SF/F, sociology, some recipes. Updates every other Friday.
My apologies for the radio silence, folks. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.
Short version is: I’ve lost my day job.
We’re still in flux over here, but the rent will get paid this month and I’m trying to organize time to write while I’ve got it. Normal posting will be back next week.
If you’re so inclined, now would be a great time to Buy Me A Coffee or become a patron.
“So what do you write?”
All writers hate this question.
I’ve gotten it several times over the past few weeks, each one a smiling opportunity to make a new fan and a new friend. But, just in case I’m not standing in front of you (or on the other side of a Zoom call), I’m putting together this post to explain a little of where I’ve been and where I’m going.
And, who knows, even those of you who’ve been on the journey with me might find this useful!
So this is what I write:
Since my earliest days back in the depths of 1999, my sci-fi and fantasy has always had a philosophical bent, what Amazon.com now calls visionary SF. The first SF story I ever sold was a meditation on karate’s iron body techniques and the power of hope, on Mars. Others have included an exploration of mystical transcendence disguised as hyperspace, an existential jaunt about the meaning of the space program long after the world’s moved on, and a vampire story contrasting Buddhist and Catholic understandings of what a vampire even is. Probably the best exemplar of my visionary SF would be my bestselling “Hull Down,” a milSF first contact that takes a severe left turn halfway through and never looks back.
Even No Time: The First Hour is visionary…albeit cunningly disguised as a murder mystery.
In 2016, of course, I discovered solarpunk, humans solving human-size problems with human gifts after a solid decade of Singularity or Apocalypse. It was a breath of fresh air, fresh green air, and I’ve been inhaling the stuff ever since. Almost all of my traditional sales since have been solarpunk, from turning the sunken city of Surat to new life to defining one’s own gender on Mars. By far the best example of pure solarpunk in my history, though, is “Glâcehouse,” from the moment Mackenzie beholds the dome that holds winter within it and it takes her breath away.
But over the last few years, a certain vigor has been creeping into my fiction. I’m not afraid to draw on the tradition of Lester Dent and Doc Savage, of Jack London’s muscular, Progressive prose, of Indiana Jones and the serials that inspired him. These new stories are drawn to larger-than-life dimensions, with characters who stand for their ideals more than Dostoevsky-certified realism and aren’t afraid to take direct action to act on them. These are the stories I’ve dubbed solarpulp. Doña Ana Lucía…
…springs from this new impulse, in all the novels and stories I’ve written of her to date, but she’s hardly alone. Gooch pulls his gun and uses his fists and some of the heroes of my new Cheminéc cycle, growing out of “Glâcehouse,” are just as red-blooded. But, by far, the best example is “Fire Marengo,” the free story you get when you sign up for my newsletter.
We passed, a shadow inside a shadow, beneath the broad lip of the Sheikh’s isle of Valhalla. Tchang reefed our sail, for we had to maneuver slow in that sliver of darkness. Far above, the sirens sang and men shouted, but us two stories below, our ears were keen on the lapping of the water. The slightest sound different could mean life or death there beneath the Sheikh’s pleasure-grounds. I kept the gaff off our starboard bow, to push Valhalla away from the little Sacramento lest we dash ourselves to pieces on the beautiful, deadly coral.
The sound that broke us was the terrible splash. You’ve all heard it, you’ve the faces for it – the sound of a man hitting the water. Tchang clapped his hand over my mouth to stifle my shout, and in my surprise I let the gaff slide off into the dark waters. Tchang and I looked to each other – the Law of the Sea demands we rescue the poor devil. Even if it might expose us. A rescue within a rescue! But I’d want a good sailor to do the same for me if I hit the drink. Even so…
I craned my neck out to get an eye of the situation. The man was floating there, buoyed by his close-necked shirtsleeves, pale and washed out in the mighty lights.
“Game overboard!”
Game? Man overboard surely.
“Is the game dispatched?”
The man shifted in the water, and here I saw illuminated the red blossom of the hole in the back of his head. It was impossible not to see.
“The game is dispatched! Tally to the Sultan of Valhalla!”
Game…now I got it. He meant hunting game. Not like you or I rustle up the occasional cougar for our supper, but as rich men do. And these weren’t no mountain lions, he was hunting men. He was hunting the entire third watch!
And more of that to come in the future – I’m wrapping up edits on the next No Time novel, No Time for the Killing Floor: The Second Hour, and querying Doña Ana Lucía Serrano …to the Future! to traditional publishers. I’ve a fistful of novelettes featuring her, from heists to heiresses to meditations on sexuality and the Peace Testimony. And, if you’re in a more sedate mood, more visionary solarpunk (with a hint of satire).
Well, there it is – where I’ve been, where I am, and where I am bound, as of 2023. But as Hope Hopkinson says, you can only plot a trajectory from where you are.
Who knows where we’ll be in five years?
I look forward to finding out.
If adventure has a name, it must be Indiana Jones.
Well, I kind of had to, didn’t I? Look at my author photos. Look at my major in college. Look at what I named my company. Look at my years in China. Indiana Jones left a deep and permanent stamp on me, and I’d be remiss not to send him off in style.
This week, my childhood best friend Kane Lynch invited us all out to the Sunset Drive-In. We piled into our tiny Prius, all four of us together, for my belated birthday celebrations and for Lyra’s first theater experience. It seemed only just – her first movie experience (her first anything on a screen) was Raiders of the Lost Ark for my birthday last year, why not Dial of Destiny this year?
Short version: This is the movie Spielberg, Lucas, and Ford thought that Kingdom of the Crystal Skull would be.
Unmarked spoilers ahead, read at your own risk.
Continue reading
Mathieus are a fish-eating people. We take our meat from the sea, from Morro Bay oysters to farm tilapia to Maine lobster to Italian anchovies to delicate nori and dashi of Japan. The first meat Lyra ever tasted was her mother’s pan-fried salmon. We both grew up in a little drinking village with a fishing problem where every restaurant except the Chinese place offered clam chowder and the soupe du jour.
I love a good rare steak as much as the next man, and as much as my father does, but we live on the sea.
Mathieus are an educated people. My mother, Nancy Castle, went back to school at 38 after she bore me, and the memories of sitting next to her as we did our homework together are a bulwark of my childhood memories. Her library card was open to me to evade school board censorship. Even my father, Steve Mathieu, a proud working-class hippie who missed his college years counting parts for Control Data, is worshipful of Jack London and a handful of writers of the 60s, and watched my grades like a hawk.
Mathieus are a civic people.
Let me tell you some of our stories and myths, some of the stories we tell to explain who we are. These are the stories I will tell Lyra, to show her what kind of people she comes from.
Once again available on Kindle (and for good this time), the story of a boy, his mother, and the spirit of the words, “The Diction-fairy.”
“Leave some blank pages under your pillow for the Diction-fairy.” Mom finally said, between the squeaky atonal noises of the tape machine.
I asked who the Diction-fairy was.
“She’ll take your pages and write on them.” Mom explained.
I asked what would happen if I wrote words on them first. Mom’s smile was tired, but real and full of magic.
“Then she’ll make your words better.”
I still remember the first time I left an essay under my pillow for the Diction-fairy. Eight year old me was desperate; stuck on Sunday night with two pages due on Monday and not even old enough to say the word ‘bullshit,’ much less practice it. Little did I know that this magical figure would come to shape my future and my faith in the power of words. As an adult, I left my manuscript under my pillow one last time, never expecting what would come…
For fans of Charles de Lint or Legends and Lattes, this is a cozy little story of a boy, his mother, and the spirit of the words.
Order your copy of “The Diction-fairy” today!
In 1999, I wrote to the President of the United States and the Premier of the Soviet Union to urge them towards peace, friendship, and space travel. I did so because they had a Chain Letter for Peace printed on page 136 of this book.
On page 51, there’s pictures of Skylab and an advert for a book called See Inside A Space Station if you send $9.02, postpaid, to Warwick Press at 730 Fifth Ave. New York, NY 10019.
On page 106, they discuss “EXPLORING INNER SPACE” and the frontiers of the human mind. On the facing page is an “imaging exercise” or guided meditation.
On page 183, we learn about various cooperatives and sharing that may exist in the future: childcare sharing, worker-owned businesses, food co-ops, family businesses, job sharing.
On page 75, there’s a recipe for earthworm cookies that actually taste really good! And a comparison chart of various protein sources, with insects topping the list.
On page 36, living houses. Page 37, how to plant your own model “tree house.” Page 168, cooperative games. Page 170, computers as personal trainers. Page 140, bicycles breaking the speed limit. Page 206, gasohol. Page 156, the Space Shuttle. Page 129, a dead-on description of l33tsp34k.
Page 115 – the Education of a Lifelong Learner. Born, March 23, 1985. By now, she’s spent a year on a cooperative farm in China (sic), worked at a local TV station (sic) to produce a puppet show, learned advanced math, spelling and reading at home by computer, and completed her combined PhD-apprenticeship in architecture.
This book was written before I was born, but at age thirteen, I believed. From the settled, solid adobe house where we composted and sucked honeysuckle and brought government to the people through the wonder of television, this future wasn’t just probable – it was right around the corner.
This is a future that never was, never will be, turned out true, and should have been, all at once. It’s a hippie future, as evidenced by the green-spaced cities, the macrobiotic food, the absurd digressions into ESP, world citizenship, and wholism. It’s a dated future, by the focus on space travel, robots and computers without the glimmer of a doubt as to their ubiquity.
But it’s a sweet future.
In the page “All Kinds of Families,” we see divorcees, singles, and Heather Has Two Mommies. Some embrace a simple life and some move to space colonies. People play cooperative games, garden together, and do not study war any more. They ride their bikes through Bucky Fuller’s floating cities. There is not a trace of sarcasm, irony, or cynicism to be found anywhere in these pages. A lot of things are contradictory. And anything’s possible. Let’s find out what really happens!
And we, the readers, are encouraged to participate. Almost every page has a project, something to make or do, more books to read, whether it’s a recipe for worm cookies or a chain letter to Gorbachev, we’re supposed to use the book as a springboard. As a starting point.
God damn, did I ever.
From the vantage points of 2016, plenty of it is painful to read. Uri Geller was a fraud and the Space Shuttle’s long since been shunted off. There’s no Premier to write to, and the spectre of war is more diffuse and somehow darker. “Food for Everyone” talks about how one day, we might grow enough so no one is hungry.
We do. We have since I read the book. And people are still hungry.
But I cannot condemn this book, or any part of it. A lot of that is nostalgia, and happy memories of the book that opened my mind to the possibilities of the future. But a lot of it…well, anyone who believes that sweetly, and that sincerely, in a future for everybody can’t be all bad. I mostly just want to give this book a hug, and tell it that we’re still working on a lot of stuff – but there’s no reason we can’t have Gerard O’Neill’s space colonies and lifelong learning and family co-ops…and even world citizens.
It’s worth the read – if only to remember what the future looked like when we knew wonder.
(Special treat: for fans of “Fire Marengo,” the Sophie is pictured in blazing glory on page 149.)
I picked up Sarena Ulibarri’s Another Life with great interest. Not only did she edit the Glass & Gardens anthologies (including debuting “Glâcehouse” by yours truly), but the description seemed to be marked ATTN: Roscoe.
Finding out who you were in a previous life sounds like fun until you’re forced to grapple with the darkness of the past.
Galacia Aguirre is Mediator of Otra Vida, a quasi-utopian city on the shores of a human-made lake in Death Valley. She resolves conflicts within their sustainable money-free society, and keeps the outside world from meddling in their affairs.
When a scientific method of uncovering past lives emerges, Galacia learns she’s the reincarnation of Thomas Ramsey, leader of the Planet B movement, who eschewed fixing climate change in favor of colonizing another planet.Learning her reincarnation result shakes the foundations of Galacia’s identity and her position as Mediator, threatening to undermine the good she’s done in this lifetime.
The back cover of Another Life
Fearing a backlash, she keeps the results secret while dealing with her political rival for Mediator, and outsiders who blame Otra Vida for bombings that Galacia is sure they had nothing to do with. But under the unforgiving sun of Death Valley, secrets have a way of coming to light.
Greening deserts! Rebuilding human society, better after the worst! Past life regression! Experimental social forms, vertical gardens, and rediverted waters! It’s pretty clear that Sarena and I both grew up reading the Kids’ Whole Future Catalog. And the sparse worldbuilding she does in this lean little novella is enough to clearly draw this solarpunk “ambiguous utopia” in stark lines.
Unlike LeGuin’s Anarres, though, the community is still small enough and Ulibarri focused enough to try and solve (some of) the structural issues in utopia. Over the course of the story, we touch on the emergence of class in the Founders and Inheritors, hero worship, bias (in the form of genetic fallacies like Galacia’s past life, and more broadly the community’s reliance on charlatanism), and even replicating old world systems while rejecting its values (something I notice in every counterculture and subculture).
And Galacia struggles with all of them on the side. “Cozy” became a dirty word, and solarpunk is supposed to be the coziest thing in science fiction, but I can’t think of a better word for the main conflict of Another Life. The bomb threats, massing polic- pardon, Protectors, and dramatic direct actions happen secondarily to the past-life regressions and election to a position with as little power as possible. At first, I struggled with the low stakes, but as I progressed, I realized it was on purpose, and that, bombs and police raids aside, these were the stakes of an ambiguous utopia. Legends and Lattes did nothing for me, but if that’s your speed, you’ll get into Another Life faster than I did.
But, whatever quibbles I have with the stakes or the plot, I do love the world. I’d love to sit down with Galacia and her old friends around the balcony feasts that bookend the story, toss some fishes Seattle-style in the tower, or just walk around the shore of the lake that was once Death Valley, watching the water come in because a few people said to themselves that the world could be better. The desert could be green.
I must respect that kind of idealism in science fiction, and I look forward to seeing more of it.
See you in another life.
That’s right, for the next five days, my best-selling story “Hull Down” is free on Amazon!
The room pulsed around him, its fetid breath almost palpable even through the helmet. The bodies of Commander Wu Suzhen and Major Sam Harris were woven into the wall, a superimposed lovers’ embrace developed in resin and red light. Their shapes were fuzzy; the inside of Matt’s helmet sticky with condensation like his hair was sticky with sweat. His inner ear couldn’t find north or down, his eyes stung and he could taste something salty, but whether blood, sweat or tears, he couldn’t tell. Why did you live?
Matt LeWald had no idea what he was getting himself into when he joined the Marines. He was expecting a few years of service, but instead found himself thrust into a mission gone horribly wrong. As the only survivor, he is left with questions that haunt him: why did he live when everyone else died?
If you enjoyed Joe Haldeman’s The Forever War, you will be enthralled with this strange and haunting tale of first contact and redemption. The reviewers are calling it “not your Dad’s military SF.” Buy it now, read it over your lunch break, and think about it the rest of your life.
This story is a rewrite of a story I wrote when I was 11 or 12, the only one of the series of novelettes that seemed worth the effort. And boy, was it ever worth the effort. With Melissa’s gorgeous, hand-painted cover, I debuted it just before WorldCon in San Jose, and it shot to the top of my KU reads and sales. It’s been my most consistent earner ever since…despite the mid-story switch in subgenre.
And if you haven’t inhaled its svelte 7,800 words, here’s your chance – I’m offering it for free for five days.
Enjoy.
On this week’s Philosophy in a Teacup, I interview Ann LeBlanc, one of my colleagues from the Unusual Short Stories Panel at this year’s Nebulas. Between the wordwork and the queer yearning, she graciously agreed to answer a few questions…
My debut novella, THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTIES OF CHEESE, is coming out from Neon Hemlock in 2024. It’s about a cyberpunk cheese heist (in space!), which is very fun, but it’s also an exploration of what trans body politics will look like in a posthuman future (answer: complicated, with lots of queer drama, and an asteroid’s worth of cheese).
I’m also editing EMBODIED EXEGESIS, an anthology of cyberpunk stories written by transfem authors. It’s also coming out in 2024 from Neon Hemlock.
My short fiction is often about culinary adventures, queer yearning, the ephemerality of memory, and death. If you’re looking for weird stories with unusual POVs and bodies, I’ve got you covered. My cyber-mermaid time-loop story, 20,000 Last Meals on an Exploding Station, was included in We’re Here, the Best Queer Speculative Fiction of 2021.
For me, writing speculative fiction scratches the same itch as showing someone a cool rock or bug. Look at that! Isn’t it cool?
This is what makes a story speculative to me. The cool bug factor. Of course, literary speculative fiction likes to layer on things like themes and character arcs and exploration of the human condition (and I love those, and use them, they’re great!). But if there isn’t a cool bug at the center of the story, it’s not speculative to me.
I’d love to read more long-form stories that are just explorations of the cool bug. Omelas[tk] is an example of that type of story, and Timekeeper’s Symphony by Ken Liu in Clarkesworld is a recent example.
Literature is a conversation, so when I write, I am in a way responding to what the last person said. All of my stories are some form of “Yes, and…” or “No! But…”
I often find that ambitious but badly executed fiction is a great source of inspiration. If literature is a conversation, bad art makes me want to argue.
My frustration at the wasted potential of Altered Carbon inspired my upcoming novella, THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTIES OF CHEESE. Altered Carbon had so much cool worldbuilding, and yet all of its interesting ideas were shoved aside to make room for gritty-man noir action-wankery. Not to mention the author turned out to be a huge transphobe (how passé).
So I wrote the novella in part because I wanted to do something actually interesting with those cyberpunk concepts. And I made it very trans to spite Richard K Morgan (but also for my own pleasure).
Having read Altered Carbon in China in the early 2010s, all I could do was laugh at Richard K Morgan’s politics when I found out what they were. How he missed the trans undercurrent of his own book is beyond me.
I love a weird and/or surreal apotheosis. The sort of ending where things have gotten so out of hand and the walls of reality start to dissolve and everything gets very weird or surreal or meta.
Wrath Goddess Sing by Maya Deane is a great example of this, as is The Frankly Impossible Weight of Han by Maria Dong. I also loved the awesome and apotheotic ending of Destroyer of Light by Jennifer Marie Brissett (which also does really cool things with structure and prose).
You say “surreal apotheosis” and the first thing that popped into my head was the format-breaking climax of The Stars My Destination.
I could never ever pick a favorite, but recently I really enjoyed Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki. It mixes together an absolutely delightful combination of ingredients: deals with the devil involving violins, donut-making refugee aliens, a transfem violinist protagonist, woodworking/luthiery, and some absolutely gorgeous writing about human food culture.
That would seem to have “ATTN: ANN LEBLANC” written all over it, yeah.
For short stories, all of Baffling Magazine’s latest issues have been absolutely incredible. So much cool inventive queer flash-fiction.
The Marriage Variations by Monique Laban in the Tiny Nightmares anthology uses the choose-your-own-adventure format to tell an incredibly inventive story about a cycle of abuse/trauma that cannot be escaped.
I wrote a story told through a series of out-of-order clay tablet fragments, annotated by an archeologist. The tablet author is a sort of eldritch horror who exists outside time and space, and so is experiencing multiple versions of the same event at the same time. I felt very pepe_silvia.jpg while drafting that one. It’s also got one of my favorite titles: Infinite Clay Tablet Memories Sung Into the Flesh of the World in Apparition Lit (which is a great magazine you should read)
We have the resources to make sure every human on the planet has a home, as well as plenty of food, clean water, and medical care. So much structural oppression is about denying people these things. I can’t cure the hatred in people’s hearts, or topple the whole unjust system by myself, but I can try to help people in my local community access food and shelter and medical care.
Yearning is always an excellent starting seed for a story. The wanting and the not having and what happens as a result of that. So much of queerness is about yearning for something we don’t understand yet, and then when we do, yearning for something that cishet society reviles.
Queerness enters my work through body politics, transformations, the problem of queer legibility, the tension between the desires for assimilation vs liberation, and the way that queer histories are erased.
How can I choose? It’s like asking me if I prefer to eat or drink. I want to do both!
To use a different analogy, a short story is like a dagger, and a novel is like a spear. I will explain.
According to Yoon Ha Lee, the point of a short story is to assassinate the reader. (Go read this interview, it’s so good) The reader is my opponent. I distract them with something shiny in one hand, while my other hand is preparing to strike with a knife made of pure emotion. It’s all about quick maneuvers and flashy tricks.
A novel is like a hurled spear. It was Jo Walton, I think, that coined Spearpoint Theory.
A novel has enough length that I can set things up ahead of time (the long shaft of the spear), so that when the tiny element of the spearpoint hits the reader, even if it’s a single paragraph or sentence, it has enough weight behind it that it pierces their heart and emotionally guts them.
I find it interesting that many authors use the language of violence to describe their craft, but I don’t think there’s any profound meaning behind it. Any physical activity involving two (or more) people could probably be wrought into a metaphor. At some point, I’ll come up with a theory of writing involving communal meals.
The Transitive Properties of Cheese will be available in 2024, and Ann’s anthology Embodied Exegesis will be available next year as well. Find Ann LeBlanc at https://www.annleblanc.com/.
Well.
That was a series of birthdays.
And this is mainly an excuse to post pictures (but we have writing updates at the end!).
Lyra’s first birthday was of course on June 1, and we celebrated by getting her vaccinated.
It was fairly low-key, we sang her “Gens du Pays” and told her the story of her birth. As a sidebar, I can in fact now tell an anecdote in French. Friends, prepare for the same stories of China, but in a new language! 😀
The real party, of course, was the next day.
![The family at Lyra's birthday party (Yaya Kate, John, Nancy, Aunt Jessica, Steve, Stuart [back])](https://i0.wp.com/www.rjeanmathieu.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/party2.jpg?resize=640%2C480&ssl=1)
We did a combined birthday party at my in-laws, and everybody came, the whole family. I made our famous Mathieu burgers, with the secret recipe passed down from my great-grandfather Wilfrid “Frenchy” Mathieu, and my bro-frère grilled ‘em up.
Everyone approved, even Melissa’s grandparents (her mother’s mother came down from San Jose just for the party!). We also had two cakes, both from the Parisian café in Morro Bay, strawberry to smash for Lyra and chocolate for me, both with “BON ANNIVERSAIRE” on them. Lyra got Duplo, blocks…
…so many clothes, and my father’s childhood rocking chair.
We were so happy having a grand old time we forgot the candles.
And best of all, nobody died! We really did have a grand old time.
Then we went home and put Lyra to bed, because she’s never seen the like and wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.
On Monday, my birthday, we got up, and went to have eggs Florentine. Lyra beamed at everyone in the restaurant and flirted with the waitress. We then turned right around and headed into the wilds of south county to locate a disused train turned Greek diner.
We found it.
We ate.
And then I went to the ER.
No, there will be no pictures.
(This is why I wasn’t at work that day – but I wanted lunch first in case of a long ER wait)
After a procedure as painful as it was embarrassing (and with more embarrassing follow-up!) we went home and I played with Lyra while Melissa made up one of her incredible washoku Japanese meals – duck breast and gailaan first and foremost, to replace all the iron I’d lost.
Later, in bed, we told Lyra the story of my birth, as my mother was not there to relate it.
Now it’s back to hauling wood and chopping water. In the next year, I’m hoping to publish at least another dozen books, put out my first short story collection toward the end of the year, and sell Doña Ana Lucía Serrano …to the Future! to a traditional publisher. I’m working on a couple shorts now – a high fantasy in the India of the Buddha, a flash from after the end of the universe, and a new (third!) Doña Ana Lucía novelette. And, to celebrate my birthday, I’m putting my best-selling title on sale for free later this month.
But, next week, we have more Philosophy (in a Teacup) as I sit down once more with Ann LeBlanc.
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