N.K. Jemisin

The Fifth Season

The Fifth Season

A season of endings has begun. It starts with the great red rift across the heart of the world's sole continent, from which enough ash spews to darken the sky for years. Or centuries.

It starts with death, with a murdered son and a missing daughter.

It starts with betrayal, and long dormant wounds rising up to fester.

And it ends with you. You are the Stillness, a land long familiar with catastrophe, where orogenes wield the power of the earth as a weapon and are feared far more than the long cold night. And you will have no mercy.

Learn more.

This is how you destroy something beautiful.

This is how my Monday morning began: with a slap in the face, courtesy of new Weird Tales editor Marvin Kaye.

If you haven’t been following the “controversy” over author Victoria Foyt’s self-published novel Revealing Eden, here’s a good analysis of it with links to others. I put air quotes around controversy in this case because there really isn’t one. On the one side of the discussion you’ve got the author and a handful of defenders — many of whom seem to be sockpuppets of the author herself — insisting that the book isn’t racist because… something. On the other side you’ve got several thousand readers saying OMG WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT RACIST MESS I JUST SAW. That’s not a controversy, it’s an object lesson in How To Be Wrong On The Internet.

I haven’t talked about the Foyt book much because I didn’t care. At the start of this I read the first chapter of the book out of curiosity (you can download a sample on Amazon); it’s really not very good at all. It also falls prey to the usual problems that occur whenever someone who’s not very educated on how racism actually works — and who’s clearly unwilling to learn more — tries to address it. Foyt’s characters adhere to every racial stereotype you can imagine, for example, in this supposedly not-racist book. But poorly-written books are a dime a dozen, and so are racist texts; I saw no point in giving additional attention to this one versus any of the thousands of others. I also tend not to negatively review other authors’ works in general, since there’s really no way to avoid the appearance of unprofessionalism and/or grudgewank in the process. There are times when it’s worthwhile to burn those bridges, but that one wasn’t one of them.

This, however, is.

Some context here. Weird Tales is a magazine with a long and checkered history. I didn’t follow it back in the old days when it was all! Lovecraftian! All! The time!, simply because I wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. In its more recent years it published some names I actually cared about, like Tanith Lee; I read an issue or two to sample it, but again — not my thing. In 2007, however, Ann VanderMeer, Stephen Segal, and some other folks decided to revive the old Weird Tales brand and evolve it beyond its classic roots. When their issues started coming out, I read a sample and was blown away by the fiction selections, the layout, the sheer collective beauty of the thing. I started buying it, and I also immediately started sending story submissions there. Most of them got rejected, although usually with nice notes encouraging me to keep trying. And I did. Then finally I sold one: “The Trojan Girl”, which was published in WT #357 in early 2011 with lovely, eerie illustrations by Rhiannon Rasmussen-Silverstein. I was so proud, ya’ll.

And then last year something bizarre happened. New owners Marvin Kaye and John Harlacher bought the magazine — and promptly fired the team that had earned it its first Hugo award. Okay. That was stupid, but businesses do stupid things all the time. The new folks made a vague effort at damage control afterward, so I chose to hope that the new ownership would get its shit together and get back to the business of putting out a high-quality speculative magazine. I didn’t have a subscription — I buy on the newsstand, ’cause I actually like browsing newsstands — so it didn’t do me any harm to wait and see. They’d bought a magazine with an invaluable reputation that had been years in the building, after all; I figured no one would be stupid enough to piss that all away.

I was wrong. They’ve shat it away. And pissed on the steaming pile afterward.

It’s more than the fact that the editor has chosen to introduce the revamped magazine with a diatribe against evil anti-racists, or evil people with no sense of irony, or something. It’s more than the stunningly poor judgment that he displays by hitching his magazine’s new applecart to this spavined old horse. It’s also the fact that they’re going to be publishing the first chapter of this hugely problematic book in Weird Tales. What the hell is that about? In all the furor over this book, no one is defending it as high-quality literature. It’s not even “weird”, in either the old-school pulp sense or the VanderMeer-era modern sense; it’s a slushpile-stock discrimiflip with implausible science and banal writing. This is a book whose author self-published it — perhaps because the publisher of her previous novel saw what a mess it was — and then promoted it via self-reviews on HuffPo and a bunch of vanity awards. Now I’m wondering whether she paid WT to publish this excerpt. Maybe she even bought Kaye’s editorial. Or maybe I’m overthinking this. Maybe Kaye just thought it was a great idea to start his new regime with a bang. Any publicity is good publicity, right? Right?

How much does a good reputation sell for, I wonder? Hope Kaye got a good price.

All my pleasure and pride at having been published in WT is gone. Goes without saying that I won’t be submitting there again, ever, but at this point I’m ashamed to have my name associated with the magazine at all. And that pisses me off especially, because something I really cared about has been destroyed. I was willing to give WT’s new owners the benefit of the doubt after the regime change; sometimes change can be a good thing, after all. But this editorial, and this decision to publish such poor-quality fiction on misplaced principle, makes it clear that WT’s reputation is now meaningless. By this gesture Marvin Kaye hasn’t just slapped me in the face, he’s slapped every author the magazine ever published, every hopeful author who’s submitted during and since VanderMeer’s tenure, every artist whose illustrations ever graced its pages, and every fan who voted for WT to win that Hugo.

Slap me and I’ll slap you back. I can’t revoke my Hugo vote and I don’t want to; Ann and the gang justifiably earned that award. I’m just sorry the award is now attached to a magazine that’s clearly going to be shit from here forth. WT #357 is a print magazine and nothing can un-print it, but here’s what I can do: I can do my damnedest to make sure the new owners don’t profit in any way from my work. They’re still selling back-issues of the magazine, and the story I published there has thus far only been reprinted in audio form. So on the thin chance that anybody reading this was thinking about buying a back-issue in order to read my story in it, no need. I’m reprinting it here now for free. Enjoy.

ETA: The publisher has backtracked on WT’s brave commitment to racism, go figure. Damage done, I say.

Daughter of ETA: Artist Rhiannon Rasmussen-Silverstein has graciously given me permission to repost her art with The Trojan Girl. Yay!

Sister of Grand-niece of ETA: WT has taken down Kaye’s initial statement. (Good grief, don’t these people have any clue how not to handle an internet controversy?) Here’s a cached version.

Friend of Cousin of Oh Fuck It: Jeff VanderMeer weighs in, with some deep-twitch-inducing insider info on how this debacle began.

The Trojan Girl

First published in Weird Tales #357 (2011), and reprinted in Escape Pod in audio. Note that everything on my blog is under a Creative Commons Attribution/Non-Commercial/No Derivatives license.

If you’re curious, this is part of a story world I’ve been noodling for awhile, and might one day revisit as a YA novel. Another short story of mine (“Valedictorian”), to be published in 2012 in the AFTER anthology, is set in the same world.

ETA: And the artist whose illustrations ran with the Weird Tales print has graciously shared those images here! Click images to embiggen, and visit Rhiannon Rasmussen-Silverstein’s site for her full portfolio.

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Beasts of the Southern Wild

You guys! You gotta see this movie.

I’ve said this before and will say it again: New Orleans is the only city besides New York to ever win my heart. There’s something different about that place — something indefinable and liminal. Everyone who lives there for long feels it. I’ve tried to capture that sense of magic myself in fiction, and I don’t know if I succeeded because it’s hard to encapsulate something like that in a narrative. I’ve seen lots of other books and visual media attempt this and fail. But now, for the first time in quite a while, I’ve just seen another film which does the trick.

Beasts of the Southern Wild is overtly fantastical. The story is framed through the imagination of Hushpuppy, a little girl growing up in “the Bathtub”, a poor community that has literally been forgotten and left to drown by the rest of the world. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina the residents of this community band together and seek solace in laughter, but Hushpuppy knows that something is out of true. What’s happening to the Bathtub is merely a symptom of greater malaise, and she sets forth on an epic quest — both real and imagined — to save the father she loves more than anything in the world.

This movie is beautiful and terrible — and both of those adjectives are good. The cinematography is just about perfect, capturing everything from the ethereal beauty of a bayou sunset to the raw ugly poverty in which the residents of the Bathtub live. You can see why the people of the Bathtub mistrust authority, because authority comes with stark white uniforms and walks down sterile blue-tinged hallways and destroys souls with efficient, industrialized detachment. You feel the power of Hushpuppy’s fears because they come thundering down from the Arctic; you taste her hopes, sucked down like sweet boiled crawfish. The actors are all unknowns, but they take the script and beast it (see the film). Such was this movie’s power that I started crying at about the halfway mark, and I just. Didn’t. Stop. Even though I was laughing at the same time.

It’s not without problems. Even though the film fictionalizes the forgotten poor of the Gulf Coast, I’ve met enough of the real poor there to know that what’s depicted here edges closer than I like to caricature at times. The denizens of the Bathtub choose to stay through the hurricane, for example, and the film treats this overtly as sheer stubbornness and pride — but implicit is the fact that these people have nowhere to go, and they’re too poor to get there even if they did. I can easily see some filmgoers missing the implicit message and using the overt to (yet again) vilify the people who couldn’t move out of Katrina’s path. Also, the filmmakers attempt a few metaphors that fail, sometimes badly. All the women in the film, including Hushpuppy, are treated as innately magical, for example. This is something that happens over and over in depictions of bayou folk, especially women, and it annoys me — but I’m willing to forgive it in this case because the film didn’t run afoul of any of the other usual stereotypes (e.g., Scary Voodoo People). It also helps that these “magical negresses” were balanced out by their realism in other respects.

But all of these are quibbles about a film that is, save for one or two strokes, a masterpiece. So go see it. But hydrate first, OK? Your eyes will thank you.

Identity should always be part of the gameplay

This is sort of a tangential response to John Scalzi’s “Straight White Male: The Lowest Difficulty Setting. Good article; you should read it… and the comments. Yeah, I know, I usually say don’t read the comments. But I think they’re illuminating, if frustrating, in this case. If you’re not a straight white male, it’s a good idea to understand how even the most liberal of them think. If you are a straight white male, Scalzi’s talking to you; listen.

I’ve been playing the hell out of Dragon Age and Dragon Age 2 on the Xbox 360 lately. This is partly because life’s been busy and killing electronic monsters and assholes is great stress relief. More than that, though, these are just incredibly good games. I’ve been something of a snob where it comes to RPGs in the past, preferring Japanese over Western-made RPGs because the Western ones usually sucked on the criteria I care most about: characterization and plot. I suspect Western eRPGs were originally made to emulate the fun of playing tabletop RPGs, within which nonlinearity, customization, and identification (“you are the character!”) are the main goal. In tabletop games, players are expected to provide most of the energy for plot and characterization themselves. Since 99% of the Western games I’ve played up ’til now have made it very clear I’m not the character — if I’m lucky, I might get to play as a white woman — the identification component has never been much of a draw for me. And as someone who spends her professional life churning out worldbuilding, plot, and characterization every day… well, I’d just rather sit back and let someone else do the heavy lifting when I’m trying to relax. Fortunately the DA games break the Western RPG mold in some really nice ways.

The “identification” component is still a problem in the DA games, because the best I could do for trying to assemble a character who looked like me was a sort of burnt-sienna-skinned woman with naturally straight hair. It’s frustrating that I couldn’t be black unless I somehow assumed that some kind of magic hair-straightening process existed, and every brown person used it. (I suppose it’s not a far stretch from dragons to sodium hydroxide. ::sigh::) Still, Bioware tried, which is more than most game companies have done, and they did it on more than a superficial level. I was thrilled to see that my DA2 character’s whole family turned brown along with her, and that there was one other playable character at the dark end of the spectrum*. There were also lots of characters of color in the background — not as many as I would’ve expected in DA2, which takes place in a port city; in our own world, port cities have historically been very heterogenous — but enough to have a real presence. That made it clear the dark skin option wasn’t just an afterthought.

I also liked the fact that I didn’t have to create a character like me, if I didn’t want to. I could be several flavors of white, which wouldn’t exactly be a novelty — but somehow it feels better when it’s a choice. I could be vaguely Asian or Middle Eastern; both of these options had the same limitations as the vaguely black model, but the option was there. I could be male or female. Better still, both games incorporated relationships with other characters as a game mechanic. I could be nice; I could be an asshole. I could pursue a romantic relationship or be “just friends” with everyone; I could have a completely non-sexual romance or burn up the bedrolls every time we hit camp. If I chose sex, I could settle down monogamously or jump every playable character in the game. (With frustrating exceptions. I can’t be the only one who thought Varrick was hot.** Le sigh.) And much has been made of how players can pursue these romances regardless of their own sexual orientation, or the other characters’ gender. Hell, that’s what ultimately made me give these games a try.

So at this point I’ve played as a vaguely black female rogue, a vaguely brown male mage, a vaguely black female elf warrior, and — in my most recent playthrough — a white guy. (Ah, what the hell.) I’ve romanced men as a woman, men as a man, and women as a woman; I’m currently debating whether I feel like making my white guy romance a woman, but since that would feel like every other game I’ve played ever I think I’ll stick to the men. Or maybe I’ll just skip the romances altogether this time around.

All these options have a real, meaningful impact on how the game’s story unfurls. Drive away a character by being carelessly rude, and a life-saving endgame option might not appear. Butter up the wrong woman and suddenly you’re embroiled in an interspecies war. And all along the way, other characters’ reactions to you are highly colored by what you are, not just your choices. Mages are second-class citizens in this world, so if you’re a mage, you can never become king/queen even after you save the world — and if you try, you might eventually be imprisoned or lynched. If you’re an elf — another maligned group — every merchant will assume you’re penniless; society ladies will clutch their pearls if you pass too near; and you’re doomed to a life of scorn and oppression no matter how much money and glory you accumulate. If you’re a refugee from a nation that was recently devastated by war, you can immigrate to a safer city… where you have no rights, everyone preys on you, and if you don’t do every dirty job you can find, you’ll starve or be sold to slavers. If you’re a man, serving in the priesthood is off-limits to you, though it’s clear this society is fundamentally patriarchial. If you’re a noble, you’re bound by a rigid set of social rules that you cannot violate without potentially losing everything.

So basically, the DA creators have had the sense to acknowledge that the non-optional demographics of a person’s background — her gender, her race, the class into which she was born, her sexual orientation — have as much of an impact on her life as her choices. Basically, privilege and oppression are built in as game mechanics. I can’t remember the last time I saw a game that so openly acknowledged the impact of privilege. Lots of games feature characters who have to deal with the consequences of being rich or poor, a privileged race or an oppressed one, but this is usually a linear, superficial thing. The title character in Nier, for example, is a poor single father who’s probably too old for the mercenary life (he looks about 50, but via the miracle of Japanese game traditions he’s probably only 30), but he keeps at it because otherwise his sick daughter will starve. His poverty is simply a motivation. No one refuses to hire him because they think poor people are lazy. He meets a well-dressed, well-groomed young man who lives in a mansion at one point, and the kid doesn’t snub him for being dirty and shirtless. (In fact the kid falls in love with him but that’s a digression.) His age and race and class don’t mean anything, even though in real life they would. So even though I love Nier — great music, fascinating and original world — I like the DA games better. Even in a fantasy world, realism has its place.

I’ve seen a lot of discussion in the SFF writing world about how to write “the other” — i.e., a character of a drastically different background from the writer’s own. It’s generally people of privileged backgrounds asking the question, because let’s face it: if you’re not a straight white able-bodied (etc.) male, you pretty much know how to write those guys already because that’s most of what’s out there. So right now I’m speaking to the white people. One technique that gets tossed around in these discussions is what I call the “Just Paint ‘Em Brown” technique: basically just write the non-white character the same as a white one, but mention somewhere in the text, briefly, that she’s not white. Lots of well-known SFF writers — Heinlein in Starship Troopers, Clarke in Childhood’s End, Card in Ender’s Game — have employed this technique. I’ve seen some books mention a character’s non-whiteness only as a belated “surprise” to the reader (near the end of the book in the Heinlein example). The idea, I guess, is that the reader will form impressions of the character sans racialized assumptions, and therefore still feel positively about the character even after he’s revealed to be one of “them.”

This technique is crap. For one thing, the reader does form racialized assumptions about the character; the assumption is just that he’s white. For another, the whole thing treats race as the punchline of a joke. A writer who does this doesn’t need to make any effort (e.g. researching history, meeting people, learning about social systems) to create verisimilitude between the character and the worldbuilding. The writer just writes the character as white, then “paints” him brown with a few words. Worse, this technique not only assumes but supports the reader’s racism. Characters of color are assumed to be so unacceptable to white readers that they cannot be named as such from the outset (even though in a visual medium or real life that’s practically the first thing most people would notice) without making the book unreadable. CoCs can be “tolerated”, though, if a) their race is treated like an afterthought, because b) they read like white people the rest of the time.

There’s nothing challenging about pulling this stunt. It’s lazy characterization on the writer’s part and lazy engagement on the reader’s part. A black person is not a white person painted brown, a woman is not a man with tits, and identity isn’t an afterthought or a trick. So why the hell do so many writers think this technique is a great idea?

(Rhetorical question. I know why.)

Better to do things the DA way: acknowledge the ways in which what we are affects what we can do — and how easy it is to do those things, and who we’ll get to do them with. Treat identity like something real, not a gimmick. Understand how the systems built around identity — many flavors of bigotry and privilege, socioeconomics, even science and history — impact every aspect of life from careers to relationships to survival, and don’t tiptoe around this reality. Your story will thank you for it. Your readers — all of them — will, too.

In the meantime, I guess I’ll get back to seducing Anders. I hate the guy, but what the hell; it’s just a game.

ETA for clarity. Wrote this pre-coffee, ya’ll.

* Although I had some issues with Isabela’s characterization. Woman who loves sex and does it lots, yay! Woman who does lots of sex being the only brown woman in the game? Argh, stereotype. (Still slept with her, tho’.)

** and the Arishok oh God I can’t believe I said that

An alternate appendix

Stealing Martha Wells’ idea; I’m going to be posting the occasional deleted scene from my various works over the next few weeks. And since people have asked, I’m starting with the one I read at Comic Con, during my “Spotlight” panel. This would have been the second appendix of The Kingdom of Gods, if the short story “Not the End” hadn’t smacked me between the eyes after I wrote this. Enjoy!

APPENDIX 2: Spider Speaks

The following is a recorded and transcribed vision of the godling known as Spider (Litaria designation 3301-A, Nahadothan niwwah godling attached to Teman Protectorate, northern coastal territory). For further information, see An Index of Elder Godlings, which may be obtained by written request from the private collection at Echo, Dekarta Arameri Memorial Library. Vision recorded by unknown Spider devotee.
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San Diego Comic Con

Le’ me ‘splain. No, no, no, there is too much; le’ me sum up.

photo of a SDCC panel

Photo courtesy of Tiffany Peng

Last weekend I was at San Diego Comic Con as a Special Guest of the convention. I’ve been to New York Comic Con before, but… there’s really no comparison. NYCC has a different character — more corporate, somehow; less eclectic. And it doesn’t take over the whole damn city. SDCC is a city. Guesstimates (this is from one of the con staffers assigned to me as a “handler”) were that 140,000 people were at this one. The convention center’s capacity, note, is 130,000 — but I saw at least one scalper hawking counterfeit badges, so I think the over-max guesstimate is probably correct.

And my verdict? SDCC was stunning, overwhelming, awesome, terrifying, and magnificent. The Guest Relations Team took wonderful care of me, and I did my best to take good care of myself — but I’ve still picked up a touch of con crud, which has been threatening all week to become a full-blown cold. And though, sadly, many of my friends were at Readercon (taking place at the same time on the east coast), I got a chance to see some folks I haven’t seen in years, and be on panels with some of ’em — including Marjorie Liu, Brandon Sanderson, John Scalzi, Seanan McGuire, and more. I got to meet some new people, some of whom I utterly and shamelessly fangirled at, including Lynn Flewelling (fantasy writer whose Nightrunner books I’ve loved) and David Gaider (lead writer for Bioware, and my current favorite game Dragon Age) and Stephan Martiniere (the artist who did the painting that became the cover art for the Japanese edition of The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms). Mr. Martiniere gave me a free print of this painting! It’s beautiful and I’m going to be framing it and hanging it in my apartment ASAP.

The goods: the aforementioned meeting of cool people and mooching of Stuff. Reading a never-before-published deleted bit of The Kingdom of Gods to a gigantic, packed room of I’m-guessing 250 people. Doing panels in packed rooms of I’m-guessing 500 people. Doing signings for almost that many; met a lot of cool West Coast fans. Going to a Brazilian steakhouse for the first time with Lynn Flewelling, her husband, and two new friends; holy crap, I’m still full. Using my “guest clout” to get into the Firefly Reunion panel; I tried not to be a diva, but I gotta admit it was nice to pull rank just once. (Ducks flying stuffed animals from people who stood in line all night. Sorry!)

There were not-so-goods. The crowds; holy crap, I’m not generally the type to get uncomfortable in crowds, but I did this time. Fortunately I had a hotel room to retreat to on those occasions when I shunted from “ooh, wow!” into “GRAH, KILL” mode; that helped a lot. I did stand in line for a few events, one of which was the infamous “Black Panel”. I’d heard such good things about that panel from previous years, but this year it was a real disappointment. Shaquille O’Neil was present, hawking a thoroughly unimpressive comic book he’s produced, but that wasn’t really an issue. What annoyed me was that the Black Panel — which had two white members, one of whom was the panel’s only listed woman — had no black women on it. And when questioned about this by an audience member (and me, via Twitter), the moderator blew it off with something completely bizarre: (paraphrase) “We get this question every year. We’ve made a real effort to include women in previous years, so I don’t know why they keep asking it.” Maybe because you gave up the effort, dammit. Worse, the panel was nothing but a banter-and-love-fest between the panelists; there was nothing informative about it. I’d come hoping to get some exposure to new artists, new books, news about cool stuff forthcoming. Other than Shaq’s (repeat: unimpressive) comic book, there was none of that. I left before the panel ended, honestly; I got bored.

And the Firefly Reunion, for all my excitement, was a disappointment too. Half the cast wasn’t there, including the actors who played my favorite characters (Zoe, Kaylee, Inara, and Book). And there was a seriously oogy moment when an Asian fan stood up to ask about Firefly’s infamous exclusion of Asian characters/actors from a supposedly Asian-dominated universe. Whedon’s answer was… less than satisfying.

Also, I almost got a photo with Anthony Bourdain, but the fanboy I gave my camera to took a lovely photo of his thumb. HULK SMASH.

Still, on balance, the con was a hit. Will I be going back? No time soon! It was so overwhelming that I’m not sure I want to make a yearly thing of it; it’s been almost a week and I’m still physically exhausted. If they invite me again as a guest, I’ll consider it, certainly. But maybe in a few years. :)

Dear Fandom: Grow the Fuck Up

I’ve been in a state of apoplexy for the last 48 hours or so, because a) I’m still in recovery mode from Comic Con (short version: it was awesome and overwhelming, more later), and b) coming back from Comic Con has left me maybe hyperaware of all that’s both right and wrong about the entire media-consuming community.

Comic Con itself is an example of what’s right. 100,000+ people took over downtown San Diego for 5 days and there were no riots, nobody got shot, and while there was one unfortunate incident, for the most part things went remarkably well. SDCC felt kind of like Mardi Gras to me, with better costuming but sans vomit, piss, and those assholes who make “Girls Gone Wild” videos. (They might’ve been there, but if so they were on the downlow.)

Things wrong with mediadom, though, include this. And this, which happened at Readercon, same Bat-time but across the continent from SDCC. And holy crap, this, which has been happening for several days but I just found out about it yesterday. (Good linkspam here.)

I just… I don’t… no. No. Bad fandom. BAD! Were you all raised in barns? Did you receive no home training? Where in the lexicon of Acceptable Human Behavior does it say that it’s okay to stalk someone because you like them, or because you want to apologize to them, or because they don’t like something you like, or because they do but not the way you want them to like it? Why do we express ourselves in this way? What the… who the… GRAAAAH.

Look, I know how it feels to love something you’re consuming, or creating. I also know how it feels to hear that other people don’t love it. I’ve been on the receiving end of some really scathing reviews, and I’ve even given in to the urge to respond once or twice — mildly, and briefly. I’ve known how it feels to be the dominant group in a space, and to feel some ownership of a thing, and to feel threatened when “those other” people encroach on it. I really, honestly do get the spark of emotion that lurks at the heart of all these examples of rampant assholism. But.

I am not twelve years old. And thus I do not allow the spark of emotion to flare into a Burning Flame of Righteousness, and certainly I don’t pour gas on it so it’ll blaze into a Bonfire of Frothing Stupidity. Because I am not twelve years old.

If you are reading this, and you are legitimately twelve years old (or under) — GTFO, this is a blog for grownups, your parents should never have let you come here unsupervised. Everyone else, though? If you’ve ever done any of the things the people in these incidents are doing, to any degree? If you’ve thought about doing them? Stop, drop, and grow up.

And once again, I will point you at John Scalzi’s site, where he’s posted his policy on how readers should react to negative reviews of anything he’s affiliated with. Which mostly boils down to, “Don’t.” I feel like I shouldn’t need a policy like this; I feel like it’s stating the obvious. But maybe I do — so rather than reinvent the pixels, I’ll just say “what he said.”

Because, really.

The end of an era

Jed Hartman’s retiring from editorship at Strange Horizons.

Jed talks about this himself, so go over and read his blog post, and say goodbye. It’s not a sad affair; it’s just time to move on for him, which I totally get. But I think it’s important to point out just how revolutionary SH has been — and no, I’m not heaping praise upon it because Jed & the gang have published two of my short stories, which gave me 2/3rds of the sales I needed to reach SFWA pro status. I’m heaping praise upon it because the folks who started that magazine have done a lot to change this genre for the better. At the time SH first started, SFF magazines were largely all print, hard to find on the newsstand shelves (you had to subscribe to be sure), and representative of many things wrong with the genre: women rarely appeared in their tables of contents, people of color rarely appeared in their pages, and too many of the stories published were thinly-veiled paeans to colonialism or white male power fantasy. SH just threw that whole model out and went back to the drawing board. They opted for broad accessibility rather than esoteric tradition. They embraced literary quality with the same fervor as speculative content, where other markets turned up their collective noses at genre meandering or stylistic shenanigans. And despite many, many naysayers at the time who predicted their early and ugly demise, they succeeded. They’ve been here all this time. They pay authors a pro rate even though they’re funded solely by donations. And they’re largely responsible for the rise of a new era of diversity within the genre, in content and composition and personnel — of whom Yours Truly is just one example.

I wish the new SH team luck, but I’m sad to see you go, Jed. Still, go with the assurance that ya done a good thing. Or three. Good luck in all your future endeavors!

More Fanart Awesome

I’ve been remiss — found this one weeks ago, and asked the artist for permission to repost… then forgot to check back and see if she’d given permission. (D’oh.) She did, so here is “Dayfather and Nightlord”:

portrait of Itempas and Nahadoth side by side

Click to biggify, because it’s beautiful and should be viewed in its true size and glory. Of drawing only two of the Three, artist ex-machina says, “I’d have drawn the Grey Lady too, but she wasn’t turning out the way I wanted… more sketches necessary.” I like what she’s got so far. Now go visit ex-m’s site and tell her how awesome she is.

My Comic Con Schedule

Next week I’ll be a Special Guest at San Diego Comic Con. Now, I’ve been to New York’s Comic Con several times, but SDCC is its bigger, meaner older brother, and I have to confess that I’ve been a little intimidated by the idea of the whole thing. Still, it’s hard not to get excited, ’cause holy crap see what I’ll be doing:

    Thursday, July 12: Racebending.com: Creating Diverse Spaces for Diverse Representations

    I was excited about this already, because I think the folks at Racebending are doing a hero’s work, poking Hollywood with a stick to get it to stop being so damn racist. Then I saw that Marjorie Liu, who’s cool as hell, would be on the panel. Then I saw that David Gaider would be on it — and for anybody who knows me in a gaming sense, my latest obsession has been the Dragon Age games. So now I get to gush at him over how incredibly well-written they are! (Haven’t started the Mass Effect series yet. In good time, people, in good time.)

    Thursday, July 12: Spotlight on N. K. Jemisin

    So, apparently I’m supposed to do something for this. Like, a reading or an interview or something… er. Um. Yeah. I’ll figure it out. ::ulp::

    Friday, July 13: Epic Fantasy War

    Me and a bunch of other fantasy writers being awesome together. I’ll finally get to meet Christopher Paolini and find out how he feels about my Inheritance Trilogy series name! I’ll finally get to fangirl in person at Lynn Flewelling! Did I mention AWESOMENESS?

    Somewhere in there (probably after the Spotlight panel) I will do a signing, too. Or maybe two.

    So see you soon, fellow SDCCers!