Tomorrow at 10 AM, I’ll be participating in this panel discussion at ConFusion:
Anthologies as Advocacy
All fiction is in some way political and science fiction and fantasy have a healthy tradition of anthologies that seek to open up space for new voices and new conversations. To what extent do an anthology’s political goals interact with other editorial considerations? And how are such books received and reviewed by the field — both politically, and aesthetically?
Michael J. DeLuca, Yanni Kuznia, Mari Brighe, Kelley Armstrong (M), Michael Damian Thomas
Doubtless I will mention this:
And maybe this:
And lots of other things, for which I have a bunch of notes. Come on by, it’ll be great.
Then, later, 8 PM that very night, I will be doing this:
Beer Lovers Meet Up
Bring a bottle of your favorite or unusual brew to share with fellow beer lovers in this casual meetup in the consuite.
Joel Zakem, Michael J. DeLuca, Scott H. Andrews, Jim Mann
And boy will there ever be unusual and favorite brew. I just packed the cooler; it contains such magics as Guatemalan chocolate smoked hot pepper stout, orange blossom cyser, two different vintages of spruce beer, two different vintages of mead, a wormwood old ale. And those are just the libations I made myself. Please come help us sample; I doubt we can drink it all ourselves.
Today drops the inaugural issue of Orthogonal SF: The War at Home, which features my story of technopagan populist revolution, “#Anon and the Antlers”. Yes, that’s a hashtag in the title. Yes, I did take leave of my senses a little. Not a little. That hashtag is the tip of the iceberg.
There’s not much I like more than a cautionary tale. This one starts with mad ambition, as I suppose cautionary tales tend to do.
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His eyes are quite green, as if from too much looking at the wood.
––Angela Carter, “The Erl-King”
On a balmy, wet winter solstice necessitating raingear and waterproof clodhopping boots, Maize God prepares himself for a journey into the wilderness seeking his allies, the forest spirits.
Fox meets him at the standing stone; in memory of the ancestors, she offers wintergreen. Maize God has brought citrus.
They seek out Owl in the crooked tree by the marsh. “And what exactly do you expect this to accomplish?” she asks.
“We know it’s the humans who are really the problem. Nothing we do here is going to make a lick of difference until they quit mucking everything up. But Owl, we must still come together and mark the time like we always do.”
“Change is in the air, in the soil and the water, but isn’t it always? So let’s feast tonight and sing! How else can we be ready for the dawn when it comes?”
At the sacred place under the ring of pines, Maize God prepares the offering fire. The three sit in contemplation, awaiting the appointed hour.
Freetown State Forest in Bristol County, MA: apparently it is full of weirdness. It’s in the middle of the Bridgewater Triangle, the Hockamock Swamp abuts it, the Dighton Rock museum is just across I95 on the Taunton River estuary. I’m not especially one for touring the apocryphal weirdness; there’s just so much actual, true weirdness to be had. But with exactly one afternoon available to me amid Thanksgiving to drag a few semi-unwilling members of my family out to some wilderness within range of SW Boston suburbs to celebrate not supporting the capitalist establishment on Black Friday, the Fortean forest was it.
Profile Rock, Assonet, MA. I’m pretty sure that 1902 postcard on the Wikipedia page is completely wrong.
Delightful incidental art on Joshua’s Mountain.
Both of these appear on the same forked beech.
From Profile Rock, looking towards Dighton.
Not pictured: flooded, 350 year old foundations along Payne Rd; ugly, locked concrete building in the shape of a pair of octogonal spectacles which now encloses Dighton Rock; vast fields of solar farms; marina; deer; donkey; Wampanoag ghosts, bigfoot, pterodactyls.