I have, perhaps, fallen down a bit on newslettering just lately. (It’s been a complicated month. My new job is amazing, and takes up a great deal of mental runtime; I’m organizing moving the other half of our household to New Mexico; I’m finishing the edits on A Desolation Called Peace; and I keep getting on planes. None of this is good for newslettering.)
As an apology and a promise — I have some very fun things to show and share with you all, quite soon, and I’m planning on getting back to an every-week-for-subscribers, biweekly-for-non-subscribers schedule — I think it’s time for an open thread, where I answer any questions you might have.
Since my lack of newslettering is all about logistics, time management, structure, and large life (or story-structure) changes, I think I’ll focus the open thread as follows:
Any question you like on said topics (logistics, time management, story-structure, regular structure, career/life changes, editing);
Oracular advice (specify that you would like oracular advice in response to your question);
Microfictional cities, with a focus on deserts. If you’d like a microfictional city, provide me with a color, an adjective, and a type of weather.
The microfictional cities come from a Twitter game from months and months ago, where I did some tiny-cities-in-200-characters. I loved writing them, and I got a lot of positive feedback and appreciation for them — and they were also a way of approaching a problem I have as a writer, and as a person who works a lot of complicated jobs, all of which I care about and all of which make me feel like I need to work every second of the day. On the one hand I want to have a space to lean into writing tiny jewels which don’t have to have Plot, Capitalized, i.e. to let myself not have to be useful all the time, to undo some of my own bad programming about ‘if it’s beautiful no one needs it’. And on the other hand, I do feel like I need to work all the time…
So the microfiction cities are for you, o friends of the newsletter. And for me. And for joy.
Microfiction city -- Jack Vance would have loved this!
Vermillion; byzantine; sunny
A quick comment and question about _A Memory Called Empire_
Right at the beginning of the novel we are presented with a strained relationship between Mahit and her imago, Yskander. For some reason this reminded me of the initial strained relationship between Speicus, an alien telepathic being and Fred Cassidy, protagonist of _Doorways in the Sand_ by Roger Zelazny. Is this similarity deliberate? Subconscious? Both? Neither? I know that _Doorways…_ was published prior to your birth, but you said your dad brought you up properly. So maybe you have read it?
Congratulation on winning a Hugo. It was richly deserved.
A request for Oracular Advice: I have found my dream job and I'm about to undertake quite a lot of international travel for it. It is both Wonderful! and Stressful! and most of the time I feel in over my head, like I'm drinking from a fire-hose. How does one meet these kind of life-upending changes with grace?
Thank you for the news letter and good luck with everything! I am writing to ask for oracular advice please: my ex partner and I worked in the same field, and so does the woman he is now in love with. How do I productively diffuse my rage?
Also, something about this game makes me think of Angelica Gorodischer’s Kalpa Imperial. Have you read it? It’s a meandering fictional history, and I loved it.
Hello! Could you share what your cadence of writing, editing, submitting short stories was when you were a newer writer compared to now, what changed, what you wished you did differently? Would be especially happy to hear the story behind the publishing of one of your favorites--maybe Hydraulic Emperor or City of Salt?
As much as I love the idea of microfictional cities, I have a work/life balance question for you as you seem slightly ahead of me on a similar career path. I recently defended my phd is a sciency field and I write scifi (so far I've taken the indie route, but I have an idea I think I'll try to take the traditional route). The day I defended, the research organization I work for posted a position for a staff scientist that reads like my resume (it isn't a coincidence). So, is it possible to juggle a demanding career position and write quality fiction? Are you happy with your decision to do both?
The short answer is yes, I am very happy that I chose to do both. For me, my work as a city planner and policy analyst (and my previous work as a Byzantinist) make my fiction richer, deeper, more interesting -- I need to have the new ideas, the stimulation, the sense that I'm embedded in the world, to write the best fiction I can.
And I'm a much better city planner, policy analyst, and Byzantinist because I'm a writer. My storytelling skills, my public speaking skills, honestly my political analysis skills are all the ones I learned and hone through writing.
So yes. It is possible. But oh my god, time management, okay? It is brutal. You have to be prepared to be disciplined, you have to talk with your publishers (if you go traditional) about staggering your due dates so that they work around your non-writing schedule. (I have just told my agent that I cannot do ANY writing in January or February, because I am going to be at the state legislative session pretty much all the time, and we have adjusted some hand-in dates accordingly.)
But honestly: yeah, do it. Do everything. You can always say no later.
The eyes of Fajar are set in its walls. Its gate is a mask, twenty feet high: one enters through the mouth, as if being swallowed. Above that mouth are milk-blind blue-streaked eyes, carved from raw turquoises as big as half-grown children. They do not see. If the eyes of Fajar were to open, the Fajari say, lightning would strike from their gaze; armies would burn, spies would find their skins marked with fractal burns, making them visible and exposed forever. It is best, the Fajari say, that the city-eyes are dreaming and dead.
Maqal sees floods once in a generation; storms once in a year; rain for scant hours when there is rain at all. Dust coats the slate facades of Maqal's municipal buildings; dust coats the columnar basalt that forms Maqal's famous amphitheater. Dust, except today: clouds race over the mountains and into the dry valley that cups Maqal like a palm, and drip moisture, and slowly all the dust-brown transmutes itself to twilight blue: Maqal is a brief night-jewel, and its citizens tilt their heads back and drink the air.
You try getting a hailstone-size chunk of turquoise out of a street where some enterprising person with more wealth than sense had caulked it and its fellows in like cobblestones. That's working construction reclamation in the ruins of Duzh, after the fires came down from the forests on the hills and devoured all the mansions like so much kindling. Rock lasts. Longer than mansions. Longer than almost anything.
The streets of Yvallig were beautiful once; there are photographs in textbooks, still shots in holovision dramas. Some residents claim that they are beautiful still: yes, the air quality alerts are worse every day, yes, there is a fashion for masks and nasal filtration devices; but look, if we are to have smog, at least it is a color that can be dreamed of, slipping pink and easy out of factory doors, down the hills, a wave of roses to drown in on some streetcorner.
Microfiction city -- Jack Vance would have loved this!
Vermillion; byzantine; sunny
A quick comment and question about _A Memory Called Empire_
Right at the beginning of the novel we are presented with a strained relationship between Mahit and her imago, Yskander. For some reason this reminded me of the initial strained relationship between Speicus, an alien telepathic being and Fred Cassidy, protagonist of _Doorways in the Sand_ by Roger Zelazny. Is this similarity deliberate? Subconscious? Both? Neither? I know that _Doorways…_ was published prior to your birth, but you said your dad brought you up properly. So maybe you have read it?
Congratulation on winning a Hugo. It was richly deserved.
Microfiction city. Color: oxblood. Adjective: frenetic. Weather: lake-effected.
A request for Oracular Advice: I have found my dream job and I'm about to undertake quite a lot of international travel for it. It is both Wonderful! and Stressful! and most of the time I feel in over my head, like I'm drinking from a fire-hose. How does one meet these kind of life-upending changes with grace?
Thank you for the news letter and good luck with everything! I am writing to ask for oracular advice please: my ex partner and I worked in the same field, and so does the woman he is now in love with. How do I productively diffuse my rage?
microfiction city please! color: pearl, adjective: spicy, weather: sultry
Microfictional cities... What a lovely idea for writing! Amethyst/Dreamy/Mist
Microfiction city! Color: honey; adjective: mournful; weather: anticipatory
City: ochre, insular, windy
Also, something about this game makes me think of Angelica Gorodischer’s Kalpa Imperial. Have you read it? It’s a meandering fictional history, and I loved it.
Hello! Could you share what your cadence of writing, editing, submitting short stories was when you were a newer writer compared to now, what changed, what you wished you did differently? Would be especially happy to hear the story behind the publishing of one of your favorites--maybe Hydraulic Emperor or City of Salt?
Oh please, microfiction city. Color: bronze, adjective: sensuously, weather: cold
As much as I love the idea of microfictional cities, I have a work/life balance question for you as you seem slightly ahead of me on a similar career path. I recently defended my phd is a sciency field and I write scifi (so far I've taken the indie route, but I have an idea I think I'll try to take the traditional route). The day I defended, the research organization I work for posted a position for a staff scientist that reads like my resume (it isn't a coincidence). So, is it possible to juggle a demanding career position and write quality fiction? Are you happy with your decision to do both?
The short answer is yes, I am very happy that I chose to do both. For me, my work as a city planner and policy analyst (and my previous work as a Byzantinist) make my fiction richer, deeper, more interesting -- I need to have the new ideas, the stimulation, the sense that I'm embedded in the world, to write the best fiction I can.
And I'm a much better city planner, policy analyst, and Byzantinist because I'm a writer. My storytelling skills, my public speaking skills, honestly my political analysis skills are all the ones I learned and hone through writing.
So yes. It is possible. But oh my god, time management, okay? It is brutal. You have to be prepared to be disciplined, you have to talk with your publishers (if you go traditional) about staggering your due dates so that they work around your non-writing schedule. (I have just told my agent that I cannot do ANY writing in January or February, because I am going to be at the state legislative session pretty much all the time, and we have adjusted some hand-in dates accordingly.)
But honestly: yeah, do it. Do everything. You can always say no later.
Microfictional city please!
Turquoise; ancient; thunderstorm
The eyes of Fajar are set in its walls. Its gate is a mask, twenty feet high: one enters through the mouth, as if being swallowed. Above that mouth are milk-blind blue-streaked eyes, carved from raw turquoises as big as half-grown children. They do not see. If the eyes of Fajar were to open, the Fajari say, lightning would strike from their gaze; armies would burn, spies would find their skins marked with fractal burns, making them visible and exposed forever. It is best, the Fajari say, that the city-eyes are dreaming and dead.
The cities sound brilliant. Slate grey, smug, drizzle
Maqal sees floods once in a generation; storms once in a year; rain for scant hours when there is rain at all. Dust coats the slate facades of Maqal's municipal buildings; dust coats the columnar basalt that forms Maqal's famous amphitheater. Dust, except today: clouds race over the mountains and into the dry valley that cups Maqal like a palm, and drip moisture, and slowly all the dust-brown transmutes itself to twilight blue: Maqal is a brief night-jewel, and its citizens tilt their heads back and drink the air.
Microfiction city! Color: teal; adjective: contumacious; weather: hail.
You try getting a hailstone-size chunk of turquoise out of a street where some enterprising person with more wealth than sense had caulked it and its fellows in like cobblestones. That's working construction reclamation in the ruins of Duzh, after the fires came down from the forests on the hills and devoured all the mansions like so much kindling. Rock lasts. Longer than mansions. Longer than almost anything.
Microfictional city. Color: #fcdae9; adjective: congested; weather: impaired.
The streets of Yvallig were beautiful once; there are photographs in textbooks, still shots in holovision dramas. Some residents claim that they are beautiful still: yes, the air quality alerts are worse every day, yes, there is a fashion for masks and nasal filtration devices; but look, if we are to have smog, at least it is a color that can be dreamed of, slipping pink and easy out of factory doors, down the hills, a wave of roses to drown in on some streetcorner.