Since I've turned my attention to the ungainly and inelegant form called "novel," my short story production has dropped to nil. So the next time something of mine will see print will be my Forgotten Realms shared world fiction debut.

My short story, "Feast of the Moon" will appear in the forthcoming anthology Realms of the Dead, scheduled for release on January 5th, 2010.

2010? That's the future!

 I had originally planned to express my support for the "Blog Every Day in April" effort by not providing any distractions. I launched a parallel "Blog No Days in April" effort, but then realized that if I took a whole month off, then it would look... a lot like all the other months around here.

 Look out! Deadlines are flying all over the place around here!

 Two things that came my way yesterday.

-Describe me in one word- just one single word. Positive or negative.

-Leave your word in a comment, before looking at what words others have used.

-Copy and paste the meme to your journal to find out how people describe you when limited to one word.

Dear People,

If you don't think Leviticus 11:8 required the Steelers offensive unit to undergo ritual cleansing after the big game Sunday...

And you don't think Leviticus 19:19 means that wearing a Fruit-of-the-Loom t-shirt is the moral equivalent of raping a slave girl...

Then maybe what Jesus said in John 13:34 trumps whatever other much-translated, culturally- and historically-mysterious verses some folks use to gift wrap their hate with, eh?

Wow, what a surprise that movie was. Best fantasy film I've seen in ages--in its way, it equals or even exceeds Pan's Labyrinth.

The story itself is as old as stories, like many of the best ones, but the way the characters are staged is fascinating and not at all traditionally cinematic. There are three major protagonists (played by Brendan Fraser, Paul Bettany, and, a revelation, Eliza Bennett), two minor (another promising youngster, Rafi Gavron, and the incomparable Helen Mirren clearly having the time of her life), and two tertiary (Jim Broadbent in crazed crotchety mode and Sienna Guillory doing fantastic physically expressive work). All of them have their own arcs, and all of them approach the same set of problems in different ways that grow out of their personalities, backgrounds, and skill sets. The complex, but never confusing, plot is well served by a beautiful setting (the Alps around Lake Geneva and points north, looked like), a judicious use of special effects, and a deft directorial hand.

Of course, a movie that loves books is easy for me to love. Also, there's an awesome minotaur. Parents will be interested to know that we were in a theater full of kids, and it was a quiet theater, because from toddler to tween, they were all leaning forward in their seats, rapt.

Now, an aside to Brendan Fraser haters, a club the existence of which baffles me. Yes, this is the guy who made Encino Man and George of the Jungle. But he's also the guy who made Traffic and Gods & Monsters. Y'all ever heard of Peter O'Toole or Michael Caine? He's a working actor, and even when the material ain't that great, he still works it, because that's his craft and his calling. As it happens, the material of Inkheart is great.

Here's some stuff that has interested and amused me this week. Maybe some of it'll interest or amuse you.

The Mountain that Eats Men: A lengthy article at Walrus Magazine about living and dying in Potosí, Bolivia's infamous La Negra mine.

Flooding a McDonald's as Video Art: The UK based Architect's Journal previews a fascinating short film.

Gold: "The Web Series That Deals Double Damage" is a professionally produced, written, directed and (for the most part) acted series that should appeal to fans of The Guild and Kings of Kong. Sharp-eyed Colbert fans should notice a shout-out.

The Climbs of California: Specifically the cycling climbs on tap for the upcoming Tour of California, one of the finest spectacles in American sport. Some local elite riders put together this fascinating series of videos, graphs, and maps that hits at least three of my geek sweet spots.

And finally, a quote from someone whom I hope finds the peace in death he never found in letters.

I got my first ever novel advance check in the mail just now (the portion due "on signing," which doesn't exactly mean "on signing"). And some earlier-than-expected short story money as well. I remember, wow, over ten years ago now, getting my first ever writing check in the mail from Sovereign Media for my debut story in Realms of Fantasy. I used it to pay rent. I shall use this to make a mortgage payment and buy a bunch of groceries. And maybe a few books. And also possibly a bottle of champagne, since we're apparently gonna be snowed in tomorrow anyway. And maybe we'll go see some movies.

But now, since neither of the pieces these checks partly pay for are actually, y'know, done, I guess I'll get back at it.

Back in the Bluegrass, where the temperature is a humane fifty Fahrenheit and rising.

In celebration, I offer you, from the Europa Film Treasures online archiving project, this nine minute 1934 animated short from France, directed by Anthony Gross and Hector Hopin, with music by Tibor Harsanyi. Art deco! Ballet! Trains! Bicycles!

Le Joie De Vivre.

(Via Flavorpill's Daily Dose newsletter.)

Hey, take a read at this.

Now ask yourself this. "Is there something in that passage that I believe demonstrates that the writer is speaking from hate, or from fear, or from anger?"

Now know this. It's not like I'm famous or nothing. If you're reading this, then odds are pretty good that are I know you. And if I know you, even though I do a shitty job of showing it pretty much all the time, then I love you. Even if we don't get along, hell, even if we each of us think the other is a pretty despicable human being a lot of the time, I am working so hard to love you.

Finally, here's how these things fit together.

If you think those words were spoken out of hatred, then you, whom I love, are a fucking racist.

Sorry.

Update: Folks in the comments, God bless 'em, were confused as to what exactly prompted that. Well, yesterday, after the ceremonies, I went to check out Joseph Lowery's Wikipedia entry, and found this: His poem drew sharp and immediate criticism from many political conservatives for the phrase included in the poem “…when white will embrace what is right.”

And, fool, that I am, I went searching around to see what they were talking about. Bishop Lowery's "race baiting" prayer was the main topic of conversation on AM radio yesterday, apparently.

I know, I know, valuable minutes of my life...

I am filled up with joy and hope and pride and love--and I hope you are, too.

Dear fourteen-year-old Christopher,

     There will come a day, really not too long from now if you were to consider things in a scope I know you can't consider them in just yet, when you will be sitting in a high-ceilinged room lined with overflowing bookshelves. You will be reading Dungeons & Dragons manuals on a weekday morning, because it's part of your job as a science fiction & fantasy writer.

     This will be far from the coolest thing about your life.

Cheers,

Thirty-nine-year-old Christopher

PS Your straight trifecta for the Derby is Spend a Buck, Stephen's Odyssey, and Chief's Crown.

So, I put Gwenda on an airplane, bought a loaf of bread, and then kicked back for six or seven hours of sword fights and tank battles.

Prince Caspian was better than I thought it would be. Susan looks like my friend Justine. They're also both into fashion and thus, in the CS Lewisverse, have no hope for salvation. All the brown people are bad guys except for the brown person who is played by a white person. Metaphysics! But, the bit that was fan fic for the Battle of Pelennor Fields was pretty good, Peter Dinklage kicked ass, and Tilda Swinton is always Tilda Swinton (except in that last crappy Cohen Bros. movie). Plus, Eddie Izzard.

Scaramouche, wow, that's a tough one. It's gorgeous, and the climactic six minute sword fight in a Paris opera house is the best sword fight I've ever seen. The way that the production values of the commedia dell'Arte stuff get ramped up as the performers graduate to fancier venues is interesting. But wow! The gender politics and, just, basic assumptions about how people in relationships treat each other are... wow. And even setting that aside, I bow to no one in my admiration of Janet Leigh, but what kind of fool would choose her over Eleanor Parker in this movie? Also, Mel Ferrer reminded me of my friend Scott.

(But seriously. Almost sixty years ago they filmed that sword fight and there's not been a lot since that even comes close.)

And then, the real surprise (to me), The Big Red One. Who knew Mark Hamill could act, kinda? There's not much here by way of "story" in the traditional movie-land sense, though apparently somebody hacked this print down into something like one for its theatrical release thirty years ago. It's grim, and funny, and weird, and scary, and the battle sequences are confusing as hell--it's B movie cinéma vérité, I guess, and I highly recommend it. One small thing that stuck out, the way the voice over was used-- sparse and particular--was excellent. Examples: "You know how you smoke out a sniper? You send a guy out in the open and you see if he gets shot. They thought that one up at West Point." and "The Bangalore Torpedo was 50' long and packed with 85 pounds of TNT and you assembled it along the way. By hand. I'd love to meet the asshole who invented it."

I mentioned a while back that I'd signed a book contract. I can finally say that it was for a work-for-hire novel set in the Forgotten Realms universe that has been the setting of many, many novels, Dungeons & Dragons game products, video games, and comics over the last twenty years or so. I've spent a lot of time in that fictional universe, as a reader and gamer, and I'm way psyched to join the many fine writers, artists, and designers who have built on Ed Greenwood's creation.

The publisher of the Forgotten Realms books, Wizards of the Coast, releases information in a carefully managed manner. For now, pretty much all I can say is that I'm contracted to write a novel, and that I've already turned in the first draft of of a short story that will appear in an upcoming Realms anthology.

My good friends Holly Black, Gavin J. Grant, and David B. Coe—who are all even better pals than they are fantasists, if you can believe it—helped me find my way along the path to this project.

Holly and Gavin have also been cheerleading me along on my other big project, the novel Sarah Across America, which is still being written and about which more... sometime soon.

So, I have two novels to write in 2009. I'm not exactly a super-duper online-all-the-time guy already, at least compared to some, but I'm planning on following some version of the VanderMeer model and back away even further, at least during work hours. There's also other exciting stuff in the works, this on the academic front, that influences this--a lot of folks can be very productive while living active online lives, but I'm not one of 'em, unfortunately.

Oh, and speaking of the academy, a nice little cherry on top of my personal year opening parfait. Karen Joy Fowler is teaching an sf/fantasy class this quarter at UC Santa Cruz, and one day will be spent on my stories "The Voluntary State" and "The Force Acting on the Displaced Body."

I grew a beard so it wouldn't seem quite so girlish when I giggle like this.

While the rest of us were memorizing "Thanatopis" for English, one of my high school buddies memorized this passage from "A Forest Battle," the second chapter of The Gods of Mars:

It was into the eyes of such as these and the terrible plant men that I gazed above the shoulder of my foe, and then, in a mighty wave of snarling, snapping, screaming, purring rage, they swept over me--and of all the sounds that assailed my ears as I went down beneath them, to me the most hideous was the horrid purring of the plant men.

Instantly a score of cruel fangs and keen talons were sunk into my flesh; cold, sucking lips fastened themselves upon my arteries. I struggled to free myself, and even though weighed down by these immense bodies, I succeeded in struggling to my feet, where, still grasping my long-sword, and shortening my grip upon it until I could use it as a dagger, I wrought such havoc among them that at one time I stood for an instant free.

What it has taken minutes to write occurred in but a few seconds, but during that time Tars Tarkas had seen my plight and had dropped from the lower branches, which he had reached with such infinite labour, and as I flung the last of my immediate antagonists from me the great Thark leaped to my side, and again we fought, back to back, as we had done a hundred times before.

Time and again the ferocious apes sprang in to close with us, and time and again we beat them back with our swords. The great tails of the plant men lashed with tremendous power about us as they charged from various directions or sprang with the agility of greyhounds above our heads; but every attack met a gleaming blade in sword hands that had been reputed for twenty years the best that Mars ever had known; for Tars Tarkas and John Carter were names that the fighting men of the world of warriors loved best to speak.

Not that you asked my advice, or that you necessarily need any, but I think you should go for it.

Somewhere in all my wanderings I've lost the original of this I clipped from a Sunday comics section.

Man, Bill Watterson sure could draw.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

Christmas Eve

On window panes, the icy frost
Leaves feathered patterns, crissed & crossed,
But in our house the Christmas tree
Is decorated festively
With tiny dots of colored light
That cozy up this winter night.
Christmas songs, familiar, slow,
Play softly on the radio.
Pops and hisses from the fire
Whistle with the bells and choir.
My tiger is now fast asleep
On his back and dreaming deep.
When the fire makes him hot,
He turns to warm whatever's not.
Propped against him on the rug,
I give my friend a gentle hug.
Tomorrow's what I'm waiting for,
But I can wait a little more.