It's shameful, I know. This blog started more than five years ago, and didn't get very far. It wasn't much of a blog. ButI in the past few months I have been blogging, or creating posts, at any rate, that have appeared elsewhere—on our agency web site James Frenkel & Associates, on the Writers, etc. facebook page, on my personal facebook page, and also on Cherry Wilder's amazon.com author page.
So I'm now going to blog here as well as those other places. Some of the posts here will end up in one or more of those other places, and vice versa. I expect to blog about a variety of topics: science fiction and fantasy and my experiences in the field and in publishing; sports--mostly baseball; family, mostly about nice things that happen to me and other members of our family--weddings, graduations, other nice things; and sometimes, politics.
There may end up being a podcast at some point, but for now, I'm not going to be nearly that ambitious. I will, however, use a name for this blog that hasn't appeared as the title of the blog before, but which I think fits it: SkiffyNest.
You might well wonder why I—or anyone—would call something SkiffyNest. Glad you asked. As some of you know, way back, when science fiction fandom was young, a brash fan named Forrest J. Ackerman (known in his fanzines as 4SJ Ackerman) had a bright idea, to shorten up the words science fiction to "SciFi." It was a terrific idea. The sound of it was unusual, yet rolled easily off the tongue. And it became very popular. Then Forry Ackerman (any of you who knew him know that he was often known as "Forry")
When he helped found and edited Famous Monsters of Filmland in 1958, he used sci-fi as a convenient tag for science fiction, and that abbreviation started to become known in the mainstream, to the point where for more than a half century it has been very commonly used in popular culture media when someone wants to mention anything related to science fiction, fantasy or horror media in film, television, games or literature. By the late 1960s, those who were writing and publishing SF fiction became somewhat sensitized to the term, because it was so often associated with the horror films of the 1950s, many of which were very low-budget, sometimes to the point of absurdity. This is not to say that there weren't any good sf films in the fifties.
Of course there were, two of which are among my favorites, Forbidden Planet (1956) and The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951). I can still feel a little shiver when I think of certain scenes from each of those films, the one in the former when an unseen force breaches the defensive perimeter of the space ship and, to the accompaniment of single beats of music, make the stops leading to the ship's entrance depress, suggesting something very heavy or powerful . . . but invisible; the other one is the scene in the latter film in which Patricia Neal's character, Helen Benson, has come to the spaceship of the handsome, British-accented alien Klaatu (played by Michael Rennie), because he asked her to do so if anything happened to him. Facing the giant robot that protects the ship, she says the words Rennie told her to say, "Klaatu Barada Nicto." And Gort, the robot, begins to activate, first melting the block of supposedly unbreakable plastic, then vaporizing the two soldiers guarding it, and then advancing on the terrified Benson. Until it's clear that he's only going to carry her inside the ship so that she'll be safe while he brings the dead body of Klaatu back to the ship so he can bring him back to life, it's really, really scary. And even now, decades later, even though I know the outcome, it's such a well-excuted bit of suspense that I can't help feeling the tension.
But not all sci-fi films in the fifties were nearly so well done. And in the laste 1960s, science fiction was starting to really grow up. there had been a lot of very good science fiction writing, as early as the late 1930s (and even earlier, of course, going back to Jules Verne and H.G. Wells). But modern SF really took hold in the pulp magazines of the 1920s, and was long considered to be every bit as trashy as the trashiest pulp fiction of other genres: two-fisted Westerns, two-fisted detective stories, two-fisted spy stories, etc. etc.--even two-fisted romance, no doubt. And to be sure, there was a lot of rather bad sci-fi written in the early pulps, and even in later SF magazines, after most pulp magazines were long since gone. But by the late 1960s, the number of rather talented writers in the field of SF and fantasy was burgeoning. People who grew up reading pulp magazine SF were writing their own stories and novels, and many of them were writers as good as any writing popular fiction . . . and some were highly literary, writers such as Brian W. Aldiss, J. G. Ballard, Harlan Ellison, Theodore Sturgeon and a number of others. So sci-fi, with its strong connection to Famous Monsters of Filmland grated on some writers, especially those with more literary ambitions.
But now, in 2015, it's well-nigh impossible to deny the term "sci-fi:" anymore. Between the tv channel (originally the SciFi Channel and now, strangely, the SyFy Channel) and the massive amount of media involved in hugely successful film and tv franchises such as Star Wars and Star Trek, not to mention enormous comic-book adaptation films like The Avengers, Batman as well as a growing number of others, it's hard to imagine that anyone could make a case for abandoning "sci-fi" when referring to anything with even a sniff of science-fictionality.
So I'm embracing the idiom. I grew up reading comics and science fiction magazines, and have loved sf and fantasy for as long as I can remember. And these days, the world is becoming increasingly like what we thought of as science fiction when we were young. Yeah, the lack of flying cars is a definite disappointment, but in hindsight, that was a fantasy that--unless reality contradicts me in the future--seems like it's just not a very practical idea. Someone not long ago brought up the question of whether one would really want flying cars driven by teenagers? And I have to agree. Even if they were completely automatic flying cars, controlled by a very effective system of computer-controlled traffic management, just the thought of some kid hacker, drunk or with otherwise chemically altered consciousness, managing to subvert a flying car's programming, makes my blood run cold. Mid-air collisions, omni-directional joyriding . . . Ouch!
But as I say, life these days feels so much like skiffy--that's long been my favorite way to pronounce "sci-fi"--that I figure I might as well embrace the popular term. It's where I come from--hey, I grew up in a neighborhood the post office calls "Utopia." I'm not going to argue. So welcome to my blog, SkiffyNest, my home on the web.
For now, I'm not going to make this post a lot longer, but I do want to mention just a little bit about the imminent opening of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I still recall quite vividly when the very first Star Wars film, episode 4, opened, over Memorial Day weekend, 1977. It was a revelation to me and to, I suspect, to most of the people who filled theaters and became huge fans of Han, Luke, Leia, Chewie, Artoo and Threepio. There had never been a sci-fi film anything like it before. 1968's impressive Stanley Kubrick film, 2001: A Space Odyssey, was a great technical achievement. The film looked great; the special effects creating the impression of space and spacecraft were hugely convincing. But 2001 was serious, dark, filled with long camera shots and scenes that held very little action. Star Wars was . . . well, hey, it was huge fun! There was nothing cute about 2001, whereas Star Wars had machinery that squeaked, whistled, whined and got messed up. What a contrast to the sleek, mysterious and in the case of HAL 9000, creepily sophisticated technology of 2001.
We've been through six Star Wars films now, and after the unfortunate missteps that made episodes 1-3 so underwhelming, I'm actually excited to see what J. J. Abrams has produced in this new episode. Abrams has done a lot of very entertaining tv and film, including Super 8 and the "new" Star Trek films. So I'm optimistic--still a little cautiously, but mostly really eager--about this new Star Wars film. I saw a trailer just today, which looked really good. Of course, after having been gulled by great trailers into seeing some rather bad films, I realize that a trailer can be wonderful, even when the film it is teasing about could be simply dreadful. But I think J. J. Abrams has too much at stake--he has been charged with carrying the franchise on into the future. He's a fanboy at heart, as are an awful lot of the people involved. I have trouble believing that he won't do his best to make the best Star Wars film he can make.
I know people who have been counting down to the opening on our daughter's birthday next month. I'm not doing that, mostly because the thought of trying to get a ticket for opening night seems like a hopeless quest and an ill advised to boot. The first weekend will be completely sold out--they've sold more than $50 million worth of tickets for the film already, and we still have almost a whole month to go. So we'll wait for at least a week, and go during the week, to avoid the mobs that will surely besiege people working in Star Wars theaters.
Then we'll see how good this new iteration of the sacred franchise actually is.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Monday, November 1, 2010
World Fantasy Convention
Last weekend I joined hundreds of writers, editors, agents, artists, booksellers and fans in exotic Columbus, Ohio to celebrate fantasy literature at the annual World Fantasy Convention.
For anyone who is interested in this kind of literature, it was a blast. My favorite moment at these conventions is always when I walk into the room where the mass-autographing is being held. Inside a large room, pretty much all of the writers who are in attendance at the convention are sitting at tables, and everyone who might want an autograph, or even just to meet and maybe talk with one or another of them can see and be close enough to say hello to one or more of the many, many writers sitting at those tables.
It's a heady moment. In a way, it's daunting, because there aren't just a few authors at these autographing sessions. There are dozens--more than a hundred for sure, and quite possibly more than two hundred, though I confess I didn't take the time to count--of writers there. And this event only goes on for about three hours. So how can one possibly meet everyone there? That's how it's daunting.
And it's heady for the same reason. So many authors who have written so many wonderful stories, novels, books . . . so many great experiences, so many memories that have enriched the lives of all of us readers.
That was the high point of the convention for me, but there were lots of other high points. I got to meet Freda Warrington, the author of Elfland and the about-to-be-published Midsummer Night, and seventeen other books. It was exciting to meet Freda, and her husband Mike Llewellyn. I've been editing her books for a few years now. But more to the point, I've been reading her books for more than twenty years . . . but none of them was available here until we (Tor Books) published Elfland last year. And this was the first convention Freda and Mike had ever attended in the U.S.
For anyone who has attended this convention or other SF / Fantasy conventions, meeting authors is one of the great pleasures, whether you're a reader or connected to the business of publishing in a professional way. I think a lot of people who don't work in publishing must expect that meeting authors is no big deal for editors. But the silly fact is that editors are readers. We get all geeked out when we meet authors. It's one of the great perks of he job.
People who catch me in the act of editing in a public place--on an airplane, in a hotel lobby, in a restaurant or an airport waiting lounge--will ask me what it is that I'm doing. And when I tell them that I'm a book editor, they often--especially if they're people who themselves read books--think I have the best job in the world.
They immediately construct their image of my daily activity. I'm not making this up: it happens over and over. They think that I spend my days communing with the muse, gorging my hunger for reading on the most brilliant, entertaining books imaginable . . . all while relaxing in my spacious, well-ventilated office, sipping a double-mocha latte or a mint julep.
Whereas the truth, as I explain to their dismay, is that my days are spent in an office, doing administrative work--checking authors' corrections; negotiating contracts with agents; putting through check requests; writing catalog or jacket or cover copy; answering questions about every aspect of every book that I'm working on.
I read and edit when all editors tend to get most of their reading and editing done--at night, on the weekends, and very, very occasionally during the day, when I have taken a day off from the office because something absolutely must be finished very, very fast.
Which doesn't mean I don't enjoy what I do. It is, to me and to most of the editors I know, the best job in the world. But it's not as cushy as people might think. And if you've ever seen me, you've seen the circles under my eyes . . . the product of editing late into the night on many, many occasions. Hey, it's quiet late at night, the kids are asleep, the phone doesn't ring.
But as I said above, meeting writers is great fun. I also got to spend time with writers I've met before, but with whom I don't get to hang out all the time because we live in different parts of the country or the world. So I got to spend time with people like Pearl North (Anne Harris), the author of Libyrinth and the about-to-appear The Boy from Ilysies, her first two Young Adult novels. And there were lots of other authors I got to see and spend time with--including David B. Coe (who survived writing the novelization of Ridley Scott's Robin Hood early this year, Michele Lang (whose first fantasy, Lady Lazarus was published in September) and Blake Charlton (whose first fantasy Spellwright was published in April--three more of my favorite fantasy writers.
One of the other neat things about the World Fantasy Convention is seeing other people responding to books written by authors I have worked with.
I know this is vain and self-serving, but the fact is that editors don't get rich. We get our kicks in strange ways, like seeing the books we've edited come out and get nice reviews, watching readers approach the authors and being enthusiastic about the books the authors have written. So seeing all these writers, all of whom have written books that I've edited, be approached by appreciative readers was just a big kick for me. I know--it doesn't take much to make me happy.
I can't speak for other editors, but I always worry for my writers. Especially those who are really new. So it was especially nice to see Freda and Michele and Pearl be embraced by people at the convention. David B. Coe is different--he's a chick magnet, and for years I have tried to figure out his secret, but I'm still trying. I guess it's a combination of his marvelous fantasies like the Blood of the Southlands and his previous series . . . and his boyish good looks. But Freda and Michele and Pearl are all pretty recently published, so it was really neat when they all reported to me that people had copies of their books and wanted autographs and attended their readings.
One of the things that happens at World Fantasy is that everyone attending gets a big Bag O' Books when they pick up their badges. And I mean a big bag. Really. It weighs at least fifteen pounds--probably more, and contains at least ten books, probably more.
We Toroids gave the convention bunches of copies of various books for the BBOBs, including Libyrinth and Elfland. And I got a real kick when I discovered that people were fighting over copies of both books. Because they really wanted those particular books, and they weren't in every single BBOB. Nothing warms the cockles of an editor's heart like seeing people fighting over books they've edited.
There were lots of other fun moments during the convention, including the evening when I was stood up by two old guys with whom I was supposed to have dinner, so I instead ended up at dinner with five lovely young female Young Adult fantasy authors. It was a grave responsibility, but I manfully made the great sacrifice--after all, I could have eaten dinner alone, but instead I spent the time getting to know these talented writers. I know that Tom Doherty, our peerless publisher, must have been proud of the sacrifice I made that night.
But serioiusly, yes, despite the fact that it was a lot of work--talking, talking, talking, speaking on panels, and going back to my hotel room to edit when I wasn't doing something else--I did have some fun. Joan couldn't come (she's been recovering from the stomach flu and related problems), and she warned me that I'd have fun. I protested that I wouldn't, but I have to confess. I did have fun.
I also didn't get enough sleep, and I especially didn't get much sleep Sunday night after I flew to New York for the meeting we had in the Flatiron Building this morning. Hours before my alarm was to ring, maintenance people started drilling holes in some wall somewhere near my hotel room. I thought I was dreaming the horrible, dull but persistent sound of a drill bit biting through drywall and wood . . . but then I woke up and realized the sound was real.
I'm sure I'll get more sleep tonight, though, and when I get home to Wisconsin tomorrow night.
Altogether, I think that the convention was fun for most of the attendees. Part of the fun was knowing that they would announce and present the World Fantasy Awards. And while this makes all the nominees nervous (and, if we're honest, those whose works weren't nominated a little jealous), it also makes the winners very happy, and I like to think that everyone present is happy to congratulate the winners.
The awards have been announced and can be easily googled, but I'll just say that I was especially pleased and also moved when Gene Wolfe accepted his award for the best story collection. He's been writing great stories for more than forty years, and when he accepted the award, he got very emotional. He's had a difficult few years, and I was, like pretty much everyone there, enormously pleased for him and glad to be part of the standing ovation we gave him. And his brief but moving acceptance speech was one of the highlights of the banquet on Sunday. I unfortunately had to leave the banquet just before they presented the Life Achievement awards, and I wish I could have spent time afterwards saying goodbye to people. But I would have missed my plane if I'd stayed longer . . . I was luckier than some who had to leave Sunday morning, before the banquet.
As always, the weekend (o.k., my trip started Wednesday . . . the long weekend) was like a big, rowdy family reunion, a ritual gathering of the clan, the strange clan of which I've been a member for these nearly forty years. Strange, and fond.
For anyone who is interested in this kind of literature, it was a blast. My favorite moment at these conventions is always when I walk into the room where the mass-autographing is being held. Inside a large room, pretty much all of the writers who are in attendance at the convention are sitting at tables, and everyone who might want an autograph, or even just to meet and maybe talk with one or another of them can see and be close enough to say hello to one or more of the many, many writers sitting at those tables.
It's a heady moment. In a way, it's daunting, because there aren't just a few authors at these autographing sessions. There are dozens--more than a hundred for sure, and quite possibly more than two hundred, though I confess I didn't take the time to count--of writers there. And this event only goes on for about three hours. So how can one possibly meet everyone there? That's how it's daunting.
And it's heady for the same reason. So many authors who have written so many wonderful stories, novels, books . . . so many great experiences, so many memories that have enriched the lives of all of us readers.
That was the high point of the convention for me, but there were lots of other high points. I got to meet Freda Warrington, the author of Elfland and the about-to-be-published Midsummer Night, and seventeen other books. It was exciting to meet Freda, and her husband Mike Llewellyn. I've been editing her books for a few years now. But more to the point, I've been reading her books for more than twenty years . . . but none of them was available here until we (Tor Books) published Elfland last year. And this was the first convention Freda and Mike had ever attended in the U.S.
For anyone who has attended this convention or other SF / Fantasy conventions, meeting authors is one of the great pleasures, whether you're a reader or connected to the business of publishing in a professional way. I think a lot of people who don't work in publishing must expect that meeting authors is no big deal for editors. But the silly fact is that editors are readers. We get all geeked out when we meet authors. It's one of the great perks of he job.
People who catch me in the act of editing in a public place--on an airplane, in a hotel lobby, in a restaurant or an airport waiting lounge--will ask me what it is that I'm doing. And when I tell them that I'm a book editor, they often--especially if they're people who themselves read books--think I have the best job in the world.
They immediately construct their image of my daily activity. I'm not making this up: it happens over and over. They think that I spend my days communing with the muse, gorging my hunger for reading on the most brilliant, entertaining books imaginable . . . all while relaxing in my spacious, well-ventilated office, sipping a double-mocha latte or a mint julep.
Whereas the truth, as I explain to their dismay, is that my days are spent in an office, doing administrative work--checking authors' corrections; negotiating contracts with agents; putting through check requests; writing catalog or jacket or cover copy; answering questions about every aspect of every book that I'm working on.
I read and edit when all editors tend to get most of their reading and editing done--at night, on the weekends, and very, very occasionally during the day, when I have taken a day off from the office because something absolutely must be finished very, very fast.
Which doesn't mean I don't enjoy what I do. It is, to me and to most of the editors I know, the best job in the world. But it's not as cushy as people might think. And if you've ever seen me, you've seen the circles under my eyes . . . the product of editing late into the night on many, many occasions. Hey, it's quiet late at night, the kids are asleep, the phone doesn't ring.
But as I said above, meeting writers is great fun. I also got to spend time with writers I've met before, but with whom I don't get to hang out all the time because we live in different parts of the country or the world. So I got to spend time with people like Pearl North (Anne Harris), the author of Libyrinth and the about-to-appear The Boy from Ilysies, her first two Young Adult novels. And there were lots of other authors I got to see and spend time with--including David B. Coe (who survived writing the novelization of Ridley Scott's Robin Hood early this year, Michele Lang (whose first fantasy, Lady Lazarus was published in September) and Blake Charlton (whose first fantasy Spellwright was published in April--three more of my favorite fantasy writers.
One of the other neat things about the World Fantasy Convention is seeing other people responding to books written by authors I have worked with.
I know this is vain and self-serving, but the fact is that editors don't get rich. We get our kicks in strange ways, like seeing the books we've edited come out and get nice reviews, watching readers approach the authors and being enthusiastic about the books the authors have written. So seeing all these writers, all of whom have written books that I've edited, be approached by appreciative readers was just a big kick for me. I know--it doesn't take much to make me happy.
I can't speak for other editors, but I always worry for my writers. Especially those who are really new. So it was especially nice to see Freda and Michele and Pearl be embraced by people at the convention. David B. Coe is different--he's a chick magnet, and for years I have tried to figure out his secret, but I'm still trying. I guess it's a combination of his marvelous fantasies like the Blood of the Southlands and his previous series . . . and his boyish good looks. But Freda and Michele and Pearl are all pretty recently published, so it was really neat when they all reported to me that people had copies of their books and wanted autographs and attended their readings.
One of the things that happens at World Fantasy is that everyone attending gets a big Bag O' Books when they pick up their badges. And I mean a big bag. Really. It weighs at least fifteen pounds--probably more, and contains at least ten books, probably more.
We Toroids gave the convention bunches of copies of various books for the BBOBs, including Libyrinth and Elfland. And I got a real kick when I discovered that people were fighting over copies of both books. Because they really wanted those particular books, and they weren't in every single BBOB. Nothing warms the cockles of an editor's heart like seeing people fighting over books they've edited.
There were lots of other fun moments during the convention, including the evening when I was stood up by two old guys with whom I was supposed to have dinner, so I instead ended up at dinner with five lovely young female Young Adult fantasy authors. It was a grave responsibility, but I manfully made the great sacrifice--after all, I could have eaten dinner alone, but instead I spent the time getting to know these talented writers. I know that Tom Doherty, our peerless publisher, must have been proud of the sacrifice I made that night.
But serioiusly, yes, despite the fact that it was a lot of work--talking, talking, talking, speaking on panels, and going back to my hotel room to edit when I wasn't doing something else--I did have some fun. Joan couldn't come (she's been recovering from the stomach flu and related problems), and she warned me that I'd have fun. I protested that I wouldn't, but I have to confess. I did have fun.
I also didn't get enough sleep, and I especially didn't get much sleep Sunday night after I flew to New York for the meeting we had in the Flatiron Building this morning. Hours before my alarm was to ring, maintenance people started drilling holes in some wall somewhere near my hotel room. I thought I was dreaming the horrible, dull but persistent sound of a drill bit biting through drywall and wood . . . but then I woke up and realized the sound was real.
I'm sure I'll get more sleep tonight, though, and when I get home to Wisconsin tomorrow night.
Altogether, I think that the convention was fun for most of the attendees. Part of the fun was knowing that they would announce and present the World Fantasy Awards. And while this makes all the nominees nervous (and, if we're honest, those whose works weren't nominated a little jealous), it also makes the winners very happy, and I like to think that everyone present is happy to congratulate the winners.
The awards have been announced and can be easily googled, but I'll just say that I was especially pleased and also moved when Gene Wolfe accepted his award for the best story collection. He's been writing great stories for more than forty years, and when he accepted the award, he got very emotional. He's had a difficult few years, and I was, like pretty much everyone there, enormously pleased for him and glad to be part of the standing ovation we gave him. And his brief but moving acceptance speech was one of the highlights of the banquet on Sunday. I unfortunately had to leave the banquet just before they presented the Life Achievement awards, and I wish I could have spent time afterwards saying goodbye to people. But I would have missed my plane if I'd stayed longer . . . I was luckier than some who had to leave Sunday morning, before the banquet.
As always, the weekend (o.k., my trip started Wednesday . . . the long weekend) was like a big, rowdy family reunion, a ritual gathering of the clan, the strange clan of which I've been a member for these nearly forty years. Strange, and fond.
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