My Schedule At ConFusion

One of the sad casualties of my blogging absence is that I didn’t plug the convention I’m going to attend, well, tomorrow.  Which is a shame, because ConFusion is perhaps the strongest literary con in Michigan thanks to the good work of one Mr. David Klecha, full of wonderful authors and good interesting topics – and if there’s any local con I feel you should attend to see lots of cool writers, this is it.
So.  Here’s where I’ll be in Michigan, starting tomorrow.  My reading’s the one I’m paranoid about, so if you want to see me, please!  See me there.
7pm Friday: Fantasy and Horror
12pm Saturday: SF on TV
2pm Saturday: Reading (with Writers of the Future finalist Dr. Phil Kaldon!)
I’m still torn between reading all of “iTime,” which anyone who’s going to see me has likely read, or an excerpt from my too-long-to-read-in-full and not-yet-published erotic story “Rooms Formed Of Neurons And Sex.” Lemme know if you’ll be there and will have a preference. I’m easily swayed by audiences.
If you feel like supporting me, please show up to this!  I hate reading to empty rooms, and I’m told I do pretty good readings.
3pm Saturday: YA Fantasy vs. Science Fiction
4pm Saturday: The Lure of the Undead  
10am Sunday: Novels to the Small Screen

"Any History of Suicide Attempts?"

“Any history of suicide attempts?” the doctor asked.
“1987, 88, and 89,” I replied, hiding the fresh gashes on my arms.  “That was when I discovered my seasonal affective disorder.”
“How did you try to kill yourself?”
“Pills.  All three times.”
“So I probably shouldn’t give you any large prescriptions.”
Crap.  I hadn’t thought about that.  “…no.”
“Do you have suicidal thoughts outside of those times?”
“Once or twice a week usually.  Constantly now.  That’s why I’m here.”
“You said you don’t own a gun because you’re afraid of killing yourself.”
“364 days, I’d be okay with it,” I told him, feeling the full depth of my crazy quiver through me.  “But I can’t take the chance of that 365th day.”
“Well,” he said, typing my history furiously into his laptop, “If you feel suicidal, can you promise to call me first?”
“I will,” I lied, “But I’d have to call three other people first.”
He stopped typing.  “You have three people you’ve promised to call before you kill yourself?”
(Actually, I had made promises over the years to about eight people that I would call them before I killed myself, but I only had three of their numbers now.  Though if it came down to that, I probably could contact some of them on Facebook.)
“…yeah.”
More notes.  “Actually, if you’re ever suicidal, your first call should be to 911,” he explained.
“Yeah,” I scoffed.  “If I called 911 every time I felt like killing myself, I’d be in the hospital three days a week minimum.  And you don’t just go for three days.  Once you’re in, you stay in.  I don’t have that kind of time or money.”
“Should you be in the hospital now?  For your own safety?”
He said it gently, but it was a gun being slid onto the table.  Convince me, it said.  If you can’t, you’re going to be going for a lovely little vacation whether you want to be or not.
And the thing was, under the doctor’s kind-but-stern glare, I wasn’t sure whether I shouldn’t be in the crazy ward.  I realized that I’d built my entire life as a cage to hold this rampant insanity – having a safety net of multiple failsafes I’d promised to call if ever my will weakened, making sure I had habits to keep working and writing even when I was so depressed I could barely get out of bed, the warnings to friends about What Happens In May, the way I know to stay away from the knives in the kitchen when I’m down.
Sometimes, in discussing depression rationally, I have been obliged to get into stupid “My pain is worse than yours” debates, wherein I have to pull out my credentials of years of suicide attempts – because nobody who’d really felt this agony could be rational about it, man.  Which is always irritating.  But it washes off.
But that doctor?  Made me realize just how fucking crazy I really am.

….so I didn’t post for a while.
What right does a crazy man have to post about anything?

Then I got to thinking about my appendix.
When my appendix burst and I almost died, and they sliced me open to pressure-wash my insides, it was a point of pride that I was out running the obstacle course in the bouncy castle the next week.
Thing was, yes, my insides were stitched up and my guts were still healing.  It was very painful, sliding belly-down in a child’s playground… But it was my birthday.  I had to play on my birthday.  So I kept going, even though I was broken.  I did the things I wanted to do, and my friends thought that was somehow admirable.  Bold.
My brain is broken.  Don’t try to tell me otherwise.  I spend days locked in depression, barely able to function, and it’s only thanks to two decades’ worth of habits that I manage to get anything done at all.  I’m pretty fundamentally fucked up, with a lemminglike part of my thought process that keeps urging me to cut myself, to overdose on pills, to leave my loved ones because they’d be better off without me even if they wouldn’t be.
My brain does not work properly.  I’ve kluged together some extensive work-arounds, which passes for wisdom sometimes, but I know its true name: experience.  But if my underlying architecture wasn’t so poor, I wouldn’t have to think so hard.  I’d just act in healthy ways.
Yet even with this shattered psyche, I can hope there’s something fundamentally brave about continuing on.  About speaking.  About continuing to stand in public, talking, and sharing the handful of things that I know.

Influence The Future Of Science Fiction For A Mere $50! (Or For Nothing!)

I’m going to tell you how to get cheap e-books, influence the future of science fiction for the better, and read some of the best science fiction writing of the calendar year.  It will only cost you fifty bucks – and might be free, with a little effort.  Listen, for I am about to reveal one of the most hidden bargains in all of science fiction.
Interested?  Read on.
Okay.  So every year, science fiction (well, and fantasy) has the Hugo Awards – one of the biggest awards it’s possible to get as a sci-fi/fantasy writer.  And every year, once the nominations come out, there are the usual accusations that the nominations are representative of a graying, largely-white fan base, and the phenomenal work of new authors are getting shoved aside in favor of old workhorses.
But here’s the thing: for $50, anybody can nominate works for, and vote for, the Hugo awards.  All you need is a supporting membership for ChiCon 2012.  So you can help boost your favorite fiction types, new or old, classic or cutting-edge.  And a Hugo award really boosts an author’s career, keeping them writing the kind of thing that you enjoy.
Admittedly, that $50 seems like a lot – except as a voter, once the finalists are announced, you get a voters’ packet containing every nominated book, short story, and graphic novel.*  It’s all electronic, of course, and if your favorite authors are very lucky all of of the books you nominated will already be in it… but that leaves you with several very quality novels, graphic and otherwise, for a bargain price.
So what you get for $50 is the ability to potentially boost your favorite authors’ careers, and then a basket full of randomly good books at cheaper price than what you can get them for on Amazon.
It’s really terribly worth it.  If you’ve ever complained that they just don’t seem to promote your kind of science fiction, then if you can rally your friends and perhaps cause a sea change.  It’s like doing community service, except you get free books.
And hey!  If you want to spend an extra $140 to actually attend WorldCon, which is in Chicago this year, then you can meet many of your favorite authors in person and tell them that you voted for them!  But it’s not necessary at all.  The $50 gets you the say.
In fact, I believe voting for the Hugo is so important that I’m going to hold a contest – I will donate two $50 memberships to two people chosen at random.
What do you have to do in order to get these memberships?  I want you to recommend two short stories to me that were written in 2011.  Now, you can wuss out if you want to and choose two stories of mine if you’re too lazy to go to the effort… but since I need to do some reading to figure out what I want to nominate for the Hugos, it’d be nice if you pointed me at something good.  (Preferably with a link, if it’s available online.  And yes, if you’re an author, you can choose one of your works, but be a mensch and recommend someone else.)
Keep in mind that these stories must be written in 2011.  I don’t care how great it was, I’m looking for stories that I can nominate for a Hugo.  If you make me waste my time reading some un-nominable thing because you’re too lazy to check a date, then you’ve stolen reading time from a deserving author who might have actually gotten the nod.  I will be wroth.  Do not do this.
Also, this contest is quick – since you have to purchase your membership before the end of January to nominate, you must submit your story suggestions before midnight on Monday, January 23rd.  Do so via a comment here, preferably with an email address or a Twitter-handle or some way of getting in touch should you win.
And if you think this is a good idea – please.  Publicize this entry, link to it, Tweet it, do what you can…. Or write your own entry on how easy this process is.  I think the Hugo is one of those untold bargains that doesn’t get enough PR, and I was surprised to find how trivial the voting process is.  It’s like if you could vote for the Oscars (and get all of the screening copies once the nominations were finalized!) for less than the price of a copy of Skyrim.
Anyway, I’d suggest you look at the membership options, and if you can do it, then do.  And if not… start suggesting.
* – Most likely.  The voter packet is not contractually guaranteed, and they may decide not to do it this year, but the publishers have every reason to want to woo you – so I can’t believe they’d suddenly stop.  They might, since organizations can be astonishingly silly, but I think it’ll happen again, so much so that I’m risking my own money to promote it.

The Meaningless Marriage Quest

Here’s how dumb marrying is in Skyrim:
1)  You have to buy a magic necklace for 200 gold.  Once you do, you’re eligible.
2)  Find a stranger, who says all of the other identical things that strangers do.  Ask them to marry you.  They may require you to kill somebody first.
3)  A ceremony later, you’re married!  To someone with zero personality!  It’s like marrying a Kardashian.
My question: Who the fuck finds this satisfying?
I mean, okay, I adore the romance-trees in Bioware games, where after a lot of talking and conversation trees and exploring the personality of a well-written character, there’s an option to go to romance.  That’s fine, because I’m invested in that person, and am, if not attracted, at least understanding who this person is that I’m committing to.
But why even bother in Skyrim?  There’s nobody you talk to often enough to really know who they are.  I married my hireling, a fellow magic college student, and the only thing she ever did to me was to cast two botched spells on me.  Why would I want to commit to her in any way?  What do I know about her?
Likewise, in Fable, I can marry and have kids, but you know what I know about my wife?  She’s really amused by my amazing arm-farting skills.  As is every other fucking woman in town.  I can stand in the town square, farting and dancing, and I’ll have a flock of enamored women and men surrounding me like chickens.
So why even bother?  Why would you marry some personality-less entity, who looks like one of a thousand others like them?  Are these games trying to say that marriage really is about just getting service (since you can pay 500 gold to hire a sidekick, or just marry them) and pumping out indistinguishable children?  It’s not even like the Sims, where these people express at least people-specific quirks, it’s a set of completely interchangeable idiots you can marry, or not, and marrying doesn’t change a thing in your life.
Look.  I want to fall in love in games.  But it’s with people, not sprites.  I don’t even understand why they’re bothering to put in these options if they’re so poorly done, or who they really appeal to.

"A Window, Clear As A Mirror," Live At PodCastle

You guys.  This is amazing.
As you may or may not know, “A Window, Clear As A Mirror” is the most personal story I’ve ever written – the story of a man whose wife leaves him to go through a magic portal, and what he does to try to cope with that loss.  And that story was blessed – it appeared in one of my favorite magazines, had artwork so beautiful I bought the originals and had them framed, got me my first “Recommended” review from Locus, and now?
Now it’s one of the most perfect audio productions I’ve heard.
Seriously, I’ve had audio productions done of my stories before, which I always adore – “As Below, So Above,” “Suicide Notes, Written By An Alien Mind,” “The Sound of Gears,” and “My Father’s Wounds” are all better read than I’ve had a right to have ’em – but…
…look.  There’s a scene early on, when my heartbroken protagonist is sitting on a chair in his now-empty apartment, a magic mirror in his hand, trying to see the last of his wife.  And he says, “Who – who’s the fairest one of all?”  And Rish Outfield nailed it, the hitch in the voice, the hoarseness, the barely contained attempt to keep it together.  All in one sentence.  It was the voice in my head.  And it was beautiful, and sad, and everything I wanted.
They did a great job.  I hesitate to announce that this story’s also eligible for Hugos and Nebulas and what-have-you, but what do I care?  It’s the voice in my head, reading to you.  Go check it out.  Share it if you love it.