I think they’d make an EXCELLENT book pairing. I’ve been sort of nesting them in my mind, imagining Sal Vidón spending a summer weekend reading all the Murderbot Diaries, then dressing up as Murderbot/SecUnit for Halloween/Rompenoche.
I mean, it makes SO MUCH sense! Sal goes to an arts school, loves cosplay, adores robots–has a few sentient robot friends, including a toilet–and would be on the lookout for fictional heroes as ace/aro as he!
Also, the Remembranation Machine in SAL AND GABI FIX THE UNIVERSE, a super-intelligent computer with cosmic processing power, would probably want to cosplay ART, the “Asshole Research Transport” in Martha Wells’s Murderbot Diaries.
…Except the Remembranation Machine is not NEARLY sarcastic enough to pull it off, so it’d have to collaborate on its cosplay with its pal, the Entropy Sweeper, who is sarcastic enough for the two of them.
Carlos asked me who Gabi would be cosplaying. (We figured out American Stepmom would be Dr. Mensah and Gustavo would be Thiago.) And something Sharon Shinn said on Facebook MADE ME REALIZE…
GABI wouldn’t settle for cosplaying a secondary character. Oh, no. She’d retaliate by reading Ann Leckie’s ENTIRE Imperial Radch series! And she’d cosplay Breq, the ancillary unit of the starship Justice of Toren’s AI!!!
Anyway, that’s my daydream. Love BOTH these books so much. Both of them out on 5/5. PRE–ORDER!
Recording from home, my mom’s home, with everyone else at home, during shelter-in-place, is a little like…
“OKAY EVERYONE IT’S QUARANTINE TIME. LET’S ALL LEARN NEW SKILLS. HOW ABOUT INTERPRETATIVE DANCE REPLACING ALL CONVERSATION?”
(Except, LOL, my own.)
(I tried getting up at 5 to record, and almost succeeded, but got snuggled back to oblivion. My bad.)
Ice machines, man. Everyone wants cold drinks. And they want them NOW. It’s like we’re living in a desert or something…
What’s that new noise? Ah. A juicer, I’d bet. Okay, well. I got 30% of my project done. Just need two more quiet mornings and I can probably finish. Probably time to call it a day, let people be people and not mimes.
No, autocorrect, I did not mean “mines.” Okay, maybe I did.
From TweetSpeak’s Poetry Prompt Free Mini-Series. Sign up at their website to get prompts in mail.
Prompt Based on Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum‘s Poem “Constellations“ McFadyen-Ketchum “catches the light” of these fireflies from a variety of angles, describing them in different settings, times, and imaginations. Each stanza presents its own flash of insight about these creatures. Choose an object to explore from a few different perspectives in a poem.
iPhone
by C. S. E. Cooney
handheld device, second brain, window to the world record of my index print, trained to my voice, trained to call the ones I love, by the names I’ve assigned them
palm-sized secretary, ball-and-chain, tethered attention bearer of bad news, scavenger of headlines, object that tamed me, that brought me to heel at a flash, a banner, a buzz, a ping
o love letter, o music box, o theatre, o photo album o family, o amanuensis, o secret keeper, o library o campfire, o atlas, o diet, o meter of my steps
and when you break down, as you are breaking now how I mourn you, how I feel my future on the fritz how I plug you in, avoid you, am repulsed, ashamed, a failure
ah, but when you work, how only I forget to thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you
From TweetSpeak’s Poetry Prompt Free Mini-Series. Sign up at their website to get prompts in mail.
PROMPT Based on Chris Forhan’s Poem “What My Father Left Behind“ In Forhan’s poem, not only do the line breaks, but the stanza breaks (breaks between groups of lines), carry a lot of “weight”: half-finished—, he might be, and it arcs, for instance. Write a poem in which the breaks at stanzas suggest emotions, multiple meanings, themes, or suspense. Challenge yourself further by making each stanza the same number of lines.
Occasional
By C. S. E. Cooney
he says, shy-scratching his quarantine curls, “there are people in the kitchen, talking, so I’m waiting, like a gremlin, waiting for my turn to go in and cook, some waffles and eggs, perhaps a second cup of coffee”
I say (or want to say), “let me make your breakfast! thaw your Eggos, stir in my colibrí’s sweet ratio of sugar to caffeine, not break your yolk this time, serve it up pristine in one of mama’s cobalt bowls!”
he checks his twitter, stands and paces, sneaks out the door in his pajamas, alligator t-shirt, ducks back in grinning, mutters, “not yet!” like a gremlin, prances to his laptop, dainty, rinse-repeat
I, like a folksong, bend head to breast, lean over laptop, tap- tapping it all out, real-time, here’s a poem, it hardly rhymes but it’s us, right now, 9:56, a rill of wind chimes just outside our wide-open window
Francesca’s work, for some reason, always is. Last year, I read her novella The Inconvenient God, which made me laugh–so utterly surprising and delightful as it was. And her earlier, still so gorgeous, epistolary novel, Pen Pal, abides in me still.
Francesca’s newest novelette, Gown of Harmonies, delivers just that same “fabulous Francesca feeling,” though it’s never the same feeling, because she’s always trying something new!
This story is full fairy magic, human music, fairy trickery, human heart. Labor and stubbornness. And kindness. So much kindness. I’d recommend this story for anyone who loves the works of Robin McKinley and Patricia A McKillip.
Speaking of kindness, Francesca announced when she put out this novelette that all proceeds from it would go to the Food Bank of Western Massachusetts, which local to the author! That’s JUST THE SORT OF THING I love in this world, and every time I see evidence of it, I get happier.
By day, a recording studio. By night, our BEDS! #quarantine
A few hours of reading Gown of Harmonies, I started to get this… itch. (No, not that kind of itch!) The last audiobook I recorded was back in December, for Tantor, and since then I’ve been exercising my talents (maybe kind of an obsession) by reading Jasper Fforde books to my husband Carlos. (OMGoodness, Early Riser was one of our FAVORITE THINGS WE READ last year!!!)
But now that we’re “Sheltering in Place” at my mom’s house in Arizona (we came for a little vacation and then… stayed) (we don’t know when we’ll be able to go home to NYC) (we’re very lucky to be here) (also, I only packed for a week), we’re reading the ARC of Martha Well‘s forthcoming Murderbot novel, Network Effect. My mom jumped in, so I get a larger audience, which suits my inner Norma Desmond like whoa.
All of which to say, I thought that it might be time to do a little reading-aloud project that might go a little further than Carlos’s ears. To that end, I asked Francesca Forrest (who is my friend!) if I might volunteer my voice for her audiobook.
Reader, SHE SAID YES!
What a posh mic. Where does my brother get this stuff?
So I found a little team willing to proof and produce me. These are Jessica P. Wick: a poet, author, and an AMAZING proofer and editor of books and audiobooks–so, if you’re looking for someone to do that, I recommend her heartily–and Jeremy Cooney: one of my five beautiful brothers, (like all my brothers, great at everything), musician, game master and podcaster, video editor, etc. He’s also the one who collaborates with me on my Brimstone Rhine projects.
All proceeds from the audiobook for Gown of Harmonieswill ALSO go to the Food Bank of Western Massachusetts, to help create support for those who have been laid off in this crisis, & otherwise!
Also: MORE ACCESSIBILE FICTION FTW!
Since necessity breeds innovation, I have taken two of the foam mats (see above) that we are sleeping on in mama’s guest room (well, it was a “yoga/meditation room,” hence no bed and the need for Home Depot’s foam mats), and a little folding desk we got from Staples, and I borrowed a mic from Jeremy. Therewith, I have set up what will pass for a small studio!
I figure, if I get up at 5 AM before everyone else, including cats and birds and traffic are awake, I can record The Gown of Harmonies tomorrow and possibly the next day. And then send it on to Jess to proof me, and Remi to produce me, ET VOILA! We will have made a thing. TOGETHAH!
From TweetSpeak’s Poetry Prompt Free Mini-Series. Sign up at their website to get prompts in mail.
PROMPT Based on Sara Barkat’sPoem “Gerda in the Garden” Barkat creates irresistible sounds by employing “expert vocabulary,” or specific words from a field, such as gardening. Write a poem that catalogs a variety of words you may not commonly use—it could be language from ice hockey, chemistry, or raising guinea pigs. Doing a bit of research first is okay. Play with the words and enjoy the sounds of them bumping and crashing together.
A Day In the Recording Booth
by C. S. E. Cooney
plosives are plush explosions, plummy and plumy, breathy and balloony blowsy as tulips, effervescent on the lips, bubblebounce of sound need a popscreen, angled jaw, distance from the mic (or put a sock on it!) the “r’s,” however, more approximant, are rounded, restful consonants though by weary wend of day, they rasp and fray and deliquesce to “w’s” sibilance is easy-peasy, susquehanna-Sasquatch-squeezy, yes but even so it sometimes slides to lisping fricatives, voiced or voiceless dental fricatives “Thuffering thuccotash!” crieth Thylvethter. “Thith tongue ith tired!” the lateral is lulling, liquid and compelling, but come nightfall, all there is, is mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
I read bits from The Twice-Drowned Saint–my new (short) novel, forthcoming from Mythic Delirium in The Sinister Quartet anthology (available for pre-order, both paperback and ebook!), along with great, dark novellas by Mike Allen, Jessica Wick, and Amanda J. McGee.
From TweetSpeak’s Poetry Prompt Free Mini-Series. Sign up at their website to get prompts in mail.
PROMPT Based on Wallace Stevens’s Poem “The Snow Man“
Start a poem with “one must have a mind of . . .” and choose a word to complete that first line and explore through sensory language. For example: One must have a mind of salad. One must have a mind of seahorses. One must have a mind of roller coasters.
The Window Woman
By C. S. E. Cooney
one must have a mind of quarantine of clean, sterile surfaces, a surfeit of paper supplies, sustainably made, bamboo or DIY
and have been altogether distant for so long so calm, so detached, watching the world through glass, listening to the far-off song
of a cactus wren, and the mangy cat in the Bermuda grass, filthy and desperate, eyeing the hummingbird with lust, one eye crusted over, one ear bent, tail broken
there is the sound of muted traffic, and the smell of not-as-much smog, mosquitos batting at the screen like small anxieties, homing, homing in on heated blood
and protected I sit, quiet, contemplative, not much different than before, yet trammeled, yearning for more resigned, a watchdog, slavering for signs of my time
morning! morning! calls the grackle-girl making big coin eyes at me right outside my windowpane making rappitty-tappitty, gothily-punkily japily-jestily, heckily-jeckily, doomily-gloomily, crack-crack CRACK- -ety noises right outside my windowpane
grackle-girl, she flexes up she up and pecks a glint-sharp drupe round from out my casement glass hops my sill, the brazen lass, and pops her sleeky head right through that round-sawn hole she’s made peeks razorly, says cheekily: howdee, lady! here’s your delivery—
then! hoiks she from out her prying beak, my grackle-girl hoiks she a gorgon’s knot: ribbons all a-ravel, streamers loose, limp like worms each as black as bunker fuel each as blue as flame each that same sky-wet, snake-slick, onyx-licks-a-larimar hue as her own jaunty neck, which she withdraws from the vitreous guillotine her boisterousness hath made
grackle gifts come wild to hand: wet ribbon, glass drupe, jet wing, bronze ring how they twist and twine, wend, wind divine themselves into some true new thing: some tiny monstrous hope (pale, night-blooming orchid– but tiger-striped, with teeth) that feeds only on the finest ink, on midnight confessions dark lace, strange tastes, unexpressed tensions broken shell, shattered blade, polished stone and the brightest brass button in a box carved all of bone
