Liz Argall

Yesterday I was re-reading a story of mine as I was working on a creative residency application. “Soon She Will Be Forty” still makes me tear up, and reading about the life of a derby player has extra resonance right now.

The postie made a clatter when he dropped off mail and parcels. I went to the door and one of the packages was my contributor’s copy of Antipodes, Antipodes, the official journal of the American Association of Australasian Literary Studies. It was so strange to have just read a story, and then hold in your hands the book it was published in.

I laughed out loud when I saw the book. Yesterday and the day before I’d gone on a bit of a Peter Allen binge. The opening of the 2009 version of “I Still Call Australia Home” is so beautiful:

I’m always trying to find the perfect cover of Tenterfield Saddler. There is something in it that speaks to my Australia. It has that ache of big country hurt by drought and flood. It has an elegance of emotion that comes from talking simply, yet poetically, about people. It’s a specific story about Peter Allen’s grandfather and father, and Peter Allen’s own complicated relationship with home. That specificity gives us the space to feel so much, to connect to bigger things.

I cry every time I hear Tenterfield Saddler. Love mixed with sorrow; that connection to land, the passing of time. It comes out in stories like Falling Leaves, Blunt Force Trauma Delivered By Spouse, and A Study in Flesh and Mind. It is why I asked that these stories be narrated by Australian readers when they’re selected for podcasts. To me, you can taste the Australian soil in them, a grief and love.

Kuisi and You is about PNG, but Australians singing about war, humanizing the loss, that’s something that’s been in my bones ever since I heard Eric Bogle sing The Band Played Waltzing Matilda (some day I’ll dust off my guitar and do an open mic that’s these songs, and I Was Only 19. I’m sure David Morrison would approve of a woman owning these.)

Australian musicians are often my comfort food, Liz Frencham, Fred Smith, Baterz, Spooky Men’s Chorale, Mal Webb, Judy Small (who has retired after 30 years because she has no time now she’s a circuit judge!), Uncle Kev Carmody (who once told me to keep singing, because there need to be more women telling their stories. The most generous storyteller I’ve had the pleasure to listen to), Tim Minchin, all the rockers from Divinyls to Hunters & Collectors to Paul McDermott singing Hunters & Collectors, endless JJJ Hottest 100, memories of the National and Major’s Creek, to name a few.

It was nice to get Antipodes in the mail, good to see a story I love so much in print. That story is a love letter to many things, and good timing to hear the final question the story asks.

I haven’t been able to get home for five years, but Australia will always be in my bones.

And a little bit more from Fred Smith about his expat life when he was in DC ;-)

Moar neat stuff up at Lightspeed Magazine! Sweet stuff for free and if you want to subscribe you’re supporting MOAR AWESOME!

I interviewed Christopher Barzak about his story Map of Seventeen, it’s the sort of coming of age story in a rural and remote community with all the sorts of nuance I love. The Story. The Interview.

And more recently, I interviewed Rudy Rucker about his story The Knobby Giraffe. Physics, shaping reality with some love for Leibniz and a splash of romance. Fun creative processes, collaborations and reflections on his Transrealism Manifesto. The Story. The Interview.

This year seems to have contained more death than usual. I don’t know if it’s the way the seasons move, my generation is old enough to have more people in the danger zone. Death is a constant, but some major voices have been lost, and I’m still not over Whitlam. Within one year we have lost David Bowie, Alan Rickman, David G. Hartwell, Leonard Nimoy, and Sir Terry Pratchett, among many. And now Prince.

There is a bitter sweetness of death that comes with eulogies, discovering people anew, sometimes discovering them for the first time (such as Zaha Hadid). A time to sit with people’s stories, what they gave to the world and how they were connected to the lives of others.  It makes me want to honor them, so many people have worked towards creating better spaces in the world.

When I get home tonight I’m going to create some things… work on a comic, write an e-mail that might be a small pebble for change. When I get home tonight I’m going to support some things. I’m going to subscribe to some podcasts I’ve been meaning to support for months. I’m going to buy a music album. I don’t know if I’ll have time to buy art with all these to dos, but you bet I’m going to scope some out.

May we create beautiful spaces in the world that honor the dreamers that came before and the dreamers that are to come.

Bunson Hoppydew and one of the Things have a rather charming response (if I do say so myself) to Jim C. Hines‘ essay, “Men of Their Times” from Uncanny Magazine Issue 9.

Click through for more!

My boss at Lightspeed (Robyn Lupo) and I interviewed Kat Howard about her story Maiden, Hunter, Beast. It mentions unicorn stickers and pictures of cats, so you know you want to read it… you might want to read the story first.

You can read the article for free online, but you can also support and see a whole lot of radness by subscribing.

Individual issues cost just $3.99, and/or you can subscribe for just $35.88/year and you know you’ll be supporting fab fantasy and science fiction stories.

I had a different post planned for today, but this must take precedence.

David Hartwell has had a massive brain bleed and is not expected to recover.

I think of what an absence he will be, such a smiling face to look forward to at conventions, the instant knowledge that that part of the bar or party would be imbued with life and good conversation because he was there.

I think of what a blow it must be to those who were closer. I’m so sorry for your loss, an absence feels like it would be beyond words.

I wrote the following on Facebook, but such things can disappear in the fire hose of stuff and it is good to collect memories in this era of online wakes.

I have two memories of David Hartwell, one was at, I think it was a WFC? I think he was guest of honor and should have had no time to chat, but somehow the flows of traffic meant that barcon was him and me chatting for a goodly while. It was one of those easy flowing conversations with someone who was clearly deeply knowledgable (and I love oral history), but was also actively interested in what a new person had to say. I was struck by his warmth, wit and intelligence.

My second memory is at the Nebula awards, just after SFWA had worked through various important controversies, and a bunch of “new and diverse” authors turned up. His eyes shone to see all the new folks, practically cackling with joy to see all the new faces and ideas.

He was someone I looked forward to seeing, always delighted if there was an opportunity for a good yarn, a valued elder in our community. He will be missed.

To celebrate 2015, Uncanny Magazine is holding a readers poll from January 11 to January 25. You can vote for your favorite stories and let the magazine and the authors know what you think was rad.

“The Sisters Line” by Kenneth Schneyer and I just so happens to be one of the stories you can vote for! It has a train, weird letters, a small child who only does things starting with the letter B, transformation, and melancholeric baked bean eating. What more could you want?

You want an interview between Deborah Stanish, Ken Schneyer and I? Where I wrote the answers at 2am in a fever dream? YOU GOT IT!

Check it out, enjoy the stories, enjoy Uncanny’s fab podcast (when I grow up I want to interview like a cross between the daring Deborah Stanish and enough rope Andrew Denton).

… And voting would be totally smashing.

Rachel Swirsky wrote a trippy story about the Mad Hatter and here is my interview with her over at light speed :) http://www.lightspeedmagazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-rachel-swirsky-2/