Foe or Forager

Hi everyone - and what a glorious autumn we're having in the land of the long white cloud! 

Meanwhile, my writing once again takes me to Belfast, Northern Ireland.

In famine-ridden Belfast 2079, edible harvests are rare and wild fruit even more so. 

The perfect reason why two young men go head to head over... a plant.

Please go ahead and grab yourself a free copy of this short story at the following direct download link:

http://dl.bookfunnel.com/crwizlaisx

Strawberry Dreaming

It's time to return to Belfast of 2079, where Mariah is dreaming of strawberries. After several years of famine, it's been a long time since she saw one - but the day may yet hold a surprise or two for her.

I am still having a grand old time drawing the covers for these short prologues. Now there are four of them!

The novel itself, Mariah's Dream, is now up for pre-order on Kindle and will be fully available - also in print - by the end of July.

Here is an excerpt of Strawberry Dreaming:


It is a warm summer day. Layers of wispy clouds do little to obscure the sun, for once. These temperatures are rare in Ireland—but all the more treasured for it. The air carries wondrous scents of flowering things and the promise of tree fruit in autumn: apples and pears and plums now ripening, the unborn ghosts of their nascent aromas already filling the orchard slopes.

Railway tracks border the green area, with rows of brick houses beyond. Farther still, to the north, are the tall chimneys of an industrial area nearer the city, and on the left hand looms the dark shape of the Black Mountain that overhangs western Belfast. A train rattles by, its wheels screeching, the commuters gazing with longing at the paradise that is lost to them a few seconds later. In the midst of the city the allotments bloom. Tired brick and old streets have given way to a space between the walls where determined gardeners have staked a claim and worked the land.

Even now there is a harvest of other crops, the summer vegetables and early fruit. The little girl stoops, reaches into a tangle of leaves, and twists a strawberry from its socket with a pleasing pop. Her sharp eyes watch to confirm what her fingers have already told her. When she brings it out into view, it is intensely scarlet and fills the palm of her small hand, a thing of beauty with a drop of juice barely clinging on at the recently detached summit. She breathes its essence, warm and ripe, a storehouse of sunshine and satiety, the secure anticipation of how it is going to feel on her tongue as she savours it and her tastebuds will explode with simple happiness.

You can read the whole story free on my website here!

The Dog with No Name

This week my writerly self has been very busy! I've been trying to crack the book marketing code for years, and this new venture represents an important new experiment for me.

Imagine with me if you will: a chilly spring night in the suburbs of Belfast, Northern Ireland. Drips from a recent rain fall from roofs while a man and his dog wander the streets aimlessly. So far, everything is normal.

Except it's not. In 2079, government experiments have caused the terminator gene to run rampant: nothing grows any more, and food is in short supply. When we enter the scene, curfew is near, but the dog's master is beyond caring.

Follow along and experience Belfast through a dog's eyes as he faces the biggest decision of his life in just a split second.

And best of all? It's free on Kindle until the end of today only, at http://getbook.at/DogNoName.

I've known for a long time that a series is the best way to gain visibility as an author. While my novels are still stewing, I decided to release monthly short stories set in the same world. Each month, one of the stories will be free. You can go here: http://eepurl.com/bm-bc5 to subscribe to updates when the story is available at no cost.

There's also a companion story, Mothers of Belfast. Later, in the opening pages of the upcoming novel Mariah's Dream, the dog will meet the mothers. In the meantime, writing these "prologues" is giving me a ton of new material and background knowledge about my characters, both major and minor.

A Poem for Every Day

You may remember that last time, I shared a template for writing a personal poem all about yourself: your past, your present, the everyday things you notice that come together like a mosaic to make your life what it is.

That template isn't any good for every day, because the formulation "I am from" results in answers that may never change very much, certainly over the course of an adult's life.

So I have rejigged it a bit here and there, with similar sorts of blanks to fill in, with a major difference: you can write one every day if you want and it will be new and fresh. Sure, it may take a little effort to come up with a new familiar object or chore, but we're writers. It's what we do.

Here is my poem of today:

Today is about Roman sandals, Harry Potter and black Inkjoy pens for writing my stories longhand.
About the haunting autumn cricket songs; Bayview’s beach, the boatramp running down to the mudflats at low tide.
It is about the daily walk, caring for the garden, and the harvest still plodding along to provide ingredients for my stir-fry.
It is also about Manuka Road, where I pound the pavement and wonder about the people who live in the houses; about forging new frontiers in publishing.
Today was about a new sketchpad I discovered at the Mall, the last one left in palm-sized blue, perfect for travelling but nice and thick too.
It was about the dream of working more within my passions than is currently possible. To read, to design, to help others.
It was about the blue hibiscus dress, discovered on a trip to New Caledonia five years ago, and my French press for loose-leaf tea, bought secondhand for a song.
It was about shredded salad, with four veg plus mozzarella, mixed till it looked like hash browns.
About needing to walk another hour later in the day, and having a small blister from new shoes. I’ll fall back on my old ones again.
And it was about that time my cat started sleeping on my bed again, after months where she seemed to have forgotten it existed.
My flatmates, both off work today, and pursuing their pastimes: one is shopping, the other listening to loud music.

And here is the template for you to fill in with your own words:

Poem of Days

Today is about (specific ordinary item), (book name) and (product name and associated activity).
About the (aspect of where you live; placename, local haunt, description). (more than one if you like).
It is about (habitual activity), (everyday chore), and (aspect of nature: plant or wildlife, and where it was seen).
It is also about (place regularly visited, and what you did there); about (thing that was on your mind).
Today was about (a favourite recent purchase or gift, and where you bought it/who gave it to you and why)
It was about the dream of (something you imagined doing someday, even if you thought it unlikely).
It was about (describe favourite old possession and its story) and (household object regularly handled).
It was about (food you ate regularly at that time, and how it was made).
About travelling from X to Y and from Z to A. (story from travelling)
And it was about that time I (or friend/family member) (story from daily life...).
(Name of friend you spent time with) and (how they contributed to your life).

Where I'm from: An exercise in poetry

There's a poem by George Ella Lyon called Where I'm From that provides a great writing exercise as well as a way to get to know people better. Do read her original version here, with the origin of the form.

Someone has written out a handy template here, and I used it once years ago to write my own version; now, I think the time has come for a new one. It would be fascinating, in fact, to do one every year or so, and if I have a child someday, wouldn't it be grand to do one for every year of life until they can take on their own writing? This particular template focuses a lot on the past, so perhaps there is something similar that could be used for a more current snapshot.

Here, then, is my 2015 edition. Will you join me with one of your own? I'm sure all the international locations represented by this blog and its readers can provide a surprising variety of results!

I am from island ferries, from mosquito coils and pavlova.

I am from the A-frame on the hill, red brick below, faux half-timbered above, baking in the summer heat.

I am from the feijoa blossom promising fruit, the tiny yellow zucchini so recently appeared in the garden. 

I am from Boxing Day parties and hospitality, from Ernest and Amelia and Albert and a vast array of barely-known cousins. 

I am from cyclical hoarding and clear-outs, from bargaining and dreaming.

From an early encounter with polite French gendarmes, and how they returned me to my parents after I wandered off in a supermarket. 

I am from moments of inspiration that are as close to heaven as I'll get in this world. Words spiral down onto my page, alive, and enliven me. 

I'm from saltwater and immigrants who travelled the seas to come here, hearty stews and fresh strawberries. 

From the German princess who married an Irishman and ran off to New Zealand, the seamstress who owned a fabric shop just down the road.

I am from a multitude of bookshelves and boxes, postcards pegged on a line. Oval-framed sepia pictures, lists of names and dates, an unmistakable resemblance from generation to generation. I am also from within my own self, sources that are mine alone and the way I see the world. 

Travel Change: A Story Cube Flash Fiction

[December 18th. I have to write a blog! But I have no idea what topic I should take. I mention it to my visiting writer friend (who normally lives in Austria) and like magic, she pulls out a set of Story Cubes. She bought them in Sweden as a souvenir but since discovered they are all over the world. Nine dice, each with six symbols. Cast the dice and be inspired, apparently. Well - I'm game! I need a solution to my lack of inspiration. I shake the dice and drop them on the table. 

Footprint. Globe. Lightbulb. ID card. Abacus. Flower. Turtle. Cane. Falling star.

Here goes nothing...]

"There's a whole world out there," said the old man as he leaned on his cane. The boy squinted up at him in the hot sun. His grandfather continued. "All you have to do is take one step. Then take another. Pretty soon you'll be somewhere else and if you keep going, why, you might just see every country on earth!"

"Have you seen every country on earth?"

"Oh, not I, my boy. But maybe you will."

The boy dug his toes into the red dirt and peered at the low trees crowding the horizon. "Tell me about some of the places you've seen."

"Well, there was the time I swam with turtles under a night sky filled with falling stars. I wish you could have been there too." He grew pensive at the memory.

"Opa, don't be silly. They're not falling stars. They're meteorites."

"Of course they are." Opa laughed and waggled his eyebrows. "Then there was the time I lost my passport in Holland. I went to see the fields of tulips. Truly wondrous. But after a long day of walking around, I returned to my hostel and found I didn't have my ID on me."

"What did you do then?"

"I had this brilliant idea that the only place I could have dropped it was in the bus when the driver was counting out change. It turned out I was right, but it took a lot of legwork to find the company and their office. But the whole time I searched, I saw those fields of flowers and everything was worth it."

The old man talked for hours as the boy accompanied him on his slow walk around the village, and when the boy had work to do, Opa went too, telling stories all the way.

Finally, the tales fell silent, and after a while, the boy spoke. "In all your travels, Opa, what is the most important thing you learned?"

"Aside from always taking that first step?" Opa's eyes twinkled. "The first most important thing is to let it change you."

Dusk had fallen, and as they paused to survey the first evening stars, a bright point of light zipped across the sky. The boy gaped. Pointed. "Opa! Was that... was that my first falling star?"

8 Things I Wish You Knew About New Zealand

Good old Kiwiland. People in other places have various ideas about us, some right, some way off track, some merely insufficient to describe what we've got downunder here. I am now going to attempt to clear up some of these misunderstandings.

(An image of some classic Kiwi icons, generally known as Kiwiana. Which ones do you know?)

1. It's just like in the movies. You know, the ones with the hobbits and wizards and such. Amazing mountains, rolling plains suitable for epic battles, empty roads stretching to the horizons. You can even go and enjoy a banquet in the Green Dragon Inn. Everything you've seen in the background of those scenes - it's true New Zealand.

2. It's not at all like in the movies. They left out all our cities, our beaches, our farms and industrial areas. While the movie images are true, they are more like the half-truth we've all heard about. New Zealand is so much more than that.  Come and slog through a cow paddock, observe Queen Street for an hour, visit Takapuna Beach the day after Christmas - good luck finding a spot to lay out your towel!

3. It's really far from, like, everywhere. Supposedly it's only two hours' flight to Australia, but I've never been on one that got there that quickly. Call it four hours and we're probably nearer the mark. It's about ten hours from Japan, twelve from Hong Kong and the American West Coast; twenty-four to London, in either direction. I really wish sub-orbital transport would go mainstream.

4. It's not really that far from anywhere. Sure, so it'll take a whole day to get here, but pretend you're in your car and it won't seem so unreasonable. From most anywhere on the planet, you can catch two flights and be here no later than the next day. Okay, the flight is certainly gruelling - it's no pleasure to sleep sitting upright - but it's not the worst thing in the world by far.

5. It's a little small country. We have 4 million people, which is less than the population of Ireland, say, or Colorado or Missouri. We have a saying that the world's six degrees of separation become just two degrees hereabouts. Everyone's a friend of a friend.

6. It's a big, wide open country. There's lots of wild land and untamed space... if you lay a map of New Zealand over one of Europe, we'll stretch from the German North Sea coast all the way to the tip of Italy's boot, or from Seattle to San Diego. Admittedly some of that length is only a few miles wide, but that has the distinct advantage that no one has to live more than an hour from a beach.

7. We do speak English here. I'll never forget the lady I met on a Greyhound in Kansas: when I told her where I'm from, she commended me on my grasp of the language. Legitimate questions may arise as to our understanding of American slang, however I'm quick to assure folks that we do get most of our movies and TV from there. We learned to interpret.

8. We have our very own brand of English here. We share some of its words with other British-influenced lands, but much of our slang is home-grown. Heapsa poncey pavlova from the dairy at the bach in the wop-wops for Waitangi and a chocka tiki tour in sweet-as jandals, anyone? Don't let your noggin get munted, just have a cuppa and she'll be right.

Long Distance Writer Friends

Shall I tell you what it is like to have friends in other places?

I live in another country, half a world distant from you, my jungle shores, your Midwest corn or Southern heat or European je-ne-sais-quoi. We have spoken often yet, frequently, we’ve never met. I’ve read the writings that let me into your mind, stories all the richer for knowing the person who wove them.

Shall I tell you how it is to visit those long known thusly?

There is the clash and hubbub of arrival, a bus terminal or airport maybe, a first formal meeting. We keep distance carefully. We are familiar, but how will this work in person?

In the first days we discover mannerisms and personality that could never transmit digitally. We laugh, nervous to begin with, then more easily. We play games, and walk, cook and eat shared meals, shop and dine a little. This, then, is your life—with me strangely in it for a little while.

The corn is your ocean, swaying in the wind, rippling over gentle hills in long waves. Oh, land—beautiful, but not my own. Straight roads and flat places and signs in mileage and odd-to-me driving rules, peculiar naming words, everything custom order, and many other things I’ve never experienced before. I pack it all into my head. I’ll write about it later.

Shall I tell you how it is to leave?

Sadness crests like a tsunami just out of sight. One more departure. One more teardrop gem for my collection of ephemeral jewellery. I won’t really be gone, not with all the connecting we do almost every single day. We’ll talk richer now for having breathed the same air awhile.

~ Grace Bridges, currently trekking around the USA, but also quite keen to get home to New Zealand in a couple of weeks!

Realm Makers Recap

A couple of weeks ago, I flew 17 hours from New Zealand to be at the second ever Realm Makers conference. I hadn't originally planned to go, but I couldn't bear the thought of missing out. Timing meant that I was pretty spaced out on lack of sleep by the time it all got rolling, but adrenaline carried me through the weekend.

I did not teach a session this time but devoted all of my spare hours to meeting and mentoring as many writers as I could. Realm Makers is blessed with a large contingent of beginner writers and it's really exciting to be able to accompany them on a short part of their journey. 

There was a costume banquet, a booksigning, an awesome cafeteria, and even a creepy brick tunnel under the railway that we all had to use a few times each day to travel between buildings. 

Realm Makers is a great family that spans the globe. If you are even slightly interested in speculative genres, you really should check it out! Next year it'll probably be in the U.S. Midwest again. 

And now? I'm trekking through the USA again before I head for home. I've had 13 blisters so far this trip! So far I've had enormous fun with friends everywhere I've been - including meeting lots of dogs, experiencing a country gig in Nashville where people are serious about their music, and making a sci-fi short film with advanced amateur producers in Arkansas, all while I work on edits for my own book. Yeah. This is fun.

Editing on the Go

I am currently in Noumea, New Caledonia, and as well as taking a break, I have been focusing on editing my novel Mariah's Dream. This was a task I had ignored up until now, after completing the first draft almost a year ago.

It has been interesting to be away from home while deliberately pouring all my writing effort into this edit. I think it's been beneficial to make a break from all the everyday things and do something completely different. I haven't done anything like it for many years.

Above you can see one of the places I have enjoyed working while here. It's a picnic table along the Promenade Pierre Vernier, a coastal walk of about three or four kilometres from where I'm staying. If the clouds stay for a while, so can I without getting burnt, and scribble a while before returning to enter the written words into the digital version.

Before I embarked on this edit, I transferred the project into Scrivener - my first time working with the program. It's been wonderful for jumping around between scenes, finding them immediately if I think of something I need to add elsewhere.

I'm going home in a few days, with some work left to do on the story. Here's hoping the extra momentum of a foreign country will carry over to everyday life.

If you're interested, you can read the new opening of Mariah's Dream on the website of Port Yonder Press. Please tell me what you think of it!

Patrick, Son of Ireland - by Stephen Lawhead - Book Review

Happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all! I know there are many who are descended from the Irish, some more recently than others of course - but here in New Zealand they say the proportion could be as high as 20% of the population. No matter where you are from, I am sure you have felt the influence of that Celtic people.

Today I'm going to review a book for you that is not the newest on the shelf. I went looking for its actual year of publication and the earliest one I found says 2003, though I had thought it was much older - in my memory, I read it as a teenager. But that appears to be a myth in my mind. Perhaps it is something in the ancientness of the story itself.

The novel follows the early life of Succat, the son of Welsh Romans, as he is kidnapped and enslaved in Ireland. Over many years of sheep-tending and hoping for an onion from the master's table, he develops a calm and deep character that, while certainly rough around the edges, is also highly appealing in a human sort of way.

We follow him as he escapes, travels through war zones to Italy, and becomes a person of importance in the Roman government. Of course, much of the details are conjecture, based on snippets of history delivered to us, and it is impressive that Mr. Lawhead has created an entire novel around it - and not a skinny one.

The one detail that we can be fairly sure of is that he took the name Patricius and felt called to return to Ireland. The impact of that journey can still be felt today across the whole world. I found this an enthralling read with true depth and grit - admittedly more grit than some people would probably like, as the life of a slave was not a pretty one. But over the years scenes from the story come back to me, complete before my mind's eye, no matter if I have read it recently or not. Now that's what I call good writing.

The Shire: A Real Storybook Land

by Grace Bridges

I'm lucky enough to live a couple of hours from the Hobbiton film set, but had never been there until recently. And let me tell you, it's worth a visit! It's hard to explain, but the Shire occupies an entire landscape in a way that we don't often get to see - particularly when we talk about fantasy storyworlds. The hills and little vales are crammed with Hobbit holes - doors, windows and chimneys - plus vegetable gardens, laundry lines and everything you would expect a thriving community to have.

This is a view of a large part of the set. The Party Tree is on the right, and back in the centre there is the tree above Bag End - Peter Jackson's famous aluminium tree!

One of many, many hobbit holes. Lots of detail - laundry, tools, etc.

There are a bunch of gardeners whose job it is to tend the vegetable and flower beds. 

Their uniform is rather hobbit-like, with straw hats and all! 

 The baker's house - check out the bread stall there on the left.

The one I got to go into! 

It's all real, folks.

Well, real at face value, anyway. Sadly the hobbit holes are only doors, with just a little space hollowed into the dirt beyond. All the interior shots were filmed at Weta in Wellington.

For a whole lot more pictures, including the Green Dragon Inn and the Hobbit-themed shops in the nearby town of Matamata, you can go here to my Facebook album.

So, if you could visit a storybook world, which one could it be? And what other ones are out there for real? I'm just waiting for Doctor Who World, myself!

Dreaming of Travel

I've had a spring in my step this week, and it's not just because spring has sprung - though it definitely has. It's only been a few weeks since I returned from my last trip. It was a hard return in many ways - I had been sick, and had some travel tangles along the way. But in these past days I have realised I operate best when I have something to look forward to. Therefore, I hopped over to Pinterest and started collecting beautiful photos of places I would like to revisit. The above is a screenshot of part of my feed. It's exciting, I tell you! I love to feast my eyes on images like these, to remember being there - yes, that's what it was like, and it will be again.

Experiencing a range of places is also essential in my writing journey. No location has quite the same feel as another - there are the little things you notice, the smells, the ambience, the colours of the sky, the mannerisms and language of the local people. I have written about many of these places before, and hope to do so again with all the force I can muster, to drag readers inside the experience as if they were there themselves.

Of course, writing science fiction often means the settings have to be tweaked - say, a little for a futuristic Ireland, or a lot for an alien planet.

Even if the travel itself is still a faraway dream, looking at the pictures is a darn good substitute for now.

News from Grace: I'm now posting a daily blog at http://grace.splashdownbooks.com - come and check it out for insights from New Zealand, photography, and a mosaic of random cool stuff.

Visit Grace's new website at www.gracebridges.co.nz (still under construction, but feel free to have a nosey!)

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Road Trip Diary

This is a retrospective on the weekend to come, which I wanted to write about, except it hasn't happened yet, so this will have to do. You see, I'm trippin' again...New Zealand must miss me.

Tuesday 30th July: The one and only Chila Woychik will take me to the airport to catch a bus. Don't look at me funny; that's where it stops. This bus will take me first to Des Moines, then I have to change and catch another to Kansas City, where I will be met by the awesome Jan Lazo-Davis and I will enter the house with the TARDIS blue door.

Wednesday 31st July: Various culinary and conversational delights in the Davis household.

Thursday 1st August: The fantastic Robynn Tolbert, with the lovely Morgan Busse in tow, will arrive at the Davis house for brunch. Thereafter, Robynn will drive Morgan and me clear across Missouri, where we hope to find our dorm on a university campus. There we will also find our roommate, the intrepid Deborah Cullins Smith, who is bringing the necessary yummies.

Friday 2nd August: Early in the morning - far too early, really - ouch! - we will seek out the conference centre a whole kilometre distant (walk or drive? I'm thinking walk!) and sign in to the stupendous first-ever Realm Makers conference run by the amazing Becky Minor. I'm not quite sure what the day will entail, as it depends who all wants to talk to me. In any case, the evening is given over to a costume dinner, for which I may have acquired a little something rather like this.

Saturday 3rd August: Oh, the stress! I'm on a panel at 8.30 AM! After that at least the pressure is off, but just a little - in the afternoon, I must present a Splashdown Books spotlight, followed by a lecture on science fiction worldbuilding, AND THEN contribute to another panel (or was that two?). Whew. And in the evening is a public booksigning at which I truly hope to offload all 20 copies of Avenir Eclectia that I have with me.

Sunday 4th August: Hopefully a final shared brunch with leftover con-goers before heading back to Iowa...

But not for long! Rarotonga is calling my name VERY soon after that...

Globetrotting for Writers

New Zealanders are pre-programmed to travel. Most of us are descended from immigrants only one or two generations back. And being down there in isolation at the end of the world, we like to do overseas experience, "the big O.E." as a part of our career and education. My story isn't quite typical, because most people go home after a year or two. Me, I'm an incurable globetrotter and had almost a full eight years abroad. And I'm abroad again right now.

But I'm also an incurable writer. Travel is a good thing for inspiration, not so much for marketing. Being on the go means it's hard to build up notoriety in any one place. That's why the Internet has taken on a high value in all my strategies—more than would be required if I lived somewhere close to my readers. I cannot easily arrange local booksignings or similar in-person events, so I have no choice but to lean heavily on the World Wide Web.

Guess what? This has its own advantages. All of my marketing time is spent on online efforts, and not a whit on traditional avenues. I work at a flotilla of web presences, interacting with thousands of people on dozens of networks. As a science fiction writer, this brings the added bonus that sci-fi fans can be found congregating in all sorts of hidden corners of the Web. A good marketing day for me is when I find a new geek den full of kindred spirits.

What would happen if the Web collapsed? Apocalypse? Not really. I'm writing about that just now, actually. It wouldn't kill anyone. But, blimey, it would make things jolly hard for globetrotting authors, wouldn't it? Or would we all go back to good old traditional publicity stunts? Oh my gollygobs, if there were no telly, we'd be back to sandwich boards in no time. What fun.

It's a perplexing matter though when American critique partners try to "correct" my British spelling. C'mon guys, who invented the language, huh? The Queen would not be amused, I daresay.

I've worked as a fruit stacker and a police investigator. Helped catch crooks and save lives. Been stuck in Timbuktu, on a tiny Scottish island in stormy weather, and in the recent Dublin floods. Lived in tropical wildernesses and in deepest, darkest Bavaria—in the corner of a kitchen and in a thousand-year-old house. Flown on one-way tickets more often than I remember, many times lacking any clue of what I might do when I get where I'm going. Survived on porridge and prayers. Played guitar in city streets a hundred times. Met the oddest people in the oddest places, learned a handful of languages, and heard many varieties of spoken English. I ask you: How can this not help my writing?

While peculiar experiences may not be a direct aid to marketing, nor even to the craft of writing, they do greatly influence my plots and settings. We've all heard it a million times: A good story is what attracts readers the most. Marketing is worthy of effort, yes. But I'll never forget that my books themselves are their own advertising.

Which brings me to another point of interest. New Zealanders are a die-hard do-it-yourself bunch. We're known for solving most problems with coathanger wire and duct tape. That's why it doesn't bother me in the slightest to self-publish—in fact, on my last visit home it helped me get a nationwide radio interview. Again, the book—together with the website—is its own best marketing. Professional input, plus a steep learning curve, raises a project above the regrettable dregs of the POD world. Only the best will succeed.

So if you're marketing from the ends of the earth, find how the quirks of the culture you live in may help you in your writing journey. But most of all, soak up the unique atmosphere of the place where you are, and use it to make your writing stand out from the rest. An apparent disadvantage might turn out to be your advantage. All things DO work together for good.

Names and Faces

(Me with two of my authors in Florida, Kat and Ryan. I'm the short one.)

I've been putting names to faces for over a month now. It may not be the first time, but it is absolutely amazing. There are no words to adequately describe what it is like to work with someone online for years and years, to be so attuned to each other in a team without meeting...and THEN, to meet.

It is one thing to fill our chatter with work talk and know each other on that basis. Even reading each other's books is a doorway into the soul, but it is still at a certain distance between author and reader, or author and publisher. It is another thing entirely to walk beside someone, to observe their quirks, snuggle their pets, learn how they drive, eat, socialise. In many ways it is the fulfilment of what went before; it rounds out that partial picture we have seen through our screens, darkly.

Getting closer to the issues we knew about but had not seen in the flesh. Tickling their kids, chatting with spouses, discovering what their taste in music is like to live inside, how fast they type, how their homes are laid out and decorated, how they relate to those around them. Note to self: Do NOT mimic mannerisms, even out of curiosity. It can be quite disconcerting! I guess I'm fascinated by how a real person differs from their online persona, just from the limitations of the Internet experience.

I'm not dissing the Internet at all. Most of the time, it's all I have. But I am definitely loving the strangeness of moving from that to reality, of letting the environment sink in and getting used to being in the actual presence of people I have known from afar. I'm not surprised that conferences are so overwhelming for many, as this transition effect is multiplied.

Of course the goodbyes are all the harder when we don't know how or when or even where we will meet next. Yes... thank goodness for the Internet!

For more thoughts in this direction, please see the companion blog post, Circle of Life, at Speculative Faith.

Packing Light?

My bag's like this one, except blue, and I love it very much because it's huge. Almost huge enough to curl up inside, and it's light and has wheels. When I face a big trip, as I do now, I haul it out and consider what to put inside. 

I'm a minimal packer. I hate dragging around stuff as it is, so I refuse to take anything that might be surplus to my needs. Why such a big bag then? It's truly one of the biggest I've ever seen. I'll get to that.

What goes in? Clothes - maybe 20% of my space, inside a smaller bag with a few sections to keep things organised. Jeans, dress pants, tights and trackpants - one of each. Shorts and skirts - 2 each. Swimming togs and a small towel. A few T-shirts, a dress and cardigan, a couple of fleece hoodies, a merino, a crinkle blouse (no ironing!), and a tailored blazer, just in case I end up on TV. It's happened before. Add a warm jacket and raincoat and I'm as clothed as I ever need to be. Even looking at this list it seems like way too much! Hmm, maybe I'll rethink...

A bag of cables for all my technical gear - phone and camera chargers, spare batteries, a wind-up torch, USB stick, extra memory chips, international power adapters, various cables. Blegh. Too much junk, but I need it to stay connected. A bag for hygiene items. A compact sleeping bag, a fleece blanket, and hot water bottle to ensure warm nights wherever I end up. A couple of pairs of shoes.

That's about it really. Then why all the extra space?

Well, I like to be flexible. There will be maybe a box of my books that I part with along the way; other things I pick up as I go. Also, when moving about cities or airports with all my gear in hand, I like to stow my small backpack inside the large bag so I only have one item to wrangle.

And I guess, as much as I hate carrying too much luggage, there's one thing that's worse: not being able to fit everything in on the way home!

There's another kind of minimising that happens along the journey for me. In the act of leaving home and living out of a bag so very much smaller than a house full of things, it's like I can throw off the cares of the world for a while. No familiar home to find security in - although my friends will welcome me - no family nearby, no cat (though I may borrow some in places!), and no excuse to sit around in my PJs all day, ever... Ahem.

Away from nearly all the things I'm sometimes tricked into thinking make up the fabric of me, I'm reduced to the bare bones of a soul in the world. Just me and wherever I happen to be. It's risky. It's scary. But it's also freeing. In between my times of living in an established place, my months of wandering allow me - no, force me to stand alone, without reliance on circumstances that might otherwise provide comfort, rightly or wrongly. I guess it's just me and God, if you like. And I love it.

Here's to minimising our baggage, physical AND spiritual!

Grace Bridges - Hitting the States in August.

Flying Again

I remain a globetrotter. I thought all that would be over when I settled in my own place; but I still get "itchy feet" at least once a year, it seems. Lately I've satisfied myself with short hops to nearby islands.

Perhaps there's a deep-seated need to get beyond my familiar horizons, as much as I love it here. One reason for this is the strength of my online community, which I've mentioned often here and which, no doubt, you all enjoy for yourselves. Kindred spirits? I've only ever met a few face to face. But they are out there, friendly faces popping up on chat and other places. A consensus was reached: I have to go see them.

So in less than three months I'll be on a 13-hour flight east and north. For those in our circles - the writer working outside of America - that continent is something of a dreamworld where people go about their business far from our physical spheres. I know they're real; I've done this before, and I'm not the only one.

It's hard to describe the elation at the thought of seeing my friends "live". Getting around is hard work too, of course, as I recall from last time the nights spent in buses and the days spent in airports. But it's worth it. I will be different when I get home again; sated on sights and soulmates, poorer in assets, richer on the inside.

Writing may be a solitary pursuit, especially from so far away, but I'm determined to change that. Even if just for a little while.

The Hole in my Network

I lost a friend last week. One I'd never met, never even seen his face because he didn't like photos. But a real friend nonetheless. In these times, virtual relationships can be more significant than most face to face encounters. Walt was such a one. An accomplished writer, he never really believed it even though his list of published stories went on for miles. He wrote heroically for my projects Aquasynthesis and Avenir Eclectia, and loved to discover the world.

I still can't believe that he's not there, somehow, ready to chat at a moment's notice, to pass on some piece of crazy news he unearthed somewhere in his online travels. A valued member of my team and a fixture in my daily life, with missives winging back and forth across the oceans - both electronic and paper. A sense of humour much like my dad's, and I console myself that the two of them have surely met by now and are having a grand old time sharing jokes.

He's left a big gap in my network, that intangible thing whose nature I am ever wondering at. This web of people across the world, connected by cables and satellites and the community of the heart. A heart that now has a hole in it.

It's a strange kind of grief, distanced as it is, and I don't really know how to go about dealing with it. I guess I'll just have to wait it out, like any other trauma. Has any of you experienced the loss of an online friend? How did you get through it?

Bonus: here's a video that really made me realise a little of what kind of welcome would have awaited Walt when he got to the other side.

My Virtual Office

I started a new job last week, in an office in the city, all proper-like. Six years I've been freelancing, with little personal contact to the people I work with. And three years I've been publishing, with constant online-only contact to my team. So I'm having a truly wonderful time interacting with people day to day.

In the bus on the way home, before leaving the city centre, I can see a number of office premises for lease. Full or half floors, they say. Open plan with some partitioning. Newly built, newly decorated, newly renovated - there are quite a few options available to a company wanting to set down roots in downtown Auckland.

As the bus rolls on, to the motorway and over the high harbour bridge, I stare at the sea and dream. If I could lease one of those office suites for my own purpose...what would I do with it? Well. First off I'd haul in all my co-workers at Splashdown, and perhaps the teams of some other small presses as well. Might as well use the synergy, eh?

They come from all over the world. If we're to gather in one place, New Zealand is as groovy a spot as any, right? Everyone would pin up their family photos over their desks along with their choice of Trekkie/Whovian/Narnian/Lord of the Rings posters, and there'd be huge prints of all our book covers on the walls. Hours would be completely flexible, since everyone's a volunteer, but we'd all be there pretty much all the time because we love it and I reckon we'd rent apartments above for all the family to be near. While we're at it we'd rent the ground floor retail space to sell our books.

There'd be a massive amount of mind-meld style brainstorming as authors write, designers design, editors edit, salespeople sell, readers read, artists draw and paint, and everyone keeps the world updated on our progress via social media. Can you imagine the fun to be had in a shared office like this?

Then it occurred to me: we've already got the next best thing. We may not be in physical proximity. We may sleep and wake at different times. We may never have actually met. But we're colleagues of the highest order.

We chat whenever we can get online. We bounce ideas around. We show off our families and fan memorabilia. We sell books in a virtual space. We run to each other with questions and requests for input or help. We write, edit, design in parallel, driving for a common goal. We commiserate and celebrate, joke and jabber.

There's just one thing I'm waiting on...a virtual reality setup to bring the actual experience closer to the felt connections.

--

Grace Bridges is a freshly hatched office translator, writer and publisher at Splashdown Books. Her calling is the weird and wacky arena of science fiction, fantasy and horror, driving for constant innovation and quality in the small press scene. See www.splashdownbooks.com for more.

She also runs the Avenir Eclectia fiction project at www.avenireclectia.com, currently works with Team PYP as a short story mentor, helps oversee the Lost Genre Guild, and very much enjoys living in New Zealand where the date is mostly tomorrow for her American colleagues.