Stories

I’m going to spend the next month or two wrapping up the Python version of Software Design by Example. Once it’s done, I want to stop writing technical books and start writing fiction again. I don’t expect many people will read them—I’ve only sold one short in the last ten years—but stories have given me so much pleasure over the years that I’d like to give some back. And yes, having collected over a hundred rejections since I sold Bottle of Light in 2008, I’d like to prove to myself that I can actually do this.

I have thirteen pieces in various states, plus ideas for a double dozen more. Five are set in the world of Cherne, which I first described in 1982 as background for a role-playing campaign that was never played:

• Beneath Coriandel is a fantasy novel for grownups told from multiple viewpoints over three decades. It has magic, monsters, romance, espionage, swordplay, a talking horse, a magician who can’t get a nursery rhyme out of her head, and a philosophically inclined pair of boots. It has also collected two dozen rejections despite a couple of major overhauls, so it feels like a bad bet. Rating: 2/10.

• The Bookster’s Apprentice is set in the same world, but aimed at young adults. It has magic and swordplay as well, plus a flying mountain, but it’s meant to be the start of a trilogy exploring a serious theme: who does the land belong to? From indigenous land claims here in Canada to conflicts in the Balkans and the Middle East, it’s a question that has no simple answers. Like Beneath Coriandel, though, it has accumulated a pile of rejections, so revisiting it again would be an uphill struggle. 3/10.

• The Prince and the Cloudherd is the start of another YA trilogy in the same world, but unlike BA I actually have drafts of all three books. I’ve rewritten this one completely several times, so it’s all a muddle in my head and would feel like an uphill struggle. 2/10.

• Eimen in Medef started with a simple idea: what if most people in your village were empaths who could sense the emotions of others, but you couldn’t? It’s a metaphor for being deaf or blind, but it’s also about growing up as a socially awkward outsider. I wrote the start and end of this before setting it aside; it might be a good one to pick up again. 5/10.

• I wrote the first 30,000 words of The Voyage of the Unshadowed Land in a month and then ran out of steam. Written in the style of a popular history (complete with spurious footnotes) it tells the story of the first un-magical circumnavigation of Cherne. I got lost in my own details, but am also completely unsatisfied with the villains’ back story. If I could get past both of those, I think this one would be fun. 5/10.

The second batch of unfinished works are all aimed at young readers:

• Madica is a frenetic bit of nonsense I wrote for my daughter one Christmas. Fairies living in Antarctica, miniature robot dinosaurs, ninja cats, flying saucers: it doesn’t make a lot of sense, and has accumulated a pile of rejections, but I think it’s fun to read. 5/10.

• Still was the third short story I ever sold, and was good enough to be included in On Spec magazine’s twenty-fifth anniversary “best of” collection. I turned it into a YA novel, and I’m prouder of it than of anything else I’ve ever written. Publishers haven’t liked it, though—abuse and life on the street are difficult subjects, so while I’ll probably send it out again in 2023, I don’t think it’s worth another rewrite. 3/10.

• Maddy Roo (completed) and its sequel In Heck are the first two-thirds of a trilogy mixing a furry version of Avatar: The Last Airbender with some droids from Star Wars. Maddy Roo is done and only has one rejection so far; I’ve written 3,000 words of a planned 30,000 for In Heck, and they’re about the right level for my youngest niece and nephew, so I think they’re promising. 7/10.

• I originally planned to have Iffy ready for my daughter’s twelfth birthday; she’s turning sixteen soon, so that ship has sailed, but I think I could salvage at least 35-40,000 words of what I have, which means it’s about one-third done. The title character is the sole survivor of a family of clones working on a fishing boat in Antarctica two hundred years from now. Much of the world is in ruins, and many of the people who are left seem bent on making it worse. Iffy’s machine dreams might hold an answer; can she stay alive long enough to find out? 5/10.

• All the Other Santas started as a writing project for my daughter’s grade 5 class. Robo-Santa, Zombie Claus, Santasaurus Rex, and Clausbeard the Pirate recruit a young elf to save Christmas from the evil Suits, but the elf isn’t who he pretends to be. It’s as subtle as a brick, and I’m stuck 7,000 words in, but if I can figure out what happens next, I think it would be a lot of fun. 7/10.

Finally, I have two short stories I’d like to revise and one I’d like to finish. Arecibo Mon Amour is about an immortal astronomer slowly figuring out that some things are more important than the stars; Tuppence a Bag is about a moment in Mary Poppins when three women cross paths, and Leaderboard imagines a world where being rich no longer gives you the immunity from consequence that it does today. Arecibo has half a dozen rejections; Tuppence (which I wrote after my mum died) has three, and Leaderboard is on hold until I can figure out a better twist: I have a world, but not a story. I haven’t rated any of these because I’d like to focus on finishing (and selling) something longer in 2023, but I’ll probably revise Tuppence one more time and send it out.

The first challenge with these projects is finishing what I start—as you can tell from the notes above, I often run out of steam. One reason is that it’s hard to keep going when I feel the odds are against me. I’ve sold every technical book I’ve ever written except one, but my track record with fiction is two for twelve. And yes, two is better than none and you can’t win if you don’t play, but neither of those facts is enough to get me through a slump.

The other challenge is that I worry about how solitary my hobbies are. My dad was very isolated during his last few years, and I don’t want that to happen to me. I used to find refuge in playing music with other people, but I had to give that up because of tendonitis; I’ve tried writing groups, but discussing my fiction with strangers feels uncomfortably pretentious (which is weird given that I’m perfectly fine doing the same thing with my technical writing).

So will I have a story to give my niece and nephew next Christmas? History suggests not, but I’ll be disappointed in myself if I give up again. And if I can write a 1300-word blog post before 7:00 am, then surely Iffy can get to the observatory or Finner can stop the Suits or Noxy (short for Noxious Aftertaste) can save her village. I’ll keep you posted…