Frustrations of carpentry

Our house has a small den in the front that I'm converting into a formal office for myself. It had an oversized, open walkway and an open "window" into the living room. A while back I put in doors, but other projects have prevented me from progressing further on the project. Until now. I put up some molding along the doors, and intend to put a nice, ornament crown molding construct over a remaining gap between the top of the doors and original walkway (which was taller than a regular doorway. The extra space serves as a CD storage shelf).

I don't have a miter saw, which would make all of the angle cutting quick and simple work. I do have an old Rockwell International table saw, inherited from my grandfather, who died six years back. It works well enough for my needs. Unfortunately, to my chagrin, I've just now realized that the miter gauge that came with the saw, also produced by Rockwell International, has several steel "stops" protruding from the protractor component of the gauge. What purpose they serve is beyond me, but the long and short of it is that the miter gauge I have cannot be adjusted to cut the angles I need. And both Lowe's and Home Depot do not, as policy, stock miter gauges of any sort. To get a miter gauge from them, you have to buy a new table saw. Which, as I've established, I don't need.

So now my project is stalled as I wait on eBay to come through for me. Which is annoying, as this weekend I'd intended to start on the ceiling-to-floor bookshelves which will close up the window into the living room, but can't, since again, there are angles that need to be cut which I cannot make.

That'll teach me to be industrious. I never run into this kind of frustration when I'm lazy...

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When bad ideas attack

From our friends over at the New York Post:

Plans are under way at Fox — which wants to make a "Lost" of its own — for a new series about a group of of astronauts who go missing after tracing a distress signal to the dark side of the moon.

When they arrive on the other side of moon — which is cloaked in perpetual darkness and beyond radio contact with earth — they discover a mysterious compound.

I'm guessing the "mysterious compound" is bullshittium, as carvorite would actually be a clever twist and imply that these morons had more than half a brain cell amongst the lot of 'em. (And yes, I know that "compound" refers to some sort of physical structure capable of supporting said castaways indefinitely. Moon Base Alpha? Nope. Again, it's that brain cell thing).

The supposed title for this shipwreck of a series is Darkside. I could make crude jokes about the anatomical "black hole" the series creator is pulling his ideas out of, but I won't.

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Mutual of Omaha's "Fiction Kingdom"

Four more stories set loose in the mail today, two others went out via email last night. That's about a dozen stories released into the wild in the past week. Some are strong, and may find themselves a home in the publishing wilderness. Others will come limping home. A few others, alas, will vanish into cruel month of December, never to be heard from again. Such is the fate of the captive-raised manuscript.

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A religious experience

There was a visiting priest at Saints Peter & Paul this morning, and I instantly knew it'd be an interesting mass. Firstly, the priest bore more than a passing resemblance to SF author Samuel R. Delany, complete with a thick white beard. He wore one of those black knit cuffy skull caps, and had an enthusiastic personality, literally bubbling over with energy.

When he began his homily, he caught my attention right away by discussing the creation of the universe during the Big Bang "13 billion years ago," and how the evolution of the universe is evidence of God's majesty. Rather than viewing science as an enemy of theology, he embraced it and used it as an ally. Then he did something I never expected to hear in church: He invoked Max Planck:

"All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force which brings the particles of an atom to vibration and holds this minute solar system of the atom together....We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent mind. The mind is the matrix of all matter." --Max Planck

He finished his homily with a wonderful metaphore. If God is present in the subatomic, quantum physics level of matter (and the point of his arguement is that He is) then we are suffused and awash in God's presence as a fish is awash in water. Of course, his conveyance of these ideas were far more elegant and poetic than my feeble retelling.

Sadly, I did not get catch his name. But I would be more than happy were he to become a regular at my church. Max Planck! Whoda thunk it?

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Doing my part to clog the mail

I've fallen behind in my story submissions of late for a number of reasons, first and foremost being I'd run out of ink in my printer and hadn't had the cash on hand to buy a refill (what the heck do they make that stuff out of? Liquid gold?). But, this being the new part of the month, with the old paycheck not yet spent, I rectified that last night and printed out a number of pieces that'd been languishing.

This afternoon, I hied myself over to the local U.S. Postal establishment, and submitted five rather hefty short fiction manuscripts to the whims of holiday mail flurries. Actually, one of those five was in truth pretty lean, only seven pages or so. But as that's an anomaly for me, I'll just pretend it was my normal 30-40 page leviathan.

I also submitted a couple of other stories to markets via email, since those markets accept email submissions (conveniently enough). More email subs will follow tonight, and perhaps one or two traditional postal submissions come Monday. The long and short of it is that I haven't yet had my fill of editors telling me how much they like these stories of mine that they're regrettably not buying, for entirely understandable reasons such as, "The predominant color in your story is blue, and we're only featuring burnt sienna fiction for the next year. Alas." I mean, with encouragement like that, how can I resist another ride on the publish-go-round? ;-)

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Postscripts 2

I just received my contributor's copies of Postscripts no. 2. This issue features my interview with Kage Baker, which is intelligent, entertaining and endlessly fascinating (more of a reflection on Ms. Baker than any meager skills I bring to the table). Published by PS Publishing, it really is a fine product. The standard edition is nice enough, reminding me somewhat of the old Aussie print version of Eidolon. What's really impressive, however, is that there is also a limited edition hardback, signed by all contributors to the issue. It brings to mind the long-gone Pulphouse: A Hardback Magazine, which unfortunately had gone the way of the dodo before I ever began publishing. But Postscripts is alive and kicking, and it is a lovingly crafted magazine. The production values are top-notch, printed on nice, heavy paper with clean, easily-read type. The interior black-and-white illustrations are well-done, reproducing clearly.

Kudos are definitely in order for Pete Crowther, who has shepherded this project (and PS Publishing as well) to fruition. It's only fitting that he won a World Fantasy Award a month or so back for his work with PS Publishing, in the "Special Award: Professional" category.

I haven't had a chance yet to read much of the content (instead, I'm mostly just gazing at it and occasionally stroking the spine lovingly) but already I can tell you that Jeff VanderMeer's story, "Shark Versus Octopus God" is a favorite. The title alone should clue most folks in that this one's right up my alley. Take the opening, for instance:

A long time ago, when Dakuwaqa the Shark God was young and not so wise, he made all who lived in or near the sea fear him. They feared him for his knives that posed as teeth. They feared him for his relentlessness. They feared him for his speed. They feared him because the bloodlust was buried so deep in him that he loved to fight.

Dakuwaqa could take many shapes, but he enjoyed the shape of the shark the best in those days. It fit him. It fit his aspirations.

A little later, we get introduced to the Octopus God:

The Octopus God had lived for a thousand years, and was said to be slightly mad. Sometimes, the ocean would strobe with emerald-ruby-gold-blue-green phosphorescence late at night and even Kadavu's many nocturnal fishers, from people to eels to crabs to herons, would retire for the evening. They were certain the Octopus God was having an episode. (Others thought he was merely perfecting the details of an underwater light opera he had been working on for centuries.)

It follows the traditional fable style, but VanderMeer throws in his unique brand of strangeness, as evidenced by the "light opera" reference in the above. For the most part, it works, and gloriously so. A few of the colloquial idioms are somewhat jarring and don't fit all that well with the tone and setting, but hey, one of my favorite Joe Lansdale stories is "Godzilla's 12-Step Program," which features a bisexual King Kong, so who am I to quibble?

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Coming soon: Fender Crop

The December issue of the SF Site is now online, and features my review of Joe Lansdale's short story collection, Bumper Crop. The new collection isn't as good as his previous one, High Cotton, but that's not to say it isn't good. There are some interesting stories on display, and as always, Joe's writing is dazzling.

As I point out in my review, I don't normally read horror. Or watch it. I have written a couple of horror stories, but those were cases where the tale suddenly popped into my head and demanded immediate release. The rush of fear has never really done anything for me. Don't know why. Thrillers, yeah, those work for me. Suspense. And intellectual scares, sometimes. But visceral stuff, particularly gore and the "Gotcha!" approach to fright--nope. Which surprises me, since Joe's stories almost always have that stuff I don't like (Is it any surprise that Zeppelins West is my favorite book of his?) but he just strings words together is clever and interesting ways...

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