Rose-Owls and Pumpkin Girls

I watch a great many horror and monster movies, and have since I was a very small child. This explains a lot. This has also taught me a great many things about what not to have characters do, 'cause it's dumb. I will share some of those things now.

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10. Do not clone predatory dinosaurs and expect things to go well right out of the gate. Seriously, here. In the movie Raptor, they're trying to clone "dinosaurs with a brain*" to do heavy labor and generally become grunt workers for mankind. Okay, if you're a moron, I guess that's a plan. So they start with...velociraptors. And Tyrannosaurus Rex. Because, y'know, that ten-ton killing machine is totally going to use sentience to go "sure, tiny meat-snack man, I'll work my tail off for you!" If you're going to clone dinosaurs, start with a plant-eater.

(*Meaning "a human level of intelligence and reasoning." Because that's a good idea.)

( 9. While we're on the subject, do not make anything that already likes the taste of people super-intelligent... )

Like, seriously. How else do you explain Blackout being the first of my books to make the print New York Times list (in position #15 on the Mass Market Paperbacks sub-list) and now making NPR's list of the best science fiction and fantasy of the summer?

In other news, HOLY CORN MAZES, YOU GUYS, BLACKOUT IS ON THE NPR LIST OF THE BEST SCI-FI OF THE SUMMER!!!!!!!

Ahem.

I am very, very excited, as is only natural when INCREDIBLY AWESOME THINGS of INCREDIBLE AWESOMENESS decide to happen. This is so amazing. I am so amazed. Also, there have been confirmed sightings of the Newsflesh trilogy at WalMart, and no matter what you think of WalMart, that's a lot of eyes potentially falling on (and maybe even buying) my books. Dear world: please buy my books. I have a lot of cats to feed.

NPR! NYT! OMG!

Squee.

First off: my beloved yuki_onna has written a heartbreaking essay about sexism in geek and science fiction/fantasy culture. You should read it, because it is relevant. Also because it is heartbreaking and true. Having been one of those female fantasy authors threatened with sexual violence because I dared to own cats who came from a breeder, and not a shelter, I can testify that things get really ugly, really fast, on Captain Internet.

And so...

Last weekend at Emerald City, I saw a sign that infuriated me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It was a big banner on the front of a self-published* author's booth, reading, "Finally, a book for BOYS that the GIRLS will enjoy reading, too!"

Oh. You mean unlike 90% of the well-regarded "classic" science fiction, fantasy, and young adult genre novels out there? And 98% of the horror? And 99% of the military science fiction? And, let's face it, the majority of anything that's not a romance, a story about princesses, or a horse book? As a girl who grew up reading Bradbury, King, Wyndham, Anthony, Asprin, Piper, Foster, Knight, Shakespeare, Poe, De Lint, Baum, superhero comics, and horror comics, I cry thee foul.

And no, this is not a case of me carefully editing out the female authors of my childhood. After wracking my brain, the only ones I could come up with who even managed to compete for my affections—who were writing stories with girls, rather than girl stories, and were thus worth reading in my twelve-year-old estimation—were McCaffrey, Kagan, Tiptree (who wrote as a man), Pini (whose writing still gets credited to her husband by about half the people I talk to), Jones, Duane, and McKinley.

I discovered more female authors as I got older. Emma Bull. Pamela Dean. Jody Lynn Nye. Women who were writing stories with girls, not girl stories; women who were building the foundations of a new genre, filled with interesting, clever, intuitive characters who yes, sometimes happened to have the same plumbing I did. And sometimes they didn't, and that was okay, too. But—and this is where we loop back to the beginning—it didn't matter. If I wanted to read, I needed to read books about boys. Books that were probably intended by their authors as being for boys. If I wanted to enjoy reading, I needed to enjoy books for boys.

If this has changed at all, that change has happened in the last eight to ten years, beginning with the publication of Twilight. People were writing books for girls before that, but there's always a trigger event, and Bella Swan making millions of dollars for her author (and publisher) was the trigger for a veritable flood of "girl books" hitting the shelves. These were books with female leads, with women on the covers, with a stronger romance subplot than had necessarily been required in YA before people figured out that hey, girls read, and maybe some of them will read more if you offer them female characters to read about.

Since then, the number of "girl books" has exploded, and while some of them are girl stories, some of them are also stories with girls. Some of these books are romances. Some of them are not. Some of them are medical thrillers, adventures, war stories, epic fantasies, distopian futures, cyberpunk, steampunk, mythpunk, modern day, anything you can think of. Because they are stories. And yet somehow, the fact that they have girls on the cover makes them not worth reading. The fact that the main characters have to squat when they pee makes them untenable to half the population. The fact that their authors grew up being told that real science fiction, fantasy, horror, and adventure starred men doing manly things in a manly way, and yet grew up to write books about women doing the same things, does not prove that literature can be a gender neutral experience where story matters more than anything else; it proves that we need more books for BOYS that GIRLS will enjoy, too. It means that the girls keep on coming second, that we keep being the deviation, and not the norm.

I do dislike the fact that right now, sexy girls pout at me from the covers of almost every book in the YA section, because I know that culturally, we discourage boys from reading those books, and damn, they are missing out. But I also dislike the fact that I'm expected to be totally a-okay with teenage girls reading books covered in muscular men with giant guns, while sneering at teenage boys reading books with thoughtful-looking women on the covers. We say "don't judge a book by its cover" like it's a Commandment, and then we turn around and tell boys not to read books with girls on them, or books with pink on them, or anything that doesn't look macho enough.

If I could read Little Fuzzy, you can read Partials. If I could read Myth Adventures, you can read The Chemical Garden. There will always be some stories that appeal to us more than others, but when we start saying "this book is for BOYS but don't worry, GIRLS can read it, too" vs. "icky GIRL BOOK is ICKY and NOT FOR BOYS," we create a division in our literature that doesn't need to be there, and frankly, upsets me.

Let's all just read the books we want to read, regardless of covers or the gender of the main characters, okay? Because otherwise, we're missing out on a lot of really great stories. And that would be a shame.

(*This is relevant only because it implies no editorial oversight. If I were to try using a slogan like this, my editors, and my agent, would politely make me stop.)

Hey, look! I'm in an anthology! River, from Dark Quest Books, edited by Alma Alexander. It's a book of stories about, well. A river. My story, "Lady of the Waters," is about a ship called The Jackdaw, her centaur captain (no, really), her faintly annoyed crew, and some giant catfish. I quite like it.

Oh, and hey, the audio books of all the Toby Daye adventures are still available at Audible.com, including Late Eclipses and One Salt Sea, which periodically appear as customer favorites. I find this awesome, and you should totally check it out if you haven't already listed to the fabulous audio narration. Or even if you have. I'm not picky.

SCIENCE CHEERLEADERS. It's like a beautiful dream. With pom-poms. There was no earthly way not to share.

...and because that last link may have restored your faith in humanity, here are some insanely depressing "rules for girls" collected from Twitter. The next time someone asks you why I keep threatening to ignite the biosphere, this is why. We can't have nice things until we've burned out all the stupid.

The title of this article right here is "How Amazon Kills Books and Makes Us Stupid." Again, destroying faith in humanity through the aid of my link file. You're welcome.

So it's a mixed bag today, but it includes SCIENCE CHEERLEADERS and CENTAUR SHIP CAPTAINS, so I'm going to call it overall a positive. Your mileage may vary.

I asked Mom if we could go by the mall tonight after I got off work. "Sure," she said. "What for?" I told her there was a store I'd heard about called "Justice," and that they might have Monster High dolls. Mom, who is endlessly tolerant in some ways, thought this was a fine idea, and away we went.

Now, for the last month or so, we've been haunting the usual stores looking for the new beach assortment, the ghoulishly-named "Skull Shores." There are five dolls in the assortment, four of which have been released (the fifth, Draculaura, will be joining the set in the next wave of releases. This keeps you coming back to the shelves, even when you think you're done). We hadn't been able to find any of them.

We reached the mall, parked, and made our way to the Justice...where I immediately found all four currently available Skull Shores dolls, AND several Toralei dolls (the werecat I recently had wonderful people hunt for in Australia). I gleefully grabbed one of each of the Skull Shores dolls and, after a moment's consideration, snagged a Toralei as well. I wanted to compare her paint to the Australian version of the same doll.

Now, Mom and I go to Toys R Us a lot. I mean a lot. So we've come to know the people who work there pretty well, and one of them, M., also buys Monster High, for his little girl. Her favorite is Abbey Bominable, who is damn hard to find, and the reason that her father has also been awaiting Skull Shores anxiously. After a little more consideration, we grabbed a second Abbey. I paid for my toys (40% off the whole store!), and we decamped for the Toys R Us.

We took Abbey and Toralei inside, Abbey for M., Toralei to show the manager, since he's had people asking for her. M. was on lunch, and the manager said we might be able to find him outside. We went looking. Upon finding him, I thrust Abbey at him, going "Look!" He was very excited, since, well. Hell hath no nagging like a little girl in want of a specific toy. I explained that I hadn't found her inside, but we'd grabbed a second in case he needed her. He stared, and said (without handing back the doll—I think I would've lost fingers) that he had no cash on him. I affirmed that I knew where he worked.

Happiest. Dad. EVER.

I showed him the Toralei, so he'd know what she looked like. He asked, excited, whether they had another of her, too...so I handed him the Toralei. Dude, I have mine, and I am happy to play toy mule for actual small children. Tomorrow, I shall return to Toys R Us to get reimbursed for toys, and tonight, when he returns home, M. shall be a hero.

Karma is important. Pass it along.

Hello, everybody, and welcome to my journal. I'm pretty sure you know who I am, my name being in the URL and all, but just in case, I'm Seanan McGuire (also known as Mira Grant), and you're probably not on Candid Camera. This post exists to answer a few of the questions I get asked on a semi-hemi-demi-regular basis. It may look familiar; that's because it gets updated and re-posted roughly every two months, to let folks who've just wandered in know how things work around here. Also, sometimes I change the questions. Because I can.

If you've read this before, feel free to skip, although there may be interesting new things to discover and know beyond the cut.

Anyway, here you go:

( This way lies a lot of information you may or may not need about the person whose LJ you may or may not be reading right at this moment. Also, I may or may not be the King of Rain, which may or may not explain why it's drizzling right now. Essentially, this is Schrodinger's cut-tag. )

Happy Halloween, everybody, and Happy New Year's Eve to those of you who share my particular calendar. May the Great Pumpkin smile upon you tonight, bringing you candles which burn brightly, candy that never goes stale, corn mazes as complicated as the twisting choices of the heart, and costumes that are inventive, interesting, and not solely founded on the idea that "slutty" and "spooky" are one and the same.

(Lo, if you choose to be Sexy Red Riding Hood or Smoking Hot Super Grover on this night, I salute you, because you're wearing a costume, and I don't question how other people want to celebrate this night of nights. But if you're doing it because you don't think you have a choice, or because you can't think of anything else, call upon the Great Pumpkin. He's the Squash. He'll hook you up.)

I spent last night with my mother and sister at the Pirates of Emerson Haunted House Park, where we demonstrated that sometimes money can buy happiness, since it was money that got us through the gates, and money that allowed us to spring for Speed Passes, thus bypassing the huge "night before Halloween, let's party at the haunted houses" lines. I also demonstrated my eerie spatial memory by tearing through the corn maze in less than ten minutes, trailed by a cluster of lost-looking thrill-seekers who had been wandering the maze for over an hour before I came through Walking With Purpose. Had I been one of the Children of the Corn trolling for victims, He Who Walks Behind the Rows would have eaten very, very well.

Today, my back is out, and so I'm wearing my Starfleet bathrobe (in Sciences blue) over slouchy jeans and an athletic shirt, representing the few, the proud, the bored Starfleet Academy graduate students. Give me replicator coffee or give me death.

Enjoy this holiday. The walls of the world are thin today, and whether your personal year turns tomorrow or two months from tomorrow, thank you for spending this year here, with me.

Trick or treat.

I am still sick, which means that my attendance at this weekend's OVFF may be in question. I'm still planning as if I'll be better in time, and so I have a very important question to put to the floor:

Which of my two otherwise identical dresses should I pack for the Pegasus Banquet? The orange, or the green?

[Poll #1787596]

Hey. Remember when I wrote a novella leading up to the release of Deadline, and we called it "Countdown," and everybody had a good time watching the end of the world? Yeah, that was fun. In fact, that was so fun that Orbit wound up purchasing the novella for the Orbit Short Fiction Program, which gave me the luxury of revising and expanding on the original text (since I couldn't really afford the time when I wasn't getting paid for it). Good times.

Well. The times are getting better. Subterranean Press, the publishers of amazing limited-edition, illustrated works of speculative fiction, have acquired the rights to "Countdown," and will be publishing a special hardcover edition of the novella. These books will be limited to a signed and numbered print run of 1,000, and will include both "Countdown" and "Apocalypse Scenario #683: The Box" (also previously published by the Orbit Short Fiction Program).

I am so excited. I don't know yet exactly when the books will be available, although believe me, I'll be announcing it as soon as I have any information. They should sell for about $35 USD, and are likely to sell out, if past books from this publisher are anything to measure by. Subterranean does small, beautiful, collector's-quality books, and having an edition from them is something I have dreamed of for years.

Life is good.

Some of you may remember that I did a series of blog posts "counting down" to the release of Deadline, chronicling the days leading up to the Rising of 2014. Some of you may remember asking me whether there would ever be a collected edition. And, well. Some of you may remember getting my standard "I can't say anything right now" reply of "LOOK! A BUNNY!"

Well, look. A bunny. Or more specifically, look, Countdown: A Newsflesh Novella now available for your e-reading pleasure! Countdown retails for $2.99, and is an awesome opportunity to have more Kellis-Amberlee goodness for your very own.

Click here to go to the official Orbit Short Fiction page for Countdown.
Click here to go to Amazon, and the Kindle store.
Click here to go to Barnes and Noble, and the Nook store.
Click here to go to the iBook store.

Now, some people will doubtless ask why they should pay for this when they can (and possibly have) read it for free on my blog. They may not ask me directly, 'cause we're normally more civil than that around here, but I'm going to answer anyway. There are four really good reasons.

1. This is a professionally formatted file, with all thirty days in the same place. No clicking, scrolling, or getting lost in my occasionally quixotic tag system. Basically, it's three dollars for total convenience.

2. I said a few times while writing the original series of posts that errors would creep in because writing live left me no time to go back and revise. Well, the luxury of Countdown becoming something I was paid for allowed me to go back, edit, adjust, and correct a lot of things, some little, some big. It also got a pass through the Machete Squad, making it a much higher-quality work.

3. The novella I want to do next year for Blackout is much larger and more ambitious, and it's really going to need those editorial revisions to be as good as I want it to be. The sales of Countdown will encourage Orbit to buy The Rising 2014: The Last Stand and Final Fall of the California Browncoats.

4. My cats like to eat. My cats like to eat a lot. My cats will, eventually, if unfed, eat me. If the cats eat me, I stop writing. If I stop writing, everyone will be sad. Except for me, as I will have been eaten. Buying Countdown helps me shove gooshy food into the fluffy monsters, and allows me to remain uneaten.

Countdown!

(If you have links to other ebook stores, please kick them over, and I'll add them.)