MarsCon Guest Schedule (Jan 18-20)

I'm jumping into the 2019 convention schedule with one of my favorites: MarsCon in Williamsburg, VA, January 18-20, 2019. Here's where I'll be, when not tending a table with Emily Leverett!

Open Submission for New Anthology: Lawless Lands

Are you ready to venture back into the #WeirdWildWest?

I am! My editing posse, Emily Leverett and Misty Massey, are rounding up stories for another anthology: Lawless Lands: Tales from the Weird Frontier, to be published by Falstaff Press. We have an incredible lineup of anchor authors, including:

• Jake Bible
• David B Coe
• Laura Anne Gilman
• Barb Hendee
• Faith Hunter
• Nicole Givens Kurtz
• Margaret S. McGraw
• Seanan McGuire
• Devon Monk
• Edmund Schubert

Yes, my "Rainmaker" story that started this whole crazy venture will have stellar company in this anthology.

And one of the things my posse loves best about these anthologies is the opportunity to bring new stars to the rodeo! Submissions are open now through September 30th, and we would love to see a story from you! Lawless Lands will be funded with a Kickstarter, which will run in December, and we want to have our stories in hand in order to guarantee an amazing campaign. We’re looking for stories that embody the frontier spirit of the American West, but with a weird twist. Gunslingers with laser pistols, cattle drives through the galaxy, cursed nuggets of gold, talking jack rabbits that grant wishes – fantasy, SF, steampunk, or horror... if it’s weird, we want to see it.

We will pay each author a minimum of 4 cents a word, with the possibility of more if the Kickstarter makes stretch goals, and two print copies. Word count – 3000 to 7000 words. Submission deadline – September 30, 2016. Submission attachments should be in 12 point New Times Roman, in Microsoft Word format (preferably .docx). We’re happy to see a brief cover email explaining your previous publications, but try to keep it short and sweet. And don’t stress if you have no prior publication experience – we love discovering stars!

For more information, or to submit your story, lawlesslandstales@gmail.com

Appearance: MarsCon 2016, Williamsburg, VA

January is a busy month and a great start to the 2016 convention season, with MarsCon fast on the heels of last weekend's Illogicon.

This is my 4th (5th?) year at MarsCon, my 2nd as a guest, and it's one of my favorite cons, small-to-medium sized, friendly and fun, with great costuming and interesting programming. The ConSuite is legendary for their food and hospitality. And if I'm lucky, I'll find my way to the Endless Party at the Cross Time Saloon! 

I may fangirl when I meet Ellen Kushner.

My MarsCon Panel Schedule:
Friday, Jan 15th
6pm Fri Auditorium Opening Ceremonies 
8pm Fri Harrison 1 Social Media Etiquette for Authors

Saturday, Jan 16th
11am Sat Harrison 3 Welcome to the Anthropocene
12pm Sat Harrison 1 Adapting Books to Movies
3pm Sat Harrison 1 The Mary Sue Complex
8pm Sat Harrison 1 Sci-Fi's Effects on Gender Perception

Sunday, Jan 17th
11am Sun Harrison 1 Writing Male Characters from a Woman’s Perspective

I will post my notes from these and other panels I attend as soon as I'm able to clean them up for you!

More chatter on Facebook and Twitter, if you friend me there :-)

Namaste,

Margaret S. McGraw

Prompt: After accidentally setting a forest fire, a retired ballet dancer wakes up in a strange house

Courtesy of Jay Sacher’s The Amazing Story Generator

Nicola tread lightly over the deep leaf litter. She carried herself with a dancer’s poise even after all these years. A mourning pigeon burst from the ground cover, startling her, and her arm flung up in a graceful curve, fingers outstretched, then curling into a wistful wave. She still dreamed of flying.

It was Nichole, of course. Her mother had insisted that an exotic name would be more attractive on playbills and marquees. As a girl, Nichole loved the idea. As a rebellious teenager, she was reasonably certain her name wasn’t the source of her fame. But it was too late by then.

Around the trail’s curve, she was stopped by a fallen tree. Her hand fell to her hip. She rubbed against the old familiar pain. The congenital dysplasia that eroded her bones until she could no longer dance, no longer walk. The doctors insisted she shouldn’t feel anything with the titanium skeleton that supported her now. They said the pain was imaginary, in her head…a ghost, like amputees who still feel their missing limbs.

She crouched and pushed up, jumping easily over the tree, arms and legs outstretched in a grande jetée, landing in a glisée and turning into a pirouette. Ah, how she missed the stage. Heat raced from her core, shooting out through her arms and legs. She moaned and clenched her fists, swinging around until she hit the nearest sapling. Sparks flew around her, and the dry leaves underfoot began to snap and curl as they burned. Nichole ran…

Note: This actually took me by surprise, because I had thought of a fantasy-style version, where Nichole placed her hands on the tree and her anger flowed out in flames. Where did the science-fiction skeleton come in?!

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And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s my favorite:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

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Prompt: I will remember you

Frank knew he was dying. The biosuit was still doing its job, protecting him from the acrylamide atmosphere, recycling his fluids and stabilizing his body temp. It couldn’t do anything about the lack of feeling in his legs. Or movement. Or the console that crushed his hips and legs.

He heard Bhiteri’s chittered greeting, rasping in his ear and behind his sinuses as the four-foot arthropod slid into the ruined cockpit. The acrylamide didn’t affect his chitinous plates or feathery antennae. Frank tapped his fingers against the console in IMC, the patterns so similar to the American Standard Morse Code he had learned as a boy. Still here.

Bhiteri’s feet scratched the smooth wall, now the floor under Frank. He wound around the console and pulled a makeshift leaf pouch full of cave water. Frank closed his eyes, irritated at his momentary squeamishness over the silk Bhiteri used to seal the water. If it weren’t for the Bug—and Frank used the derogatory word with full awareness of the irony—he would have died at least four times by now. Maybe five. All the Bug’s effort would be for nought if Frank died before the cavalry arrived. Frank tapped TX as Bhiteri held the water pouch to his lips.

When Bhiteri rested the empty pouch on the floor, he curled up, outlining Frank’s torso and leaning his head against the console so they could see each other in the dim light. He drummed his feet in a soothing pattern for awhile, and Frank dozed. When he woke, he could see this godforsaken planet’s second moon reflected in Bhiteri’s eyes.

The Bug tapped slowly. I can save you.

Frank’s brows knit together. What was the Bug talking about? He’d tried to move the console, but it was much too heavy, even with a lever. It had been nine days, and Frank knew his time was running out. The rescue team would likely only have one to take home. No. You tried. It’s OK.

Bhiteri looked away, then back at Frank. Among my people, when the body dies, the nahl lives on. In another.

Nahl? What was that? Oh. Soul? Spirit? Frank asked. Um…inner self? Mind?

Self. Bhiteri agreed. I can save your self.

Now Frank’s eyebrows arched up, and he could feel his dehydrated forehead wrinkling. Funny how sensitive every movement becomes.

How? He tapped, studying what Bhiteri had said. How can my self live on? In you?

Bhiteri chittered for a moment, as if forgetting, then he tapped. Yes. I will remember you.

Remember? I know you will. This wasn’t something the Bug was likely to forget. But that’s not the same thing. Frank closed his eyes, feeling a rush of disappointment that surprised him. He wasn’t religious. Didn’t believe in an afterlife. Did he believe in a soul? How could his soul live in Bhiteri? What the hell…

How? He tapped again. He must have dozed off. There was no moonlight on the Bug’s face now.

Bhiteri chittered once more, then stopped. I do not know the words. My people call it the nahl-kupa. It is common to remember family. Sometimes friends. We take the name of each nahl as our own.

You have done this? Frank asked. He’d never heard of this nahl-kupa. Was Bhiteri letting him in on some big Bug secret because he was dying and couldn’t reveal it anyway?

Bhiteri nodded with a chitter that sounded distinctly amused. Oh yes. Many times.

Frank’s eyes narrowed. And you carry all the names? What are they?

Bhiteri straightened and tapped as he chittered slowly and distinctly. I am Almada Ghodew Hishap Kawnte Jorhsi Dunlesh Xaintap Bhiteri.

Frank thought about those names for awhile. All those people? Those selves? In Bhiteri?

And you remember all those people?

As you remember your own life.

Frank’s eyes closed, too heavy to hold open. His head rolled to the side. His mouth was dry, and he tried to make some spit to swallow. The biosuit had nothing more for him.

He’d thought he had made peace with dying out here. Away from Earth. Alone. But given the chance, he didn’t want to. He thought he was nodding his head. When Bhiteri didn’t answer, he tapped out slowly. Y…e…s…

Bhiteri stood on the ruins of the pod and watched the rescue ship descend through the yellow atmosphere. It reminded him of the mining ships landing on Mars, and he chittered at the new memory. As the ship’s thrusters burned the acrylamide atmosphere, he chittered a greeting, and a farewell, “I am Franklin Almada Ghodew Hishap Kawnte Jorhsi Dunlesh Xaintap Bhiteri. I will remember you…”

#

And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

#

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Music Playing	Sarah McLachlan, “I Will Remember You”
Time writing	30 minutes
November word count	4,938

Prompt: Who does the sentinel guard? Take 2

Thanks to SergeyMusin for permission to use his powerful “Deadly Shadow At Necropolis”!

Note: I started this story from one of the young "dorlen" boy's POV a few days ago, but it wasn't really working for me. I decided to let this one percolate for a bit, and thought I'd try writing from the sentinel's POV instead. What do you think? 

My steps were the only sound echoing off the moonlit walls as I followed my endless path through the city’s streets. When I reached the square, I would stand sentinel in the moonlight and recharge the jooln that ran red through my channels and fed my my central power source. I felt no fatigue in this body, but my sensors reported power was below optimal, and the full moon would provide plenty of light.

Once stationed in the square, I leaned against my staff and felt the thrum of power as it, too soaked in the moonlight. The jooln began to pulse throughout my body, and I almost remembered sensations of long ago, when I was alive. In my mind, I reached out for the memories, but they disappeared like smoke before the barrel of my forearm.

A scuff, then silence. I didn’t need to move to expand my senses, seeking the intruder. Likely some desert kaptil had wandered too far afield, and an auditory shrill would send it scurrying on six legs back into the silent sands. I scanned the area with night vision and found three dorlens crouching on the steps of the far building, hiding behind a line of power cells. I frowned. Did the fools think they would be safe there?

As I started toward them, clouds filled the sky, dimming the moonlight. I heard the first sounds of movement and knew I had little time. I raced toward the hidden trio and leaped up the steps, just as I sensed the others approaching. Sweeping my staff in an arc before them, I pulled up long-forgotten speech. “You dare? Noone enters the Necropolis. You know the penalty?”

The tallest dorlen moved in front of the other two. My sensors showed his fear, but he stood tall, reaching his empty hands toward me. “Please…please let my brothers go. I will pay the penalty—”

“Jarron, no!” one of the other dorlens shouted.

I frowned. Brothers? Memories…

I straightened and struck the step with my staff. Turning from them, I ground out, “Stay. Close. I lead. Out.” They did not follow when I started down the steps, and I stopped, turning back to them. I felt the smile on my face, but I knew it did not look like it once did. Speech came faster now. “Do you think I guard those who live here? Sentinels protect the living. Come.”

I turned and continued down the steps. It was up to them to follow me, or die…

To be continued?

#

And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

#

Dogs in House	Houdini
Time writing	~45 minutes
October word count	1,328

Prompt: We’re not speaking the same language

Thanks to all who entered my drawing for a free copy of Faith Hunter’s upcoming release, Broken Soul. I’ve been in touch with the winner already. If you haven’t heard from me, you still have opportunities to win on another one of Faith’s blog tour stops—good luck! And get ready to enjoy Jane Yellowrock again on Oct 7^th!

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Jillie sat with her back to the big “oak” tree and dropped her forehead against her knees. It wasn’t an oak, of course, but Jillie had started to use Earth names for things here, partly for some small familiar comfort, and partly to keep herself sane.

She heard steps and breathed in without lifting her head. The scent of rose and ash. Even though there were no roses here. Everyone here had a unique scent. The steps stopped in front of her, and hard-soled feet scuffed the dirt. Jillie sighed and lifted her head, careful to cover her teeth with her lips. “Hi Rose.”

“Set day not been change mill more, Jillie?” Rose folded her double-jointed knees and sat gracefully in front of Jillie. Her long, slender, furred arms reached out, and she began grooming Jillie’s forearms, even though they were clean. Jillie closed her eyes and schooled herself not to pull away. Rose would be sad, and Jillie had few enough friends here.

She pondered Rose’s words. The translator provided plenty of vocabulary, but it simply couldn’t make any sense of their grammatical structure or context. Set day not been change mill more… She smiled and quickly covered her teeth, even though Rose was looking down at her wrists, gently brushing her dewclaw over Jillie’s skin in a soothing pattern of endless grooming.

Jillie lifted her hand to her mouth, and Rose’s eyes followed. “Time to make food? Eat?” Jillie mimed moving food into her mouth with her fingers and chewing.

Rose nodded and stood, reaching slender fingers down to pull Jillie up next to her. “Set day not been change mill more.” She continued, “Any use log remember call link place under your else share open into wall,” as they headed back to the circle of grass huts where Rose’s people had sheltered Jillie for the past three years. Earth years, according to Jillie’s few pieces of surviving equipment. Three years alone with sentient giraffes who spoke nothing but gibberish…

#

And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

#

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Music Playing	Book of Mormon soundtrack
Time writing	~20 minutes
October word count	370

On Writing: Choosing Your Religion

As an armchair anthropologist, I have long been fascinated by different religions and the roles they play within and across cultures. As an avid “spec fic” reader, some of my favorite books have had religion as a central theme. Some of the most notable include:

·         Mary Doria Russel’s spectacular The Sparrow

·         Walter Miller’s classic Canticle for Leibowitz

·         Parke Godwin’s wonderful Waiting for the Galactic Bus

·         Jacqueline Carey’s beautiful Kushiel’s Dart

·         James Morrow's intriguing Only Begotten Daughter.

As an author, I’m intrigued and overwhelmed by the idea of incorporating religion into my own writing. How presumptuous! Dangerous and challenging (to do it “correctly” or well). As I’ve mentioned, there’s an angels-and-demons story demanding my attention…eventually…

But how richly rewarding it could be. Whether you incorporate existing religion(s) or create an entirely new one, it’s worth spending some time consciously thinking about the role religion will play in your story. Because even if it’s not overt, I can pretty much guarantee you *it’s still there*.

At their heart, religion and faith are about trying to understand the world and universe around us, including these central questions:

• Who am I?
• Where did I come from?  
• Why are we here?
• Where will I go when I die?
• What is the nature of good and evil (and why do bad things happen)?

If you’re incorporating existing religions, you have plenty of material to work with. If you’re creating your own, you may want to start with these basics:

·         Define a focus, a central theme, idea, or person.

·         Define a central belief system, consisting of 2 or 3 main dogmas.

·         Design rituals.

·         Design aesthetics, in terms of materials, symbols, etc.

You should also consider the complicated role religion plays in history, politics, societal rules, and more.

I would love to hear your thoughts on incorporating religion as an aspect of your writing!

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And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House	Houdini
Time writing	~45 minutes, including minimal research
September word count	8,612

Prompt: Who does the sentinel guard? Take 1

Thanks to SergeyMusin for permission to use his powerful “Deadly Shadow At Necropolis”!

It took a full moon’s journey to reach the Necropolis, even riding our bildoons in shifts. One rider stayed awake, astride the lead bildoon’s head, and the other two slept on their beasts’ broad back-plate saddles. It wasn’t comfortable, but we had to move fast.

I leaned back against the lead bildoon’s ear plates and looked up the sliver of remaining moon. We only had one more night to reach the city, or we’d miss our chance. Returning home empty-handed wasn’t an option. The Thieves Guild would throw us out on our ear if we had nothing to show for a full moon. Unguilded thieves didn’t survive long in Setaastin.

This whole thing was Jarron’s idea. I glanced back to where he and Boon were sleeping, while the bildoons plodded steadily toward the city. Bildoons might only have three brain cells to rub together, but they had perfect navigation. Jarron had stolen a Necropolis goblet from Master Toock, and once he let the bildoon’s sniff and drool all over it, we gave them free reign, and they set out on an unerring path to the city of the dead.

The day before the new moon was the only time the living could enter the city. Jarron convinced us that we could load up on Necropolis goods and return to Setaastin as heroes. Well, heroes among thieves, anyway. Which was the same thing to us, taken in by the guild when no one else would have us or help us.

Boon and I were brothers in every way that counted, except by blood. We teamed up with Jarron after our mother was killed in the Valken Purge. He’d already been living on the streets long enough to know all the safe sleeping spots, and cooks who might leave an extra loaf or bowl of stew to cool on their kitchen window ledge.  When the Night Guard caught us, the Thieves Guild paid our bail and took us in. We all took the brand the next full moon. I rubbed the crest on my forearm, remembering.

To be continued…
(with another "take" from a different POV)

                                                                                                            

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And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

Time writing	~30 minutes
September word count	8,306