Nice review of The Gabble here at NextRead…
Neal Asher has an amazing imagination combined with a strong understanding of science and its potentials for evolution. Or at least that’s the impression that I’m left with after reading the tales that make up The Gabble and Other Stories. The wonderful thing about this collection, unlike most, is that the stories share the same universe. So several elements are free to reappear like the Gabbleduck and the Gabble, along with AI and golems and several other unique, fascinating or amazing ideas. This is my first exposure to both Neal Asher and the Polity Universe and it won’t be the last. He’s a talented storyteller that doesn’t let the science take away from the fiction he’s writing. He makes it a part of the plot and explains it such a way that it’s understandable and vital to the action and not dumbed down at all.
Author: Neal Asher
The Whatever Blog
I’ve just been reading some highly entertaining posts on John Scalzi’s blog. The first is What to Know When You Ask Me to Read Your (Unpublished) Work which certainly raises a chuckle or two and is now highly relevant to me. At one time I used to do this but, now, it’s just not worth the aggravation, the bottom line being, why should I forgo paid work to do this when the result might well be a wounded artiste bleeding all over me? And no, I’m not going to pat you on the head and say, “Good boy!” The second post is Ten Things Teenage Writers Should Know About Writing which is again highly entertaining but in this case points a finger squarely at the me of about thirty years ago. This kind of post is often criticized for undermining the kind of self belief that enables someone to eventually become a successful writer, however, the ones who succeed are the kind who read something like this and simply don’t stop. I stuck a reply in there to that post (in the comment overflow), pointing out that the bar is set by those who have struggled for decades to get where they are, and only rarely does anyone leap that bar without equivalent effort and determination. It’s a rule, I feel, that can be applied to success in just about any walk of life.
Errol Brown at the Cliff's.
Last night we went to see Errol Brown of Hot Chocoloate at the Cliff’s Pavillion in Southend. Things started off not too great when we headed down to the sea front from Southend Victoria, then intending to turn right heading for Cliff’s Pavillion which sits on the coast at Westcliff – a simple short walk because, as directions obtained from the Internet detailed, it was only a mile. Reaching the sea front we asked someone for direction and he pointed where expected saying, “About three miles.” We had two hours (intending to eat beforehand), so cue the fast walk. Arriving at the Pavillion half an hour later just affirmed our knowledge that some people haven’t got a clue about distances.
Now with time to spare we found a restaurant called Bojangles that produced very acceptable cod and chips, scampi and chips and half litre carafes of white wine, and now, much more relaxed and happy, entered Cliff’s well on time. Surely Errol’s show would be no longer than a couple of hours and we’d have plenty of time to catch the last train home. Our time was limited because that train departed at 10.36 but, since the show started at 7.30, we assumed we’d take it all in. It was not to be.
Before Errol Brown appeared someone called Yolanda Brown took the stage (no relation, and nothing about her when we bought the tickets). We now got a half an hour of the ‘pimp Yolanda Brown show’, half an hour of ear-ringing boring jazz with lots of, “Let’s have a big cheer for Fred Bloggs on piano!” and “Here’s Animal on the drums!” and “Give it up for Osama Bin Laden on the Jew’s harp!” all followed by the usual tiresome and interminable jazz solos. And if, by the end of it, you didn’t know this female saxophonist’s website or know that her albums were on sale in the lobby, you weren’t listening. I was trying not to.
This period of, “We came here to see Errol Brown so why don’t you fuck off?” ate up over a half an hour of our available time. It was then followed by a half hour break during which it seemed most of the audience was intent on dulling the pain in the bar, then finally we got what we came for. Errol Brown was good, though at 61 the tight trousers had been consigned to history and he wasn’t leaping about the stage (but then he never did). It was all somewhat marred by seats designed by some research branch of the Inquisition, and the sheeple standing up when summoned and not having the decency to sit down again. However, even though our view was distant, near the back, I’m glad we weren’t on the first row, since numerous greying and somewhat wrinkled fans thought it might be an idea to line up along the front of the stage and wave their hands in the air.
By 9.50 it was time to head off, and I’m guessing, having heard the Full Monty ‘You Sexy Thing’ the show was nearing its close. Fast walk now back to the rail station, lost again and venturing into the regions of hoodies, vomit and discarded burger boxes. Annoying that we got to the station 20 minutes before the train departed, but to risk missing it and end up stuck in Southend at that time wasn’t an option. All an interesting adventure, but not one I’m anxious to repeat.
Story Casting.
Just got this contact on Myspace…
Can you supply a movie cast for the Polity novels? I’ll
bet your fans can… Hello, Neal.
We have a fun, free website (www. storycasting. com) where readers can create and post a “fantasy cast” for their favorite fiction, and we’ve put your books on our site, ready for casting!
Readers select a work they’ve read, choose main characters, and then fill the roles with current movie and TV stars. We also offer a special free “author account”, where authors come on the site, cast their own works “authoritatively”, and then send their fans to cast. Each cast is a vote for an actor in that role, and with each cast the favorites rise to the top.
We’ve put all your books on our site, plus links to your website and Amazon. Go take a look at the site, see what authors and readers are doing, and maybe try it out. If you’d like your free author account, so you can cast your books (Pat Rothfuss did), let me know, and we’ll get you set up.
Additionally, we are giving away free “CAST THIS BOOK” bookmarkers to our authors, to use as freebies during signings and appearances. If you email me, I will send a JPG of the front and back, so you can see what they look like. Just let us know how many you can use between now and June, and we’ll ship them to you.
We hope you enjoy the site, and decide to join the Storycasting community of casting authors.
Regards,
Writing Update.
Righto, I’ve finished the initial editing of Orbus and now await its return from the copy editor. Next, I’ve written an article for the BSFA, The British Science Fiction Association, which is
…currently producing a series of special pamphlets for its members. Previous pamphlets include a small press sampler.’ Martin Lewis would like to produce one consisting of brief articles of SF writers on SF films. The idea is that each contributor writes an 750 word piece on a SF film which means something special to them. It might be your favourite film, it might be a guilty pleasure, it might be a film that was your gateway into the world of science fiction. I would be happy for contributors to use the broadest possible definition of science fiction and to be as popularist or obscure as they wished.
Bearing this in mind I chose Aliens, which is certainly one of my favourite films and which I might have described as a ‘guilty pleasure’ where it not for the fact I’m not pretentious enough to feel guilty about anything I enjoy. You certainly won’t get one of those film lists from me including something French with subtitles, or utterly obscure, or both, and the words ‘noir’ or ‘surreal’ will not be in evidence.
Next on the agenda is getting back to writing the ‘Owner’ story which still doesn’t really have a title. Presently I’m approaching 90,000 words, but I’ve been knocking the hell out of the story changing it from 1st person to 3rd, expanding the scale of the scenery and the scale of the problems faced by the somewhat nasty hero.
Back to work now.
Not Book Shelf.
Chester
Terry Pratchett Living With Alzheimer's.
I once stood in a queue outside Ottakar’s in Chelmsford (now a Waterstone’s) for about half an hour, maybe an hour, to get a book signed by Terry Pratchett, all of whose books I’ve really enjoyed, even the ones you don’t hear so much about – science fiction and not set in the Discworld universe – like The Dark Side of The Sun and Strata. At the time I hadn’t been taken on by Macmillan, but I did have The Engineer and The Parasite published by Tanjen, so I took along a copy of The Engineer to give to him. What he thought of that I don’t know. Now I’m really in the writing world I reckon he probably though me some sort of freeloader trying to get a leg up on his fame, or maybe get a quote out of him. The reality was utter fanboyism, a bit of, “Look Master, see what I’ve done”.
Every year when one of his books comes out (in paperback) I buy it, or more usually Caroline buys it for me, and I read with enjoyment, normally polishing it off in a day. And if he ever appears on television I’m always there watching, since my inner fanboy has never died. I particularly liked the program he did with the orang-utans, which was fascinating and laced all the way through with his humour. In one scene a massive male orang-utan came walking through the jungle, and when it crossed a wooden bridge the heavy sound of its massive weight coming down with every footstep would have been enough to get any sphincter quivering. He noted how those about him were breaking the speed record for the nonchalant walk as they departed the scene.
Last night I watched the first of two episodes of his program Living with Alzheimer’s, which was funny, sad, offered hope and took it away again. Mr Pratchett was very angry upon discovering he had this malady, and you can see his anger and frustration as he fails to knot his tie, or types slowly and makes constant mistakes. And the killer was watching him doing a reading and starting to lose it at the end, audience dead silent and some teary eyed. What a bummer. However, the humour was there right from the start with, “Hello, I’m Terry Pratchett … at least I think I am,” and there later when he wore something on his head that looked like a Dr Who prop. In the end that guy who always speaks in capital letters in hiss books (the Grim Reaper) can be less frightening than those who usher him through the door.
When I first heard the news that Terry Pratchett has got Alzheimer’s, I felt a little sick. It’s the kind of thing that rips up someone’s heart when it’s a family member and, because he is so well known and loved, there are millions who see him as part of their lives, he’s the humorous entertainer with the beard and wide-brimmed black hat, he’s the guy who regularly produces a book they want to read at once and which never disappoints. If you ever do an English course of any substance you learn the true definition of word tragedy – not how it is thoroughly misused by the media. To me the idea that a man who has entertained millions with wit, humour and an incisive intellect, with wisdom even, being gradually destroyed from inside his skull, that’s tragedy.
Hey, That White Stuff is Snow!
So, we get a few days of snow, in some places lying a foot deep but in most places sitting under the six inch range, but it’s noticable how TV reporters won’t let the truth get in the way of a good story. I saw one reporter the other night walking across a churchyard through six inches of snow and, since the stuff was barely up to her ankles, can only assume she’s one of those who has a problem with decimalization. That would be six centimetres dear.
One would think, by the news, that the home counties have become an extension of Hurricane Alley, during an earthquake, and probably with a Biblical plague or two on the way. All this freaky weather is causing ‘traffic chaos’ as cars fail to negotiate a bit of snow turned to slush by gritting lorries; schools have been closed and many people aren’t turning up for work; London buses weren’t operating and, apparently, it’s been snowing underground since the tube closed down.
It seems that our society is now completely geared to cater for the lowest common denominator: the prat in his car who has failed to comprehend that ice is slippery so crashes and snarls up the road, or little ADHD Jasmina who’s fall in the playground will result in her bloated scrounging mummy suing the school, and that this is then taken advantage of by those perpetually looking for an excuse for a day off work.
We are warned, should we need to brave these terrible conditions, that we should load up our cars with hot drinks, warm clothing and a selection of igloo-building tools. With the complicity of the hysterical media, it appears the people of this country have been nannied into a permanent state of infantilism. I’m guessing that we won’t be turning out any Shackletons in the near future.
