Ed Schubert on Dedd & Gohn

I’ve loved comic strips for a long time, going back to the early days of Bloom County, Calvin and Hobbes, and The Far Side. These days it’s Pearls Before Swine, Zits, Over The Hedge, Dilbert, and Frazz (which is brilliant, but often hard to find). Absurd and insightful, my favorite comics are always that perfect blend of what is true and what is truly ridiculous.

I’d wanted to write one for a long time, but the tragic reality is that I possess slightly less than zero artistic talent. Okay, okay… significantly less than zero artistic talent. Lacking any way around that stumbling block, I set the dream aside and moved on to pursue others. One thing I’ve never lacked for is pipe dreams to chase after.

Then several years ago, I read an early draft of a YA novel written by Tom Barker. The thing that impressed me most about Tom’s novel was the artwork. Tom had illustrated his own novel, and done an amazing job of it. Not that the story wasn’t good (it was), but the art was fantastic.

But, as with so many other things in life, that moment came and went. I loved Tom’s art, but didn’t think any further about it.

Flash forward to the beginning of 2010 -- maybe January, maybe February; I don’t recall. What I do recall was sitting on a heating pad, trying to assuage an ailing back, all the while reading a book about ghost hunting. With all due respect to ghost hunters everywhere, this book struck me as particularly funny. I think I reacted that way because the author was trying sooo hard to be serious about the subject. Every page I turned just felt like more fodder for comedy.

I’m not sure why, but suddenly a lot of previously unrelated pieces began clicking into place. This wasn’t just fodder for comedy, this was ideal material for a comic strip. And Tom Barker would be the perfect person to do the artwork. And because the strip would be about paranormal investigators, InterGalactic Medicine Show would be the perfect place to showcase it. And because IGMS was about to relaunch with a new look and new features, this was the perfect time for it. Bang, bang, bang -- it was all there.

See? Never a shortage of pipe dreams.

And to make things challenging, this one depended on my getting other people on board the pipedream express with me. But what fun is a pipe dream if it’s not challenging? All I had to do was talk Tom Barker and Orson Scott Card into it.

Piece of cake. This was an idea whose time had arrived. And even if it wasn’t, I was going to make it arrive.

Tom was on board pretty quickly. The minute I pitched him the idea, he was excited (always a good sign). It turned out that just as I had always been interested in writing a strip, but knew I needed help with the illustrations, Tom said he had always been interested in drawing one, but wasn’t sure he could sustain the comedy on the writing side. It was like peanut butter meeting jelly for the first time: two parts that were meant to be together.

Orson was another matter. Not that he was negative on the idea; I just knew I needed solid samples to show him before I even brought the idea up. He wasn’t going to let me put something new in his magazine just because I was editing it; I was going to have to prove to him that I could do this, and do it well.

So I stated writing, and Tom started doodling. We’d meet for lunch; I would show him sample scripts, and he would show me character designs. I suggested tweaks for his art, he suggested tweaks for my dialogue (I was too wordy at first, and Tom struggled to make the characters look like the same person when he changed views from head-on to profile). We got better. We created rough drafts. Tom further tightened my dialogue, and I told him to “draw better” (really, I wasn’t much help there; I’m not kidding when I say I have no artistic ability).

For a time, I made a concerted study of what made comics funny. True, I had wanted to do this for a long time, but wanting to do something and knowing how to do it are not the same. So I studied strips I thought were funny, trying to find patterns. I read creator’s websites, trying to glean tips and tricks. I wrote bad scripts and tried to turn them into something serviceable. It was an enjoyable time. I like the process of learning new things, and this fit that bill nicely. And of course you never resent working hard when you’re working on something of your own choosing.

Within a few weeks we had samples of Dedd & Gohn that I thought were ready to show people. We started with friends and family, and worked our way up from there. Feedback was positive. I was happy to receive Orson’s blessing on the project, but I knew I had something good when my fourteen year old daughter asked for copies of the samples to show her friends at school. She’s a tough critic, and is at a tough age to impress; if it was good enough for a troop of fourteen year olds, it was good enough.

So that’s how it all began. Today, three comics strips per week in InterGalactic Medicine Show; tomorrow, the world.

--Ed Schubert

Sister Jasmine Brings the Pain—Von Carr

This story is entirely a product of the Clarion West Writers Workshop, and all the demented inspiration, hard work, and cheerful collaborative insanity the workshop entails.

"Sister Jasmine" began as a Week One writing exercise: John Kessel asked us to write a scene that incorporated as many random words as possible. "Sister," "habit" and "crucifix" were on Kessel's list, as were "Einstein" and "Wal-Mart," so clearly a scene involving a nun, a Wal-Mart expedition, and a zombie-hunting robotic dog were in order. I've always loved post-apocalyptic SF, and so my scene rapidly expanded into a tribute to all the triffid-infested, boy-and-dog, monks-saving-humanity stories I've read.

I really enjoyed writing about Sister Jasmine, and by the end of the workshop, I'd decided that she deserved a story of her own. "Sister Jasmine Brings the Pain" is a version of that Week 6 story, albeit a version improved by the feedback of my classmates. It's thanks to them that you have the story you do.

Speaking of my classmates, I understand that the very talented William T. Vandemark has a story coming out in IGMS soon. I had a chance to read a version of "Forcing Coin" at Clarion West, and I thought it was wonderful: a dark tale, but with a real sense of heart to it. I can't wait to read it again in IGMS.

Cheers,

Von Carr

Writing Workshop, Part 4—Fortune cookies

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

We wrapped up the group exercise, and moved into the individual exercise.  I explained that this exercise worked the same as the group exercise (except solo), and the story would be generated by a story seed.  I’ve seen other workshop teachers use the contents of their purse (KD Wentworth/Tim Powers at the Writers of the Future workshop use this method); some use story seeds generated by earlier sessions in the workshop (Orson Scott Card’s Literary Boot Camp has an almost traumatizing exercise in which participants leave the classroom with the specific purpose of going and talking to strangers to pick up story seeds for use later)

I don’t own a purse, and even if I did, I doubt I could find enough items to distribute to the number of kids that were in my workshop.  And while I’m sure the kids would enjoy being released from school at my request, I think school administrators would have a conniption.  I came up with the idea of using fortune cookies as seeds; I was able to get a good deal on them from a local Chinese take-out place (~250 for $10.00). 

Here’s how it worked: I passed out the cookies along with a 3x5 index card and explained that they were going to use the cookie to come up with a story.  They’d plot the story out on the index card.  There was a time limit on the exercise; I gave them 15 minutes.

I explained that the time limit was meant to get them working quickly, and to instill a sense of urgency in their creative process.  It’s been my experience that urgency tends to force the mind to be more productive.  The index card, I explained, was to help them restrict their outline to the important high-level details.  (I did not realize, however, that 6th graders can write incredibly teeny script.  I believe some of those kids could cram the Encyclopedia Britanica  into a couple 3x5s…)

The cookies were a tremendous hit.  I’m not really sure if the enthusiasm had more to do with the story creation process, or if it was just the opportunity to eat in class that got them fired up, but everyone seemed happy, and they all worked pretty diligently at plotting their stories.  A couple kids needed some help figuring out how to move from the seed to a story idea, but on the whole, they got it.  

That took us to the last five minutes of class where I talked about work ethic and the Muse.  I’m not a fan of the Muse, or inspiration; I think too often, young writers wait until the lightning bolt moment to put pen to paper.  For me, writing is a discipline.  Like distance running—you don’t wait to feel like it in order to start training to run a marathon.  You go out there in the heat or rain, or whatever, and you get those muscles working.  Eventually, you train enough, and you can run 30 miles all at once.  Same with writing—don’t wait for inspiration to strike.  Inspiration is a crutch that weakens writers who become dependent on it, because they feel they can’t write without it.

And that was pretty much it for the workshop.  I repeated this workshop three times during the day that I was at the middle school; and it was pretty successful.  And for those of you keeping score: I did not, in fact, embarrass my daughter in front of all her friends. 

I call that a win.

Writing Workshop, part 3—One Thousand Ideas in (less than) an Hour

(continued from part 2)

Now came the fun part of the workshop—putting together a complete story outline from scratch.  This was another thing I picked up first from Orson Scott Card (who is an absolute maestro at writing workshops); it was later reinforced by Tim Powers and KD Wentworth at the Writers of the Future workshop.  That many talented pros putting forth a single idea?  You bet I’m going to pay attention…

This is how One Thousand Ideas works: you start by asking questions.  For every question, you write down the answers you come up with until you come across an answer that rings true or interesting.  (Interesting is probably more useful than true) 

On average, I was able to get a good story from the kids in 40 minutes.  As they shouted out ideas, I wrote them down, and we talked about why such and such an idea was good, and why others weren’t as good. 

Okay.  For me, it’s easiest to start with character.  Are we writing about a boy or girl?

(Cue shouts from the audience—boys for Boy, girls for Girl.  Someone shouted out, ‘Both!’ )

Who said both?  How does that work?

• Siamese Twins
• They’re fused together somehow.

Fused together?  So they weren’t born like this?

• No.  There was an science experiment.
• They were kidnapped and someone sewed them together.
• The boy made a wish.

I like the idea of the wish, so let’s follow that.  The boy made a wish—talk to me about that.

• Boy wished to always be with the girl.
• He made a wish to a Genie.
  • A vengeful genie!
  • And the genie twisted his wish.

Okay.  Why did the genie twist his wish?

• The genie wants to get back at the boy’s father?
• The genie is naturally tricky.
• The genie is trying to get free of the lamp.

I like the idea of the father having something to do with the genie.  Tell me a little more about the boy and the girl’s relationship.  Do they get along?

• Yes.  It’s a romance!
• No! 
• He likes her, but she doesn’t like him.

Really?  Why not?

• There doesn’t have to be a reason…

Yes, there does.  The more reasons she has to not like the boy, the more problematic having to be stuck with him will be. 

• He’s just not the kind of boy she likes.  He’s messy.
• He flirts with her too much.
• She finds out he made the wish.

I think we can use all of those reasons.  So how do they get unstuck?

• The genie has the solution inside the lamp.
• And once they’re inside, someone else has to wish them out.
• What if they never get out?  What if they’re stuck there together forever?

Good questions—and we could certainly write to that, but our story would end there.  I’m having a little too much fun to end this here.  Who will get them out?

• Dad.
• Mom.
• Friends?

I like the idea of the dad because the genie is his enemy. 

• But the dad has to switch places with the kids in order to get them out.

Is that something that he wants to do?

• Yes.
• No.  He doesn’t like the boy, either!
• No, but he wants the magic power inside the lamp.

Good—I like the idea of there being a conflict between the dad and the boy, and the dad caring more about getting the power inside the lamp than helping his son.  What’s the genie doing all this time?

• Nothing.
• Working at Cheeseburger in Paradise?

Does he like working there?  Why?

• No.
• Yes—he likes the food.  He likes having a body.

I didn’t realize he didn’t have a body before.  That’s cool.  What are the kids doing in the lamp?

• Learning to get along.
• It’s a romance!
• Learning they’re not right for each other!
• Trying to find a way to separate.

Do they get separated in the lamp?

• Yes.  That way, when the dad switches place with them, he has to bring the genii. 
• And both the bad guys switch places with both the kids!

Right!  Good.  That works.

I had thought going into this that I’d have to pull ideas out of the kids; I thought that it was going to be something of a chore.  But they completely surprised me—there was hardly a lull of ideas. 

Writing Workshop, part 2—The Idea Mill

(continued from Part 1)

The Idea Mill

There are three strategies that I use to get ideas.   

Question Everything

Apples and Oranges

List and Twist

Question Everything is probably the strategy I use most often.  It is linked heavily to the skill of observation and research.  In my presentation, I showed a picture of James Christenson’s delightful painting, Lawrence Pretended…  (For those of you who do not want to follow the link, it’s a painting of a very oddly dressed man whose shirt appears to be attached to the nose of a large, black bear.  The man is looking sideways at the bear—not fearful or anything; the bear is not threatening him or preparing to do anything dangerous.  It’s just standing there.  You should click the link, though; James Christensen is a wonderful artist.)

I asked the class what kind of questions came to their minds when they saw the art.  They responded variously:

Are you really a dude?

Why is there a bear eating your clothes?

Why is your face so thin, but your body so fat?

Aren’t you worried about the bear?

Why are you ignoring the bear?

What’s the deal with the bird?

“Wait,” said I.  “What bird?”

The kids then pointed out the bird on the top of the fence, which I had completely missed.  Observant, see?  :)

The point of asking questions within your story is to find an answer that makes you thrill, or that sends off a little bell in your head: that thrill, or that bell tells you that the answer you’ve come up with is the right one.  Or at least, the most interesting one right now.  Rarely is the first answer you come up with the one that sings.  Tim Powers, I believe, said that when you do this exercise, the good answers start coming after three tries.  So, some answers from the class:

Are you really a dude?

• Yes.  I really am
• No, I’m a girl with thin hands.
• No, I’m a girl who has to dress like a man because otherwise the bear would eat me.

To which, I asked, “Why is the bear a misogynist?”  And then I got LOTS of questions and a very stern look from the teacher.  But they got the point.  And I’ve been immune to stern looks since I was ten.

Question Everything works as an idea generation technique because so many things in life aren’t explained, or the accepted explanation doesn’t satisfy.  It just takes some observation to notice the bear that’s tugging on your shirt, begging to be questioned.

Apples and Oranges is something I first I learned from Orson Scott Card.  The idea is that you take two unrelated things and push them into a story together.  I showed the following picture…

…and asked what story the kids thought it came from.  After a little while, they were able to identify the story as Beauty and the Beast.

Apples and Oranges: you take two completely unrelated concepts, squish them together and then Question Everything. 

We workshopped this one a little bit; I had two volunteers shout out two random objects.  We came up with a hamburger, and a duck.  What evolved out of those ideas was a pretty neat story involving a young man who was transformed into a duck, and who, in order to transform back into a man again, had to eat a hamburger made from the meat of his best friend…

The last strategy that I use to get ideas is List and Twist.  John Brown identified this one; before he had a name for it, it was something I did unconsciously.  In List and Twist, you take an item with some sort of emotional or philosophical value—I used the Easter Bunny—and you twist it to mean something else (or something more) altogether.  The Easter Bunny is:

• Cheerful
• Generous
• Hated by dentists
• Plump

What if you twisted the Easter Bunny to be

• Gloomy; alternatively, not cheerful, but possessed of a frenetic and unyielding glee…
• Self-serving  and creepy (“Want some candy little girl?”)
• The incarnation of the the Anglo-Saxon Eostre—hunted by men of science and theology
• Not just plump, but a monster of obesity.

I pointed out that this is a technique used by a lot of writers of horror stories.  You take something familiar and banal (and I had to explain the word banal…) and twist it in some way to make it otherworldly, suspicious, or dreadful.  Haunted houses, ghosts of loved ones, sports cars, beloved pets—all victims of List and Twist.

Writing Workshop, part 1—Elements of Story

A couple weeks a go, my 6th grade daughter informed me that she’d volunteered me to teach a writing workshop at her middle school.  I was terrified.  It’s one thing to teach writing—anybody who has read enough books on writing and has an abundance of confidence can stand in front of a bunch of people and pontificate.  By those standards, I’m overqualified.   But a writing workshop for children, one of whom is my daughter…that’s responsibility piled on top of expectation, slathered with ‘Do not embarrass me, Father…’

After talking with my daughter’s teacher, one of the big problems the kids apparently faced was in coming up with ideas for their stories.  So I resolved to give them some tools to recognize ideas; and some strategies for putting those ideas to paper in a way that is compelling and entertaining.

The writing workshops I’ve enjoyed most have focused on the practical more than the theoretical; more doing work than talking shop.  That’s how I approached running this one.   I admit—most of my ideas were blatantly stolen from writers like Eric James Stone, John Brown, and Orson Scott Card;  I give them credit here because I certainly wasn’t going to tell the kids that I was a big fraud.  :)

It’s Elemental…

Okay, so I did have to talk some theory, just so the class and I had the same understanding about terminology, and so that I could set up a framework for the workshop portion.  The first thing we did was identify what a story was.  I was surprised at how literal the answers were: I believe, “Words printed in a book,” was the most common answer.  After some discussion, we identified the four elements of a story (as opposed to an article, or essay):

Character

Setting

Problem

Plot 

Here are the definitions I used:

A character is the hero of the story—the one who faces the problem.   A character, I explained, can be any thing that can think.  While I’m sure some post-modernists might disagree with me, there were thankfully none in the class.  A good character is interesting, and active in trying to solve their problem.

Setting is where the story takes place.  There wasn’t a lot of need to explain this one.

I did spend a lot of time on problem.  For me, character and problem are the heart of the story, and they are where so many of the stories I see in the slush pile fail.  Everyone understands what a problem is, even 10 and 11 year olds.  John Brown makes the point that a compelling problem will have the character try and fail, try and fail, try and fail…  Too many stories have the character succeed too soon, or have a problem that can be resolved without any cost.  We don’t love heroes because they win; we love them because they strive against the odds.  I pointed out that there are few movies about undefeated sports teams because a sure thing isn’t nearly as compelling as a Cinderella story.  In terms of creating a compelling story, failure and cost are more important than ultimate success.

Plot is how the character deals with the problems he faces; it is also structure and detail.  Darth Vader (problem) is choking the Rebel Alliance—how does Luke Skywalker (character) stop him? 

Via plot.

This was another element I didn’t go into that much; largely because I spent so much time ranting on about problem, there wasn’t lots of time left for this last element.   And it’s one of those terms that is fundamentally ambiguous and slippery.  Much like the Rebel Alliance: the more you squeeze it into a definition, the faster it slips through your fingers…

Frankie and Johnny and Nellie Bly—Richard Wolkomir

An old American folksong started running through my mind—“Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts/Lordy how they could love….” “But,” said the song, “he was a long-legged guitar picker/ With a wicked wandering eye.” And his eye wandered to Nellie Bly. That irritated Frankie so much she shot Johnny, “Rooty-toot-toot, right through that barroom door/He was her man, but he was doing her wrong.”

Was the song’s Nellie Bly the actual Nellie Bly, the journalistic superstar of the late 1800s? Why not? Then I thought about how that era’s Florida was part of the cattle-ranching Wild West. Phosphate mining was big, too, and the companies owned whole towns, along with the roughneck miners who lived in them. You had to buy everything at the company store, and you got ever deeper into debt, inducing bad moods. Knife fights, gun fights—dangerous places.

So what would bring Frankie and Johnny, and also the famous Nellie Bly, to one of these Florida phosphate towns? And how would this story be told?

I heard a voice. Where she came from, I have no idea. Slowly, though, the speaker came into focus: a precocious 11-year-old, stuck in this nastiness. Her mother, as could happen to luckless women in that age of narrow possibilities, a prostitute. Her own future: not hopeful. Susanna, however, had grit. She turned to books and self-education, hoping that would be her Pullman ticket out of Duster, Florida.

This story ends where it ends. However, being privy to inside information, I can say that Susanna surely did board that Pullman one day, and go off to achieve éclat.

--Richard Wolkomir

ConCarolinas: Convention Report

I’ve been going to ConCarolinas for four or five years now, and it gets better and better each year. This year was no exception; if anything, because it was also this year’s DeepSouthCon, the crowds were particularly inflated, as was the guest list. On the one hand, that was a boon, because it filled the hotel up with many of my favorite people. On the other hand, it made for some challenging moments during the panels. Seven and sometimes eight panelists was the norm this year, and that’s too many people.

The only exception was the workshop I helped with on Sunday. There were only three panelists at the workshop, but it turned out that even though it was conducted at 9a.m. (not, as you might imagine, a time of day when a lot of people at a con are awake, much less wanting to work), there were close to twenty people who showed up. Given the nature of the workshop, if there had been more than three panelists we would never have finished in the two hours we had.

But of course I’ve gone and started at the end. Some where near the beginning, I drove down Friday afternoon, grateful the whole way for the invention of cruise control. I live five minutes off of Route 85 near Greensboro, and the convention was held in a hotel five minutes off that same highway in Charlotte. So despite my recent knee surgery, the drive down was a relatively simple one.

At the con, I was assigned a hallway table in the same area as a slew of good friends, David B. Coe, Faith Hunter, A.J. Hartley, Misty Massey, Mark Rainey, Jeremy Lewis, Gail Martin, and James Maxey, to name a few. However, while most of them were selling their books, I filled my table with printouts of stories from IGMS to give away to fans in celebration of our site’s relaunch. In fact, four of the authors near my table (David, Mark, Jeremy, and James) have been published in IGMS, so I gave them copies of their own stories to give away as well. Including my story, “Mean-Spirited” from issue 16, we had five IGMS authors/stories, and it was a pleasure to see all the fans getting their copies autographed.

After my last panel on Friday, I had the pleasure of interviewing Claudia Christian (best-known for her role as Commander Ivanov in Babylon 5) in front of a good-sized audience. The con has their media guests appear twice, once with a moderator/interviewer, and once without. Fortunately I got Claudia before her solo appearance, so I didn’t have to worry about being redundant.

Saturday I had several panels as well, including one that got rather heated. For some reason (most likely nothing more than my willingness to take the role when no one else wants to) I ended up moderating every panel I was on except one. I enjoy moderating, but this one panel flirted with becoming an episode of the Jerry Springer show. I’m not going to name names because I’m not interested in embarrassing anyone, but voices were raised to a point where I had to use a microphone to be heard over the din. Given that I come from New York and once spent a period of ten years umpiring baseball, I know how to make myself heard, so if I need a microphone, there’s lot going on.

On a more pleasant note, I was able to spend a lot of after-hours time with the folks who run the group blog, MagicalWords.net. I’ve met all of them at previous cons and always enjoy their company, and David Coe (the one who introduced me to the rest of the group) is as good a friend as I have in this business. But something happened Saturday night while I was with them, something much greater than the sum of the parts. David, Faith (and her husband Rod), Misty (and her husband Todd), A.J., and Start Jaffe (who had just come down for the day) invited me to join their group, and we collectively hatched up some plans that I’m very excited about. I’ll be writing about the first of those projects this coming Saturday at MagicalWords.net and I hope you’ll join me there to see what all the hubbub is about.

That’s about all the news from Charlotte, NC. Once we’ve run the rest of our author’s essays from the current issue, I’ll be back to talk about a few more details related to the relaunch of IGMS. We’ve received a lot of helpful feedback from our readers and spent the past week tweaking the site further. Thanks so much for that feedback, both positive and negative. We can’t always implement everything you’d like to see (we can’t even implement all the things I’d like to see myself), but we hear you, and we do everything we possibly can.

--Edmund Schubert, Editor

Sparrowjunk—Margit Elland Schmitt

The story behind "Sparrowjunk" is pretty muddled, but I'll see if I can't twist it into some kind of sense. 

What took the most research was the seasonal weather and the physics of the fire escape itself.  I live in a single-story house in Southern California.  We don't have a fire escape.  We don't have much weather either, come to think of it.  Luckily, I do have some friends who were very generous with their urban, winter, fire-escape anecdotes!  Once I enlisted their help, I was able to get a believable feel for the place where the characters spend most of their time in this story.

There are one or two other elements in the plot that don't depend entirely on fire escapes.  You see, I have two boys of my own, just about the age of the little boy in "Sparrowjunk."  They love superheroes and they love books, and when they both had pneumonia this year, I realized (not for the first time) just how insanely helpless parents really are when it comes to the welfare of their children.  They were feverish and exhausted and miserable, my boys, and there were only two things that seemed to be in my power to make them feel better.  One was to pin pillowcases around their shoulders as super-hero capes, and the other was to read them fairy tales.  It happened that we had received as a gift a severely bowdlerized collection of Grimm's fairy tales, and as I dealt with grumpy kids and endless re-runs of movies about space heroes, I started wondering why those altered tales didn't work for me.  It isn't that I have anything against re-telling these old stories, I do it myself all the time.  But I think whoever put together that particular collection lacked some basic understanding about what that kind of story has at the heart of it that we, as human beings, need enough of to keep the stories alive, to make them "classic."  Faith, trust, love, magic, these wonderful threads are sewn together over very dark background themes of betrayal, loneliness, heartache, and loss.  They shine all the brighter for it.  This is equally true whether you're talking about fairytales or superheroes. With the darkness and danger washed away, what's left is a vaguely pretty tale about people we don't really care much about any more. 

That thought led me along on a "what if" journey about fairies and fairy tales, and what might have happened to a race of immortal beings who depended upon magic for survival, but are forced to live in an age of reason, a time and place when belief in magic is something considered suitable only for children, something they are encouraged to grow out of.  These fairies were being systematically poisoned by the sugary tinkle-magic-substitute that lacked depth and danger and substance.  (And this got me thinking about birds.  Hummingbirds, originally, and how well-meaning people fill their bird feeders with artificially sweetened nectar, out of fear of rampant hummingbird obesity.  In the end, I went with sparrows, which are much more common and a little bit spooky.)  Originally, I wanted to write a story about a homeless man whose dementia allowed him to see into the fairy world.  I like that idea.  I still want to write that story.  But what came here was something simpler, the idea that belief has a physical presence, a measurable value, and a story about how a parent's fight for the sake of his child might crash up against a fairy princess' fight for survival.

And that story turned out to be "Sparrowjunk."

Thanks for listening,
Margit

Letter From the Editor—Issue #17—June 2010

Putting this magazine on hiatus was not an easy decision to make. Even though the weekly review columns continued to be posted regularly, this would be the first time we missed an issue of stories in almost three years. That was a record I was proud of - and loathe to give up - but to be blunt, life had overwhelmed me and I needed a break. Everyone knows the old cliché about "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade," but I've had enough lemons coming at me over the course of the past year to fill the Pacific Ocean with that popular summer-time beverage.

Once we got back to work (and by "we" I really mean "me," because while I was licking my wounds, managing editor Kathleen Bellamy, web-guru Scott Allen, all of our assistant editors (Sara Ellis, Eric James Stone, Scott Roberts, and Chris Bellamy), and all of our columnists worked ceaselessly and tirelessly to keep things moving along) Okay, so . . . once I got back to work, the first thing we did was step back and assess the way we had been doing things here at IGMS. And as we did so, a better way of doing things would present itself, or become absolutely necessary, or become suddenly obvious when it hadn't been before. And when we changed that one thing (whatever that thing may have been - process, procedure, policy, whatever), another would present itself, and then another, and another, until it was clear that we had inadvertently created the perfect opportunity to make the magazine over and re-launch it, fresh-faced and reinvigorated. We would have been fools not to make the most of it.

So here it is: Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, v2.0.

The biggest and most obvious changes are two-fold (as befitting a v2.0):

1) Our web designer worked long and hard to give IGMS a cleaner, sharper look. Navigation around the site will be simpler. With each new issue, the background will change to showcase some aspect of the issue's cover art. Explore it; I think you'll find it an intuitive and pleasantly easy experience.

2) We now have something available that our readers have been asking for for a long time: an annual subscription. From now on, instead of having to purchase each issue individually, you can buy a year's worth of IGMS at one time and then not have to worry about it again; each issue will be there for you, ready and waiting as soon as it's published. And there's particularly good news (and a good reason to subscribe); the way our new subscription will work, you will not only have access to each new issue as it is published, you will immediately have access to every issue already published. That means that if you missed any of our previous issues, your $15 dollars will gain you access not just to the next six bimonthly issues, but to all sixteen issues already published. And that unrestricted access will last as long as you keep your subscription current. That means for those of you who've only read an issue or two, you'll be getting every story we've ever published for less than a buck an issue. So if you've seen IGMS mentioned in numerous Year's Best anthologies, on Locus's recommended reading list, or on any number of awards ballots, and wondered what the magazine was all about, there's never been a better time to try us out.

Other smaller changes await as well, ranging from the addition of things that will be readily apparent (such as our on-going weekly comic strip Dedd and Gohn, following the adventures of Mike Dedd and Julia Gohn, a pair of Gen Y paranormal investigators who explore everything from the horrors of ghosts who won't go away, to the horrors of personal relationships when they want to get married but one of them still lives at home with his parents), to things less readily apparent (such as the way we've asked our artist and illustrators to do their work in a format more suited to presentation on a computer screen).

We've also lined up some exciting things for upcoming issues beyond our re-launch issue. We've got a brand new story coming soon from regular and beloved IGMS contributor, Peter S. Beagle. And to celebrate our fifth anniversary issue, the October 2010 issue (#19) has something extra special in store: a brand new tale from the man who founded and publishes this magazine; the first new Orson Scott Card story we've published in over a year and a half. It's not just a story though, it's a sneak peak at his forthcoming novel, Pathfinder. The first fifteen chapters of Pathfinder each have a mini-prologue, that, when strung together, form a complete story. So IGMS's sneak peak isn't just a sneak peak, it's the only place you find "The Expendables" complete and whole, as a stand-alone story.

I could go on and on about the changes, but at this point I think the best thing I can do is shut up and let you get to the good stuff: Issue #17's science fiction and fantasy. "Ten Winks To Forever" by Bud Sparhawk; "An Early Ford Mustang" by Eric James Stone; "Sparrowjunk" by Margit Schmitt; "Sister Jasmine Brings The Pain" by Vonn Carr; "Frankie and Johnny and Nelly Bly" by Richard Wolkomir; another in our series of author interviews by Darrell Schweitzer; plus an audio production of "An Early Ford Mustang" that you can download and listen to anytime, anywhere.

I can't say it often enough, but I'll limit myself to saying it one more time: I hope you can tell how excited I am by the relaunch of IGMS. I hope you'll join us; and I hope you'll stay with us for a long, long time. It's going to be a lot of fun.

Edmund R. Schubert
Editor, Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show

P.S. As usual, we've collected essays from the authors in this issue and will post them on our blog (http://www.sideshowfreaks.blogspot.com/). Feel free to drop by and catch The Story Behind The Stories, where the authors talk about the creation of their tales.

InterGalactic Medicine Show #17: Stories

IGMS returns in June with a new look, and brand new stories!

Bud Sparhawk explores the depths of space and the meaning of humanity and relationships in the context of time-dilation in Ten Winks to Forever.

In Sparrowjunk, Margit E. Schmitt reveals the power of stories. A single father courts the favor of a not-quite-human woman in order to keep his cancer-stricken son alive. He barters fairy tales for his son’s health—but the creature he’s trading with has an insatiable appetite, and trading with her might cost more than he could possibly imagine.

Duster, Florida, is a town of cheats, swindlers, petty despots, and intrepid eleven year-old Susanna Entwhistle. In Richard Wolkomir’s Frankie and Johnny and Nelly Bly, Miss Entwhistle shares her story of how the biggest cheat, swindler, and despot in town got his comeuppance at the hands of a spellslinger-for-hire. Packed into her account are romance, betrayal, ambition, death, and magic—just what a growing girl needs.

One apocalypse would have devastated the world; Sister Jasmine, in Von Carr’s Sister Jasmine Brings the Pain, has to deal with all possible apocalypses. Vampires, zombies, ninjas, robots, sentient plants, dinosaurs, telepathic mutant geeks—all seem to be gunning for Sister Jasmine and her faithful zombie-hunting robot dog.

An Early Ford Mustang arrives just in time to remind us why author Eric James Stone is a Medicine Show favorite. Brad’s inheritance—the titular mustang—is a nice ride, but underneath that hood, there’s a curse pumping through the engine.

Last but not least, we’ll be reprinting Orson Scott Card’s tale of the power of family, and the lengths one young man will go to escape it. Part 1 (of 3) of Eye for An Eye hits these electronic pages in issue #17.

IGMS On Hiatus

Well, if you’ve been anywhere near the Intergalactic Medicine Show site, you are now aware that IGMS is on hiatus.  First of all, let me assure you: we are still reading submissions; we are still purchasing stories.  We’ll be back in June with a new look and new features.

Secondly, I want to clear up the rumors about Edmund’s surgery.  It was a shoulder surgery; that’s all.  He was not taken to a secret medical laboratory in Alaska and fitted with nanocarbonite underskin.  Edmund assures me that the red tinge in his eyes is merely from a lack of sleep, and not from a mini gauss turret installed in his skull.  His “conspicuous” absence, so-called, at editorial meetings has nothing to do with the lunar cycle; and further, he has ALWAYS liked his steak that rare.

Really.  I don’t know where you people come up with this stuff.  Can’t a guy have  surgery without his peers and colleagues thinking that a shady post-government agency has vivisected him and replaced his guts with robotic werewolf/vampire parts?  Sure, he’s a bit changed after the surgery—but who are we to judge? 

Let he who is without sin, or whatever, cast the first stone.

--Scott M. Roberts, Asst. late night snack Editor

Best Horror of the Year, Volume Two

Ellen Datlow, luminary editor-of-just-about-everything has posted the honorable mentions from her Best of Horror  Anthology (vol 2) efforts.  The following stories from IGMS are…um… mentioned.  Honorably.

Beagle, Peter “Vanishing,” issue 11.
Lustig, E. A. “The Sin Hypothesis,” issue 11.
Roberts, Scott M. “The End-of-the-World-Pool,” issue 12.

You can pick up Datlow’s anthology at the following fine online retailers:

Barnes and Noble

Borders

Amazon

Through the Blood—Mette Harrison

When I first wrote THROUGH THE BLOOD, I had only the idea that there was a king being executed and that he had magic.  The rest of the story came as I was writing it.  And rewriting it.  I remember Ed writing to me and saying that he couldn't use the story as it stood because of some important questions the reader was being kept in the dark about, such as what is the king's magic, what is the relationship between Haber and Elwell, and even why was the king being executed.  He said that he felt this information was being artificially withheld, that the characters knew it and I knew it, but only the reader didn't know it.  The truth was, that I didn't actually know the answers to those questions.  But of course, this information needed to be clearly conveyed because without that information, it was difficult to care about the characters and to feel the real impact of the surprise at the end.  Maybe there is some part of my hind brain that did know the answer to those questions, and it just had to be coaxed into spitting it out properly.  I am not sure I want to know exactly how my writing brain works fully.  It would take away all the mystery and angst and then why would I write?

--Mette Harrison

Mudlarks—Kat Otis

Last summer, I attended a writing workshop where each of the participants was supposed to write a short story... in one day. I brainstormed this vague idea about poor kids with magical powers but I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do with it. Finally, I decided to set my story in London, since I'd just spent six months living there. I've never been big on cities, but somehow London wriggled its way into my heart anyway.

Maybe it's because of the Thames River.

The Thames fascinated me from day one. Every time I rode the Tube over the river, I got up from my seat to look out the windows. Which way was it flowing? How high was the tide? What boats were out on the river? Were there kids playing on its banks? What could I see reflected in its shimmering surface? Whenever I had a day off, I liked to walk the South Bank or the Thames Path and I even went out during the February 2nd "blizzard" to walk (err, hike? wade? flounder?) along the riverside.

After I added in the London setting, my main character quickly developed a very special relationship with the Thames.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Speaking of history, I've taken a few liberties with it. The curfew was a medieval phenomenon which only applied to the area within London's walls; Fleet Street and Saint Bride's Church are both outside the city gates. And while there were cunning men (and women) in England, they were never incorporated as a livery company. They also never operated out of the Middle Temple – that was and is an Inn of Court, the abode of lawyers.

Odd Jobs—Josh Vogt

Part of Odd Job's inspiration came from reading another all-dialogue short, They're Made Out of Meat, by Terry Bisson. The format captured my interest: two disembodied alien intelligences discussing humanity's fleshiness and debating whether they should allow us "meaties" into their intergalactic fellowship. I loved how much was conveyed through dialogue alone and fiddled with variations of the style for fun. Most of my stories, whether shorts or novels, are often rooted in conversations characters start having in my imagination. So one day, I typed out the opening line, "According to your resume, Mr. Whisk, you spent five years as the Man in the Moon." I let the conversation flow out from there, as Mr. Whisk described his experiences. After I had enough conversation, I had to decide whether I wanted to create a framing scene, character descriptions, etc., but in the end chose to leave it all dialogue and give readers much more room to play. It's a story I hope folks enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

--Josh Vogt

www.jrvogt.com

When Giants Fart…

…the whole world stinks. Which kind of sums up the atmosphere in the publishing and authorial world for the past week as publishing giant Macmillan and distribution giant Amazon.com square off and try to decide whose bean processing plant is the most odiferous.

Without getting into the smelly details (which have been discussed on other sites), the gist of the problem lies in the pricing of e-books. Amazon wants a fixed ceiling of $9.99 for premium (read: popular) titles; Macmillan wants flexibility in their pricing, with premium selections fetching $14.99. Sometime on January 29, Amazon pulled the buy button off all titles owned by Macmillan imprints from its website. Offerings from Amazon vendors unaffected, but Amazon itself refuses to sell any Macmillan titles.

I’m not out to further the debate between readers, writers, publishers, and distributors; that’s been done elsewhere. (See Tobias Buckell’s lengthy write up, or LE Modesitt’s for reference) My purpose in this post is to promote some former Freaks who have been run out of doors (as it were) by this fiasco.

David B. Coe (IGMS #9, Cassie’s Story) has a new paperback out. The Horsemen’s Gambit is the second book in the Blood of the Southland series, and follows protagonist Grisna the Weaver as he tries to put a stop to the plagues being perpetuated across his land. Publisher’s Weekly called The Horsemen’s Gambit “intense and appealing.” You can find The Horsemen’s Gambit at Macmillan’s website or at Barnes and Noble.

Ken Scholes (IGMS #9, The God Voices of Settler’s Rest) is the author of the acclaimed fantasy series, the Psalms of Isaac. Lamentation begins the series with the mysterious destruction of the great city Widwir. The Lord of the Nine Houses, Rudolfo, sees the destruction and sets out to investigate. The story of war in the Named Lands continues in Canticle, which was released in October ‘09. Publisher’s Weekly has said of Scholes “…[he]ingeniously fuses epic fantasy and postapocalyptic science fiction... Abounding in prophecy, myth and mystery, this grand-scale saga is a towering storytelling tour de force." You can find Scholes’ books at Barnes and Noble, Borders, or…just about anywhere but Amazon.

John Brown (IGMS #1, Loose in the Wires; IGMS #8, From the Clay of His Heart) is the author of the fantasy Servant of a Dark God. In Servant, soul-eaters steal the days from men and beasts. Surrounded by ancient lies, and pursued by the soul-eaters, young Talen must stop the rise of a dark god. Library Journal said of Servant of a Dark God: “This well-wrought tale of families in conflict against both politics and religion represents a welcome addition to large-scale fantasy.” You can find Servant of a Dark God at Borders, Barnes and Noble, or…just about at any bookseller except Amazon.

--Scott M. Roberts

Assistant Editor

Return To Sender—James Maxey

  "Return to Sender," much like my first story in IGMS, "To Know All Things That Are In The Earth," draws heavily on my experience growing up as a fundamentalist Christian who went on to embrace atheism. My emotional connection to the story comes from my sense of confusion on encountering the outside world and finding things to be not quite as black and white as I had been informed.

It's really tough to explain the degree to which I was raised apart from mainstream culture. For instance, when I got to college, one of the many odd jobs I took to help pay expenses was that of a theater projectionist, even though the church I'd been raised in had denounced movie theaters as cesspools of sin and corruption and forbade going to see even "G" rated films. My first year as a projectionist was kind of amusing: every movie I saw became my favorite movie. I had no filters by which to judge a film, and wound up loving some stuff that I now look back on as fairly awful. (One of the first movies I saw, for instance, was Romancing the Stone, which for a week was the best movie ever, until I saw whatever was shipped the following week. I watched parts of Stone it again a few years ago and was stunned by how boring and formulaic it was.)

Also, much like Crystal in the story, I had grown up without being exposed to rock and roll music to any significant degree. My first exposure to bands like Pink Floyd and the Rolling Stones, singing about sex and drugs, was genuine culture shock. Even though I was identifying myself as an atheist by my first year of college, I still cringed when I heard people using the f-word in songs, and wondered why these people weren't afraid of going to hell.

Finally, I vividly recall the first time I was around a group of fellow students who were drinking beer. Drinking may not be the word I'm looking for--inhaling might be more accurate. They would shake up the beer, then puncture the can with a key, to suck down the entire can in something like thirty seconds. Shockingly, I learned that my fundamentalist Sunday School teachers had been right: Alcohol turns people into monsters! After inhaling a six-pack in about five minutes, guys I normally enjoyed hanging out with turned into surly jerks with unfocused eyes and slurred speech, laughing loudly at their own jokes and crudely boasting of their sexual prowess to women who were equally inebriated. It would be a few more years before I witness alcohol consumed in a more responsible, even genteel fashion and come to see that it didn't have to lead to to such boorish behavior.

It's been close to thirty years since I last sat through a fundamentalist church service, complete with speaking in tongues and the casting out of devils. I've reached as stage in my life where I can look back and be grateful to have been raised isolated at least some small degree from mainstream culture. I think it's useful for any artist to be able to step back from the world that swirls around them and study it with an outsider's point of view. Of course, sometimes when you step outside your culture, you discover you can't get back in.

That, however, is a theme for a whole 'nuther story. 

--James Maxey

Intergalactic Medicine Show #16 is LIVE!

Issue 16 went live this afternoon, with stories from James Maxey, Mette Ivie Harrison, Edmund Schubert, and more!

Go forth!  Feast your senses on the wonderment!

The Freak Filter

Part of being an assistant editor means reading slush. "Slush" is the pile of unsolicited story manuscripts publishers receive from hopeful authors. It's not a pretty name; it's not generally a glorious pursuit. Slush sits in the assistant editor's inbox, dribbling memetic juices all over your mind-space. It occasionally belches, but it doesn't need to. It makes its presence known through sheer virtual weight. That is, Slush is ever-present in your mind as something to do, something that will never get done, a taxing, burdensome, obese thing that drags at your thoughts and threatens your sanity.

But occasionally, you come up with some real gems. Lo'ihi Rising from issue 15, for example—drawn from the slush pile by diligent slush delver, Sara Ellis. Or The Absence of Stars—winner of the Washington Science Fiction Association Small Press Award, and also dredged up by Sara Ellis.

We've been trimming the slush pile recently at IGMS. It's looking almost svelte, now. While I'm taking a brief break from reading slush, I thought I'd compose this to let hopeful authors out there know what we, the assistant editors of Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, hope to find as we push through the slush pile. Also, what we hope NOT to find.

Scott M. Roberts

I like fiction in which the protagonist is capable and active. Even if it's a tragic story of death, sadness, and woe, the protagonist should be out there either fighting against the Bad Stuff, or actively pushing more Bad Stuff to occur. I have little patience for protagonists whose only contribution to the story is to be sympathetic and abused.

Speaking of abuse—there's a definite limit to how much I can stomach. If you choose to make your protagonist a serial killer, you had better bring some major writing chops along with that axe and buzz saw. It takes pages of really excellent writing to make up for the bad karma of one explicit scene of violence.

I give stories about a page and a half. Within those 375 words, I look for a clear conflict; a sympathetic or engaging protagonist; and competent writing. It's a matter of economy: I'm looking for stories that engage my interest quickly because I don't have a lot of time.

I like experimental prose, to a point. The device must serve the story: if your story is clearer because of the experimental style, then I welcome it.

Much of what I see in the slush pile is grim, gritty, or grisly. Want to stand out in the slush? Be funny.

Bad dialog will get you rejected faster than just about any other element. I am looking for dialog that reveals character. Note that this is more than just indicating that a character is Southern by having them use the word 'y'all,' or by dropping the –g in gerunds. Writing in dialect, especially if the narrator is a participant in the culture that uses the dialect, is liable to get you rejected. Remember, British people don't think they have an accent, and Irish writers rarely write Irish characters as having a hunky brogue.

Eric James Stone

What I like to see: Stories that do a good job of examining X in the question "What if X?" Stories with likeable characters facing overwhelming odds and finding an unexpected way to succeed. Stories in which the protagonists are willing to sacrifice themselves (and sometimes must actually do so) for the good of others. Stories that are funny.

What I don't like to see: Stories with main characters who do not engage my interest. Stories that take too long to get to the main plot. Stories that go from Point A to Point B without any twists along the way. Stories that fizzle out instead of bang at the climax.

What kind of stories I pass on [to the Editor-in-Chief]: Stories that make me think about cool ideas I never thought of before. Stories with engaging characters doing interesting things. Stories that keep me reading all the way to the end because I want to know what happens next.

Sara Ellis

I like stories that surprise me. I don't mind if a cliché is used, if there is a neat twist. What makes your vampire/werewolf/sorcerer's apprentice/space colonists story different from all the others? I once got a mutinous murder on a spacecraft story (cliché), but told from the perspective of a sanitation robot (twist!). I like detail, that makes the character/world real to me.

I like caring about the point of view characters, even if they are flawed. Why are they flawed? I hate stock villains. Villains you can empathize with, even just partially, are always more effective. I also love the themes of sacrifice, honor, redemption, and breaking/questioning tradition. I am inexplicably partial to stories about robots, empathetic monsters, and adolescent boys going through tough times.

I love captivating first paragraphs, and dislike impotent last lines. For most short stories, you have two pages to capture my attention. Do not waste these on exposition. Do not throw away first paragraphs with exposition. I like being shown why or how a character is a certain way, as opposed to simply being told. I like natural, realistic dialogue that comes across as sincere, as opposed to being convenient to move the plot along. I do not mind stylized, snappy, or
humorous dialogue if it fits in with the story and is creative.

One of my biggest turn offs in a story is when female characters are only described physically, or always initially described physically just because they are women. Especially when this only goes as far as letting us know she has great breasts. I hate stock beautiful women in a story that are not fleshed out (ha!). Violence and exploitation of female characters that is not important to the core of the story is a big pet peeve. It usually comes off as lazy or, uh, exploitative.

I also do not like stories where it feels like important or clarifying information is being withheld so it will feel like a surprise or a twist later. Being confused makes me impatient. Another minor thing that pulls me out of a story is "shoutouts." Shout outs to favorite bands, television shows, writers, etc. that are not integral to the plot. It doesn't usually ruin a story, but it often pulls me right out.

I like stories that make me feel passionate about how it will all end.

--Scott M. Roberts, Asst. Editor