New Story! "Hollow As The World," At The Drabblecast!
The Drabblecast is a very well thought-of podcast, so when they commissioned me to write a story for Lovecraft week, I was all like, “Whoah, that’s an honor.” And so, over the next five weeks in the Clarion Echo, I wrote a story from start to finish – first called “Minecraft,” then “Stonehewn,” then “Run Deeper,” then (and finally) “Hollow as the World.” (If you paid your $5 to be a part of the Clarion Echo, you’ll see just how damned messy my process is.) The story was about a kid exploring an alternate world on his computer, and the costs thereof – not strict Lovecraft per se (that’d be “Riding Atlas,” which unfortunately I’d already sold), but definitely Dreamlands territory.
It took four drafts, and quicker than I’ve ever written a story with that many drafts before, but I finally got to where I was happy with it – and thankfully, Norm accepted it. And three days later, it’s up at the Drabblecast, with some stellar artwork to go with it, and one hell of a gritty narration.
Here’s your obligatory excerpt:
One of the reasons Joshua loved Lydia as much as he did was all the secret rituals they’d devised. Some days, the way Lydia sent Joshua into high titters with a raise of her pierced eyebrow was the only thing that kept Joshua from slitting his wrists.
And of the many traditions that bound them as friends, the most sacred was the second videogame bet.
You couldn’t have the second videogame bet without Lydia winning the first bet, of course. That bet was, “Would Lydia beat this latest game before Joshua did?” And she invariably beat it before Joshua, before everybody; Lydia mowed through the toughest levels without dying. Sometimes, she completed the game on release day, then sold it back to Gamestop for nearly full credit.
Joshua’s online buddies private messaged him, angling for the secret to Lydia’s talent. He never told them, though of course he did know. He’d asked her, once, after she’d finished Portal 3 a full three hours before anyone else. She’d squinted at him over candy-red glasses, deciding whether she could trust him. Then she’d shrugged.
“I think like a designer,” she said. “Every time I’m not sure what to do, I think: ‘If I’d designed this level, where would I want me to look next?’ It’s made the games… predictable. Most days, I only beat them to see the end credits.”
“Really? You watch the end credits?” It was a slowball pitch. She grinned, glad at the opportunity to razz him.
“I’d think end credits would bring you nothing but relief, Joshua. They prove games are designed by people. You do remember that, right?”
His groan was old, well-used. “Now, Lydia, it’s been years since I’ve been afraid — ”
“ — but you were afraid, weren’t you?” She leaned in, hazel eyes sparkling. Joshua fantasized, for the ten billionth time, about calling in his marker and kissing her.
“Yes, I was afraid,” he recited. “I thought the characters inside the videogame had lives when the machine was turned off, the television a window to another dimension, and I was afraid to play because they knew I was there. I was six when that happened, Lydia.”
“I was six, too,” she replied loftily. “Yet bizarrely, I never worried about that. Nor did I build a whole videogame-playing technique around proving myself wrong.”
“You just wait for the second bet.”
“That day,” she proclaimed, hiding her smile behind a sip of Red Bull, “Will never come….”
If you liked this, remember: a $5 donation to the Clarion Write-A-Thon will get you entry to see the four drafts, along with about 10k in writers’ commentary (and three other completed stories). This tale mutated quite a bit, as it was very tricky to get a handle on, so I think it’s worthwhile if you’re struggling to fix your own drafts.
Otherwise? Enjoy.
I Am Mute With Grief; Let My "Like" Suffice
I remember when my friend Kat went into the hospital to have a tumor removed, and her husband Eric kept us posted via Twitter. I remember at the time, not being on Twitter, that it seemed a little cold and distant, to let us know whether Kat was alive or dead via a 140-character broadcast.
Then I went into surgery for a triple-bypass, and I saw the other end of that; the deluge of requests, the constant phone calls, everyone’s worry piling up in a tide of messages that were just incredibly stressful for Gini. All this love had a cost, and that cost was communication, and when Gini started posting updates on Facebook, I understood: this was a mercy. She was near-unmanned by her concern for me. Let her post once, so she doesn’t have to relieve this stress over fifty texts and phone calls, and give her more time to hold my hand, for it may be the last.
I survived. My youngest cousin did not. He had a terrible accident on Monday – on a pedal bike, of all things – and he died. I’ve been kept in the know by my Aunt and my Dad, and haven’t said anything because it’s not my story to tell.
Finally, this morning, his sister posted a terse message to Facebook. And I commented, as did at least fifty others, expressing loss and support and concern. I was okay then.
Until I saw that she’d “liked” my comment.
I know what that “like” means. It means, grief has stolen my words, and my time, and my energy. Please. Let this one click suffice to show that I saw what you had to say, and acknowledged it, and that’s all I can do right now.
Sometimes, social media is petty, and mean, and full of insults and childish vitriol. But today, it’s a low-energy way of staying in touch at a time when I’m sure they do not want to talk to anyone.
That’s a small blessing on a very dark day.
The Official Ferrett "Ask Me Anything" Thread
I do this when I have a lot of Tedious Stuff to do at work, but don’t have the time to write a real essay. So. Here’s how it works:
Ask me a real question. On any topic. I’ll do my best to answer honestly.
(Fake questions like “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck?” are neither clever nor useful. You can do it; it marks you as the kind of person who doesn’t realize the joke is so obvious it’s been done a hundred times before, and I’ll think less of you for being tedious. Hey, I told you I’d answer honestly.)
All other questions will be answered politely, and to the best of my ability. Go.
Random Thoughts On Going Viral: Some Follow-Up Thoughts On "Dear Daughter"
So my essay “Dear Daughter: I Hope You Have (Fucking) Awesome Sex” was reposted at The Good Men Project, and now it’s all over the net. Over 31,000 people have “liked” it on Facebook, and I’ve gotten requests for interviews. (Sadly, all on a weekend I’m presenting at the Geeky Kink Event, so I’m booked.) And with this comes a lot of weird emotions:
1) I’ve had a lot of people claiming I’m either a good father or a bad father, which makes me uncomfortable. That turns the essay into a moratorium on whether my daughters are appropriately well-raised for society, and I don’t particularly feel like dragging them out into this spotlight. I don’t often discuss Erin or Amy on this blog because I arrived in their lives with a (much smaller) audience, and early on I decided that they should choose their own level of involvement. They, quite wisely, chose not to play. And so inadvertently having this essay blow up as a spotlight is a little awkward, since it does kind of invite the question, “So are his daughters happy?”
They are. But how much of that is due to me is questionable. I think if we’re honest as parents, we acknowledge we are but one oar in turbulent waters; my kids arrived pre-baked with their own genetic inclinations towards specific mischiefs, and all their relatives weighed in (often against me, sometimes rightfully so), and then when they got to be adolescents then the approval of other children started to matter a lot. You can be a very good parent, I think, and have a child who is quote-unquote “bad” (which I define as “unhappy” or “in a life’s situation that makes them unhappy”), and you can be a terrible parent and luck out.
Being a parent is a lot like being the President: there’s a lot more luck involved in good results than anyone wants to admit.
2) I had one guy telling the world, “HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE DAUGHTERS! CHECK HIS BIOS!” which struck me as supremely weird. One of my proudest moments was when I was on a panel with John Scalzi, discussing blogging, and he looked at me and said, “…I didn’t know you had daughters.”
I was proud because I have a reputation for being an oversharer, but my kids? Have their own lives. I’ve kept them shielded from that aspect of my D-list celebrity fame, and that feels good. So to have a guy using that strength as proof I’m making all of this up? A little strange.
(I tend to treat idiots on the Internet as though they’re stray dogs, confused and baffled by the world. I’m not mad, just trying to figure out how any sane person would come to this conclusion.)
3) I’m not a great father. I have some strengths, and open communication about sex and drugs is one of them, but I’m also introverted, short-tempered, and hate phone calls like they were acid poured on my genitals. I’m glad what I said resonated, very glad, but there’s a lot of dads who are way better than I’ve ever been. One solid opinion does not greatness make.
4) Some of the comments involved people saying, “Oh, man, so you wouldn’t mind if I had sex with your daughter? Mind giving me her number?” Which completely misses the point. Would I give you her number? No, because – as mentioned – I don’t own her. If she wants to give you her number, then she can. Because I don’t think it’s bad that they have sex with people.
I do think it’s bad if they have sex with idiots, which is why I try to encourage them otherwise. But I’m also not sold on my own infallibility. Maybe you’re not as much of an asshole as I think you are. I’ll suggest, but ultimately she has to come to her own conclusions.
But, you know, I’m pretty sure she’ll spot you as an idiot off the bat. And if I have taught them one lesson, it is in fact not to fuck the terminally stupid.
5) I’m glad I’ve had enough pieces hit it big to handle the criticism, praise, and misreadings that come with any article that blows up. (Though the blowback on this one is nastier than almost anything I’ve weathered before now.) The thing people never get about these sorts of essays is that, despite all I’ve written before, the article is only tangentially about you. People share things this widely because they wish they’d said it themselves, and as an author, I just feel grateful that I’ve articulated this churning wellspring enough that it resonated.
Basically, if you shared it, thanks. I’m glad it helped. I hope it convinces someone. That’s all the good I can do.
