than a glimpse of the 'white stuff', but the overall effect was still very scenic.

Skiddaw looming over the town:


Looking across Derwentwater to Cat Bells and the north-western fells:


And again, with some of the half-flooded piers in the foreground:


A couple of local residents tucking into Saturday lunch:

My memoirs

Anyone who's ever seen the hysterically black comedy film Kind Hearts and Coronets will know all about the significance of 'my memoirs', which must be one of the most delicious twist-in-the-tail endings of all time.

You'll be pleased to know I haven't backed myself into that sort of corner. But I have been trying my hand at something rather unusual for me - a series of brief memoirs for the forthcoming Leaf Books writing contest. It's not something I've ever tried before but it sounded interesting and I'm rarely one to turn down a writing challenge, so I scoured my memory for suitable incidents to write about and set fingers to keyboard.

Oddly enough, all the ideas that occurred to me are from my early childhood. I'm not sure what that says about me, but I do know it's a lot harder than you might think to write them up in a way that's entertaining and doesn't use the word 'me' every other word. One of my writer friends is also having a go and mentioned something about 'so very few words' (the maximum is 1,000 for each memoir). At the moment I'm having more trouble expanding my ideas up to fit anything like the 1,000 words but I'll keep pegging away at it. If I can come up with three workable ideas I'll be able to submit under the 'three for a tenner' offer which should save some dosh.

I'll let you all know how it goes.

Decoding the forecast

You only need to spend a short amount of time in the Lake District to realise that it generates its own weather - which usually has nothing to do with the national, or even regional forecasts.

For the benefit of anyone who doesn't know the area well, I thought I'd post a quick translation of some of the terms the forecasters use, to give you more idea what the weather is really going to be like.

'Occasional showers' - almost incessant rain
'Frequent showers' - incessant rain with some bits heavier than others
'Light rain or drizzle' - rain that only bounces four inches off the ground
'Rain' - rain that bounces six inches off the ground
'Heavy rain' - be afraid, be very afraid
'Torrential rain' - start building the Ark.
'Sunshine' - sorry, no translation possible.

Photos of the floods

I took a few pictures of the lake overflowing at Bowness-on-Windermere on Saturday. You can see for yourselves just how much water there is everywhere!

Safe!

The minute the roads opened again we dashed up to the Lakes to check the cottage. And the good news is that both we and it are fine. Roads and properties nearby had suffered some problems and the lake at Bowness is feet above its normal level, but we're on higher ground and a slope and the water simply hasn't affected the place at all. We're very, very grateful because lots of people haven't been so lucky.

We drove out yesterday (using only the main roads that were marked as open - we don't want to get stuck and add to everyone's problems)and the rivers are still raging torrents. The River Leven, which drains Windermere itself, was frightening - hurtling along at about five times its normal speed and well over the height of its banks. A couple of the roads and bridges were closed for safety and we really weren't surprised.

Everywhere is still sopping wet and there's more heavy rain forecast for tomorrow but fingers crossed the worst is now over.

Eeek, flooding

The good news is that we're fine here in Birmingham.

But it's time to let you into a secret. A couple of months ago we bought ourselves a holiday cottage in the Lake District, and have been dashing up there every spare minute we can, furnishing it and enjoying living in a beautiful corner of the UK. It's partly why I've been rather hit-and-miss about updating this blog lately, because we had a Very Long Wait for broadband and I had no internet connection for several weeks.

We were all set to go up there again today in order to spend Dave's birthday in the area - and, hopefully, get a door fitted on the guest bedroom in time for our friends staying at new year! But we can't go. The area has had absolutely terrible weather for the last couple of days, with as much as twelve inches of rain falling on the central fells in 32 hours (quite possibly a new record for England) and it's caused floods.

Not just a few minor floods - we're talking about pretty much the entire county being under water, and most of the towns and villages being cut off. We checked the local travel news first thing this morning and found that all the roads are closed so we have no way of getting through to the property, and no way of checking if it's still dry. Ordinarily it wouldn't flood because it's on sloping ground, away from rivers and streams, and up the hill from the main lake of Windermere. But these aren't ordinary conditions; storm drains are overflowing and water cascading off any higher ground. The main road just yards from our front door is listed as 'just passable due to flooding', and the school across the road is closed.

We're keeping an eye on the travel news and the minute it improves we'll jump in the car and see what's what. We're going to pack extra supplies, too. If all the roads are closed that means no deliveries for local shops, and our neighbours might be running out of food. And we're dashing out in a minute to buy ourselves some cheap wellies, as I don't fancy wading about in all the muck and water in my good shoes!

Queer Dimensions is here!

My trib copy of the anthology turned up late yesterday and I must say it looks a well produced book. The cover art is subtle and attractive (no man-boobs here), it's bursting with stories, and although I've only had a chance to dip my toe into the contents, so far I'm impressed with the quality of the writing.

The first story, by Jaques L Condor, is set in Alaska and involves two grumpy old men. It's so vivid that I had the feeling I was right there in the cabin, listening to them bicker and watching the snow whirl down outside.

I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of the stories and will report back on which ones I liked best once I've finished.

Invasion of the... ladybirds?

Last night I happened to glance up to the top of the window in my study, and noticed something strange. There was a small heap of ladybirds clustered together in one corner of the window frame, looking as though they were huddling together for warmth. A quick headcount revealed at least a dozen, perhaps more, all apparently asleep. Slightly further along the frame I spotted another bundle, and then a couple more by themselves in another corner.

I called Dave in to look and he said 'oh, how sweet, they're over-wintering. Leave them be.' But I wasn't convinced. It's not quite bodysnatchers, but there's something slightly sinister about insects in those numbers, and besides, I had visions of them waking up in spring, breeding like fury, and us arriving back one day to find millions of the little blighters. I do hate killing things, though, so I prepared to 'leave them be'.

Until a few minutes later when Dave poked his head back round the door and said, "Um, slight problem. They're Harlequins." He'd been on the net and found some information, and apparently Harlequins are the only sort that deliberately move indoors to hibernate over winter. A quick check through a magnifying glass and we were certain - they were definitely Harlequins.

For those of you who don't know (which included me until last year) Harlequin Ladybirds are an invasive species. They're much bigger than any of our native varieties and they're forcing the smaller types out. For some reason they had a bumper year this year and apparently some people have hundreds or even thousands of them clinging in bunches to south-facing internal walls and windows. Ours was only a small-scale plague. Even so, we took a deep breath and got the vacuum cleaner out. I still don't like killing things, but Harlequins are classed as a pest and I was even more concerned about them breeding next spring and filling the whole place. So we're officially Ladybird Murderers, but hopefully it was in a good cause.

Antiques (not necessarily) for everyone

Dave's been working all the hours lately so for once he gave himself the afternoon off and we buzzed over to the National Exhibition Centre since we'd got a free ticket for the regular 'Antiques for Everyone' fair. We've been a couple of times before and always enjoy poking round the stalls, finding things that we remember our parents or grandparents having, and exclaiming at some of the many beautiful objects on display. We've never before been even remotely tempted to buy anything, though, not least because the prices have been shocking. Not so much antiques for everyone, as antiques for anyone who's rich, filthy rich or stinking.

Today, for the first time, we actually *gasp* bought something. And not just one item, but two. First we found an adorable little brooch in the shape of a lizard, that I thought might be perfect for my mother-in-law for Christmas, and then I treated myself to a vintage hat pin. Neither item was expensive to start with, and in both cases the dealers were happy to give us a small discount on the ticket price, so we feel comfortable we haven't been cheated.

Some of the prices were still ridiculous, though. I fell in love with a stunning silver (coloured) Art Nouveau mantel clock... until I read the ticket, and found it was priced at... wait for it... £12,000.

Woah.

Still antiques for the mostly rich and filthy rich, methinks.

But it was fun, and we did get in free...

Those London photos...

I realised I'd completely forgotten to post any pictures from our recent trip to London, so here without further ado are a selection of the best:

One of the art installations on the famous (and usually empty) fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. As part of Anthony Gormley's One and Other project, a different person took to the plinth every hour, 24 hours a day, for several weeks:

A tranquil scene in the pouring rain at the Barbican Centre:

No, it's not the countryside, just a surprisingly pastoral scene in St James's Park early one morning:

Feeding the squirrels in St James's Park; as you can see from the next picture, some of them are VERY tame:

New reviews of 'I Do'

The charity gltb anthology 'I Do' has had a couple of very nice reviews recently. Alternative-Read have posted a good overall review of the whole collection, as well as comments on one or two of the longer stories.

And Dark Diva Reviews has a really detailed review, not just of the overall collection but of each individual story into the bargain. Including, I might add, a very nice comment about my story Salad Days.

Such a realistic portrait of a relationship after the new has worn off, but before the deep seated trust has established itself.

If you like the sound of the anthology and would like to order a copy for yourself or a loved one (Christmas is only just around the corner after all *grin*), then pop along to the dedicated page at my website for more details on how and where to buy.

Book review: 'Wizard's First Rule' by Terry Goodkind

This is the book (or one of 'em) that the recent tv series 'Legend of the Seeker' was based on. The series was a jolly wheeze and on the strength of enjoying the double helping each week I treated myself to the book a few weeks ago. I finally finished it last night but have very mixed feelings.

The story was great - a real page turner. I liked most of the characters, who were warm and sympthetic and less one-dimensional than many fantasy genre characters. And I really enjoyed some of the mind-stretching philosophy Goodkind wove into the story, where nothing was quite what it seemed and good wasn't always 100% better than evil. It really made you think.

But oh dear! The style! For the most part it's terribly, terribly basic, of the 'she did this, he said that' variety, and so repetitive I found myself skim-reading huge chunks. The hero, Richard, would be holding an internal argument with himself while tracking through a forest, and forty pages on he was still have the same internal argument with himself in the same forest. Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit, but not by much.

This is an example of what I mean, but it's not the only bit. There's more. Lots, lots more. Three more paragraphs of this argument alone, and another seven hundred pages in the book....

But what was wrong with taking the sword? What could it hurt to have its help? Wouldn't it be foolish to turn down any assistance? Apparently the sword could be put to any use its owner wanted, so why not use it in the way he wanted? He didn't have to become an assassin, or anything else. He could use it to help them, that was all. That was all that was needed, or wanted; no more.

The cynic in me can't help thinking that it's very easy to write a 100,000 word book if you repeat every idea/sentence eight times in slightly varying ways.

Would I read another book in the series? Unless anyone can convince me that Goodkind has changed his style and tidied up his English, probably not. Which is a shame as it's basically a great story...