Contract Clauses that can Save Your Books and Money

by Lyn McConchie

I started writing professionally in 1990 and I was fortunate to have several old friends who were already writers. From them I gleaned information, and a number of stories about things they'd learned from painful experience. The above title deals with what I call “the remainder clauses.”

In my own country many writers still deal with publishers personally. And since, increasingly, small presses are a good market and agents often won't bother with selling to them or dealing with small press contracts, knowing this set of clauses can be very useful if you are doing so. Make sure they are included in any contract and that they also apply to any subsequent purchaser of your publisher too.

Your book can not be remaindered for a minimum of one year after date of publication.

Before your book can be remaindered, the publisher must contact you at least three months prior, and offer you all (or as many as you want) of the unsold copies of your book – at rock bottom remainder price, and via cheapest tracked form of freight.

If the publisher intends to dump copies, they must instead be offered to you free, and sent via cheapest form of tracked freight.

Why? On “1” because some publishers use remaindering as a tax device. Or another publisher may have taken over your publisher and decided that clearing the deck is a good start. It may be – for them. It isn't so good for you when you find out – months down the track – that three-quarters of your first edition was remaindered and that a) you get no royalties from those copies, and b) that the copies you wanted to buy under author's right are no longer available.

On “2,” that's right, with that clause you will know – well in advance, you can find out how many copies are involved and have time to get the cash together to buy them and pay freight.

And on “3,” some larger publishers working in print and finding that they have only 20-200 copies of your book left in their warehouse, and not planning to reprint, will strip and dump them. It costs them nothing extra to send those to you instead and you get copies of your
book to sell, gift, donate, or use as samples for other publishers.

I had those clauses in my first book's contract - a 2,000 copy edition. The book sold retail for $20. The imprint was taken over and 443 copies remaindered to me. I made about $3,000 in initial royalties. I sold the remaindered copies I purchased ($2 each) for an average of $14 including cost. During the next six years I made $5,000 profit on those copies before selling the rights to another small press – which continues to sell it (and five sequels with a sixth out next year) to this day. Use these clauses, it's worth it.

Lyn McConchie, author of Harpsong and Dreamsmoke, appears in the Penumbra August issue. To learn more about Lyn, please visit her website.

Coming to You Live

by Gary K. Wolf

INT. DAILY SHOW SET - RETURN FROM COMMERCIAL BREAK

JON STEWART
Welcome back to The Daily Show. Our guest tonight has been called a gull, a dirty dog, a booby, a goose, a cootie, an old goat, a cat's paw, a horse's ass, a gibbering gibbon. He's actually a very funny bunny. Let's hear it for Roger Rabbit!

SFX: Audience applause.

Roger comes out. Trips, falls over his own ear. Gets up, grins sheepishly. Bends his ear back into shape. Sits down in guest chair across from Jon.

ROGER RABBIT
Hi, Jon. P-p-p-pleased to be here!

JON STEWART
Glad to have you. Tell me, Roger, what's the hardest thing about being a Toon?

ROGER RABBIT
Avoiding erasers. No, fading in sunlight. No, being bonked on the head by anvils and sledge hammers, and grand pianos. No, keeping a straight face at operas. No, falling in love and having your heart thump so hard you look like your chest is sprouting a valentine.
(Contemplates, scratches head with ear.)
Shucks, none of that's so bad.

JON STEWART
We've both been in the movies. In fact, some call my films as cartoonish as yours. Describe your worst experience in Hollywood.

ROGER RABBIT
That's easy. The time the Friars invited me to a celebrity roast. Their menu included rabbit stew, hasenpfeffer, rabbit dip, Welsh rabbit, rabbit McMuffin, and country fried rabbit, all you can eat. They seated me on the head table.

JON STEWART
You seem like such a down-to-Earth rabbit. Has stardom changed your life?

ROGER RABBIT
A little bit. I get to play baseball with the Simply Splendiferous Stellar Somebunnies. The March Hare, the White Rabbit, Peter Cottontail, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Thumper, Peter Rabbit, Bugs Bunny, Br'er Rabbit, the Playboy Rabbit, the Easter Bunny, and me. I'm third base. Thumper's the ball. That skinny scamp Bugs, he's the bat. Big old Peter Cottontail's the right field wall.

JON STEWART
You've been called a wild hare. Any truth to the persistent rumor that you're a wolf in sheep's clothing?

ROGER RABBIT
Baaa. How do those stories get started? Just because I like to go out in my backyard and howl at the moon wearing nothing but fuzzy wool ear muffs, and Jessica's with me dressed as Little Bo Peep. I mean, who doesn't from time to time?

JON STEWART
Here's something that's always bothered me. Bugs Bunny performs nude. Why do you wear pants?

ROGER RABBIT
They hold my suspenders down.

JON STEWART
You're the master of wacky, bizarre, almost surrealistic comedy. I gotta ask you. Where do you get your ideas?

ROGER RABBIT
Well, Jon, it's real easy. Just use your imagination!

JON STEWART
Roger Rabbit. Starring this July in a short story in the hot science fiction magazine Penumbra.
(show magazine cover)
Pick up a copy at your local download.
(pause)
Roger, thanks for coming.

ROGER RABBIT
It's been my p-p-p-p-p... It's been swell.

SFX: Thunderous audience applause.

FADE TO BLACK.

THE END

Gary K. Wolf’s novel Who Censored Roger Rabbit? became a visual
reality in Disney/Spielberg’s $950 million blockbuster film Who Framed
Roger Rabbit. The film won four Academy Awards and the Hugo Award.

Two of Wolf’s science fiction novels, The Resurrectionist and
Killerbowl, are currently in development as major motion pictures.

Learn more about Gary Wolf on his website and on Space Vulture.

Speculative Fiction: The Genre of "What if...?"

by SS Hampton Sr.

“Speculative fiction is an umbrella term encompassing the more fantastical fiction genres, specifically science fiction, fantasy, horror, supernatural fiction, superhero fiction, utopian and dystopian fiction, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction, and alternate history in literature as well as related static, motion, and virtual arts.” (Speculative Fiction, Wikipedia)

Now that that’s out of the way, everything begins with “What if…?” What if something strange and mysterious found its way into our world? How? Where?

I remembered an article I saw on the Internet about one of the earliest trees—archaeopteris, from the Devonian Era. And, in the 1990s a hiker in Australia discovered a grove of trees whose physical appearance matched prehistoric tree fossils some 200 million years old. The newly discovered trees, proven to be descended from the prehistoric trees, were named Wollemi Pines.

Sooo… Where is this archaeopteris discovered? Some place remote, out of the way. I thought of Minnesota, overrun with lakes and forests, which has some of the oldest rocks in the world. On a map, I saw a mountain range called Mesabi, and thought the name sounded delightfully strange and mysterious. Add to that, the area is also known as the Iron Range. Thus, the Mesabi Iron Range was born. Giving the trees an ordinary nickname, such as Yarmouth Fern, was just yanked out of the air.

Aaand… I’ve lived in Colorado, and always wanted to grow a few Christmas trees.

The character of a crusty old Clint Eastwood-type sitting on the back porch of his home in the Colorado Rockies with an AK-47 across his lap was born. He watches the sun go down, and the valley that contains a branch of his Christmas tree farm is filling with shadows and mist. And he’s staring at a grove of Yarmouth Ferns in the marshy terrain across from his home.

But, I remember reading about fairy trees (ash and oak trees, and hawthorn bushes). Each one reputedly has magical properties, but when all three are found together…

Finally, I have the mysterious ferns, the location, the character, and the idea that where something “prehistoric” and alive, is growing, something else might happen. Maybe something like a doorway opening, especially during a full moon (I’ve always wanted to believe that there’s something magical and mysterious about the full moon).

I open with the sun going down and the old guy sitting on his porch having a beer. He knows there’s something in the Yarmouth grove across from his home. He hears stealthy movements.

Then, flash back to his first hearing of the Yarmouth Ferns, ordering a dozen, and planting them. Add to it the passage of time and (hopefully), a rising tension of something in the valley. His hired help senses something too, and they blame the ferns. The workers report “shadows,” and sometimes see something out of the corner of their eyes. The old guy discovers that the ferns have spread through releasing spores, and small, wild groves have taken root throughout the valley. Add that the weather doesn’t feel right—the clouds are grayer, darker, and the atmosphere is oppressive. Sometimes at night he wakes with a sensation that something is lurking outside his bedroom window. Finally, the workers quit and he’s left alone.

Back to the present. The full moon rises, an ocean of moonlit mist creeps into the valley, and something is moves in the grove. The story ends with gunfire and the old guy screaming in terror.

For me, there have to be enough facts to blend with fiction to create something believable. Add a believable character, and build the suspense—build the suspense—relying on what makes most people nervous, or even fearful—a gut feeling, something in the air, and shadows. Perhaps the most frightening thing of all is the feeling of being in danger, yet you can’t see what’s closing in on you.

My approach isn’t the only way—there are as many successful ways to write speculative fiction as there are writers. As long as you have a goal and map your route to that goal, the details will fill themselves in.

Good luck, and I hope I didn’t bore you too much!

SS Hampton, Sr. is a published photographer and photojournalist, an aspiring painter, and is studying for a degree in anthropology. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from MUSA Publishing, (The Lapis Lazuli Throne), Melange Books (Intimate Journeys; R.U.S.H.; Christmas Collectibles 2010; and Hearts of Tomorrow), Ravenous Romance (Back Door Lover), and Dark Opus Press (In Poe’s Shadow), and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, Ruthie’s Club, Lucrezia Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others. In 2012 he has another story forthcoming in an anthology from Edge SF & Fantasy (Danse Macabre), as well as a stand-alone story releasing from MuseItUp Publishing.

GET THE MOST OUT OF BETA READER FEEDBACK

By Alex Shvartsman

Every writer has an opinion about critiques. Some avoid them altogether; they trust in their ability to self-edit and prefer a submissions editor to be the first person who sees their work. I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum. I find the reactions from beta readers to be insightful, helpful, and almost addicting.

Price of Allegiance, my space opera tale in Penumbra’s July issue, benefited from several rounds of critiques. I rewrote it, changing elements of the story and fixing problems identified by my readers. Over the course of receiving feedback on this and other stories, I learned that getting the best mileage out of critiques is an important skill in itself.

A crucial thing to keep in mind when reviewing a critique is that fiction is subjective. If you let ten people read your story, you will likely end up with eleven different opinions on how to make it better. Don’t default to making changes because a particular reader was unhappy with some aspect of your story. Listen to what they have to say, but weigh it against others’ opinions and especially against your own. Striking a balance between willingness to accept advice from others and knowing when to trust your gut is a key element to getting the most from your beta readers.
In my case the most commonly ignored beta reader comments are the staples. Often well-intentioned readers will default to familiar warnings: Cut the adverbs! Avoid exposition! Only ever use “said” in dialog tags!

No great story has been told entirely without adverbs or exposition. Those elements are like salt: you need a little to cook the dish, but too much will ruin it. If you’ve advanced beyond the beginner stage as a writer then you already know this, and eliminating the few adverbs you chose to use isn’t overly helpful.

The most useful comments, on the other hand, are reactions to the plot and structure of the story. Does it work for the reader emotionally? Are the characters well fleshed out and sympathetic, or wooden and distant? Is the dialog lively and realistic?

As an author, you know more about the scene you’re writing than you will put down in words. It’s easy to fall into the trap of assuming that the reader knows what you do, but often that’s not the case. Beta readers can alert you about the confusing spots and they can often be fixed by adding a sentence or two.

It’s especially important to look for patterns. You may love a certain scene or paragraph, but if reader after reader stumble over the same part of the story, something may be wrong.

A reader sees your story with a fresh eye. Often they can identify simple errors you’ve missed, even after going over the manuscript numerous times. It can be something as important as a contradiction (character has blond hair in one scene, red hair in another), an unintentional POV shift, or merely a missing comma. Let them help you make the manuscript as clean and presentable as possible, before you send it off to an editor.

Finally, and I can’t stress this enough, be generous in returning the favor. If someone has been kind enough to read and comment on your early story draft, be sure to offer them the same courtesy in return.

Alex Shvartsman is a writer and game designer whose fiction appeared in Nature Magazine, Daily Science Fiction, Buzzy Magazine and many others. He's currently editing Unidentified Funny Objects -- an anthology of humor science fiction and fantasy.

Learn more about Alex Shvartsman on his blog and on Twitter.

Those Onerous Overdone Outlines

By Larry Hodges

I used to outline in great detail. I'd do a detailed listing of each scene, with a paragraph or two describing what happens. I'd also have lengthy notes on the side, including character bios, descriptions, and notes on just about everything else. I'd also have pages of dialogue I planned to use - I'm always jotting down interesting snippets of dialogue that pop into my head.

When I did my first novel, I outlined in great detail. My notes totaled 12,000 words. After writing 23,000 words of the novel, everything came to a crashing halt. The novel just wasn't working, and I was bored out of my cranium writing it. The problem was I'd painted myself into such a detailed outline and plot that there was nothing really creative to do. I was just connecting dots, and the result showed.

I went back to it a year later, and threw out the detailed outline and most of what I'd written. This time I put together a very loose outline, with a few sentences outlining each chapter instead of the detailed outline of each scene I'd had before. The only detailed thing I worked out was the ending. Excluding research notes I'd already done (much of which I would still use), the outline was about two pages. I also had the many pages of dialogue I'd put together.

As I wrote the novel, the creative juices flowed. I'd start each chapter by reading the few sentences that outlined what was supposed to happen, then make the rest up as I went along. I'd often leave the outline which wasn't a problem as long as I continued to move in the general direction of the planned ending. I learned I could do whatever I wanted.

The novel still involved a lot of research, but I did most of that when it was needed, either looking it up on the spot, or making a note and researching it later.

As I wrote, the characters became more developed, and I created character bios as this happened. Later, I went back and fleshed out the characters, especially in the early chapters before I had started this practice.

I regularly browsed the dialogue pages I'd written, cannibalizing them whenever pieces fit, and sometimes even writing scenes in such a way that I could use a great piece of dialogue I'd written. This seems to be the one part I like to do in advance. Not only is it fun--I often act out the dialogue when no one's around--but I think it's helped turn dialogue into a strength of my writing. A key thing is to make sure the dialogue fits the scene--if you force it, the reader will know.

Using this new approach, productivity, creativity, and (hopefully) quality shot up.

I wrote a second novel that went much easier. I again used only the loose outline, plus many snippets of dialogue I wrote as I thought about the novel. After several rewrites, both novels are now making the rounds.

For short stories, I also have cut out the detailed outlines in favor of looser ones, along with bits of dialogue written in advance. I still like to work out the ending before my work is complete--a tip I learned from Isaac Asimov--but even that changes if I come up with a better ending. For short stories, I put together at most a half page of bullet points, a few side notes, and start writing. My new outlining strategy seems to have worked as I've sold over 60 short stories and have agents expressing interest in the novels.

Larry Hodges is an active member of SFWA with numerous short story sales. He was the 2010 Garden State Horror Writers Short Story Competition Grand Prize Winner. He's a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop and a full-time writer with five books and over 1300 published articles.

To learn more about Larry Hodges and his work, please visit his website.

Painting the Unreal

By Damien Walters Grintalis

Speculative fiction is a playground of possibility. Your story might be grounded in the reality of Earth or set on a distant planet, you might have clockwork animals and airships, wizards and magic, or perhaps there's a ghost beneath the floorboards. But no matter the scenario, readers want to believe in your world. It's up to you to paint a vivid picture.

Use wide strokes of your brush for the background and save the little details for the focal points. Add tiny hints for things you want to keep partially obscured, but still want the reader to note.

Engage the reader's senses. All of them. Wrap them in sights, sounds, tastes, scents, and tactile sensations. Let them feel the warmth of the sun on your characters' faces. Let them smell the smoke from a distant fire. But don't go overboard, either. If every fire smells like brimstone, don't choke the reader on the stench. If every drop of water tastes like honey and chocolate, don't give them a cavity. And if every house in your story is round with a thatch roof, you don't need to describe each and every one.

You can also use sensory information to paint the tone of the scene and the story itself. On the surface, there's nothing inherently wrong with stating "the door was tall and wide and painted the color of blood". But it's a rather flat description. It tells the reader that the door is red, sure, but what does it convey? Not much, in truth.

But if it's the only red door in a hallway lined with black doors? It says something is off kilter. Maybe there are strange sounds coming from behind the door. An invitation? A warning?

In a science fiction story, perhaps there's a smell of overheated electronics and a strange glow emerging from the gap beneath door. In fantasy, perhaps there's the sound of faerie wings fluttering or the kiss of heat from a dragon's exhalation. In horror, perhaps there's no light at all and the heavy thump of footsteps.

Find the balance between too much and not enough. You don't want to bury the story beneath an avalanche of description. Not everything needs to be spelled out. Conversely, there's nothing worse than reading a story that feels as if the characters are nowhere at all.

In the real world, our experiences are not limited to what we see. The same should hold true in fiction.

Damien Walters Grintalis lives in Maryland with her husband, two former shelter cats, and two rescued pit bulls. Her short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Penumbra eMag, Daily Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and others. Her debut novel, Ink, will be released in December 2012 by Samhain Horror.

Learn more about Damien Walters Grintalis on her blog and on Twitter.

Counting Sunrises

by SS Hampton, Sr.

Ray Bradbury died on 5 June 2012. He was an iconic science fiction and self-proclaimed fantasy writer. I grew up in Kansas reading his stories and, as a result, learned of the many worlds that lay beyond the flat, tornado-prone state. His death is a loss to the literary world, and his loss is a reminder of my own mortality.

I was young when I began brooding about death, my own in particular. In that respect I preceded the Gothic culture and its’ death-obsessed kids that became popular 10-20 years later. Now, in my late fifties, I find myself brooding about it once again.

If memory serves me correctly, I think Captain Jean Luc Picard said it far more eloquently than I could have ever dreamed of (ahem, yes, I know he’s not a real person): “There are far more sunrises behind me, than before me.”

During those angst-filled days on the Kansas prairies, I read an article about Vincent Price, the classic horror actor of the 60’s. You know, The Fall of the House of Usher(1960), The Pit and the Pendulum (1961), The Mask of the Red Death (1964), and other horror movies of a similar vein. It seems he was an art collector, gourmet cook, writer, and when Sears & Roebuck wanted to offer fine art reproductions for the average homeowner, they asked Mr. Price to choose the art. It was reported that even a museum or library asked him for all of his personal papers so that future historians could access his history and thoughts.

I was stunned by reading of such a request. Imagine—historians going over your personal correspondence to and from family, friends, even editors and publishers; reading your notes, perhaps even charting the evolution of a story from first notes, first draft, second draft, and then, a final manuscript. For someone to receive such a request seemed, to me, to never be forgotten. Never disappear from history. The idea was almost like...immortality.

Fast forward…

I kept writing, I even started seeing success—no Pulitzer Prize in Literature, or multi-million dollar contract yet, but one can always hope. In 2004 I joined the Army National Guard, was mobilized for active duty, and after almost two years stateside, I and many other Cavalry Soldiers volunteered for deployment. Suddenly, pre-deployment training was finished. We were headed for Kuwait, though the mission would take many Soldiers into Iraq every day, where insurgents waited with AK-47s, RPGs, and IEDs.

Again, my sense of mortality became somewhat acute.

I made sure I packed all of my writing folders, books, magazines, and personal papers. Each folder contained story drafts and final manuscripts, research material for that particular story, and e-mails between myself and the website or e-magazine that published the story. I wrote the museum that serves my tribe, for I am a Native American and explained where I was going. Though the possibility might be slight, I asked if they would accept my writings and personal papers, “just in case.”

The museum said “yes.” It was with a sense of relief and a smile that, during our brief leave before deployment, I set off on my “farewell tour” to visit my children, my grandchildren, and my mother and step-father—just, in case.

Fortunately, there was no “just in case.”

So, once more I am reminded of my own mortality due to the passing of someone I never met, but whom I admired and respected.

But, no matter how many sunrises remain before me, I know that when I cross over, somewhere in this world my name will remain. Maybe there won’t be many people beyond family and friends who will remember me, but my name is out there on e-books and e-stories waiting to be downloaded by someone, someday. And maybe someday, a person may pluck a thick writing folder from a special collections shelf, and wonder what the first draft of a story looked like compared to the final manuscript. They might even think, “Who the hell was SS Hampton, Sr.?”

Gee. If that ever happens it’s almost like…immortality.

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13, and a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007). He continues to serve in the Army National Guard, where he holds the rank of staff sergeant.

Hampton is also a published photographer and photojournalist, an aspiring painter, and is studying for a degree in anthropology. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from MUSA Publishing, (The Lapis Lazuli Throne), Melange Books (Intimate Journeys; R.U.S.H.; Christmas Collectibles 2010; and Hearts of Tomorrow), Ravenous Romance (Back Door Lover), and Dark Opus Press (In Poe’s Shadow), and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, Ruthie’s Club, Lucrezia Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others. In 2012 he has another story forthcoming in an anthology from Edge SF & Fantasy (Danse Macabre), as well as a stand-alone story releasing from MuseItUp Publishing.

Confessions of a Writing Addict

by Katherine Heath Shaeffer

I have to write. Specifically, I have to write science fiction and fantasy.

I can't stop.

It's not just a matter of writing for catharsis (though there's an element of that in my writing) or of writing the story that I want to read (though there's an element of that, too). It's not just a matter of honoring, through emulation, the escapist fantasies that got me through the toughest times in my life (and to this day the writing of escapist literature is one of the noblest pursuits I can imagine) or of contributing allegorically to whatever ethical debates are in vogue this season.

I write because I'm a writing addict. Writing is an addictive and self-destructive behavior.

I believe that writing requires a specific kind of sacrifice. As I write, I find myself donating things I remember and things I've dreamed to my fiction. Because, no matter how implausible the premise, in a way I am always writing from experience: my experience of being able to imagine what would happen in the case of my implausible premise. And as I write down memory and dream, I lose them. Not wholly. I'm not giving myself amnesia here. But I don't get to keep these thoughts and images as they were originally constructed in my mind, because I have reconstructed them, through writing.

It's like that family story that's about you when you were a kid: you know that the story is not the whole truth, but you hear it so many times that the 'traditional' version that your parents tell at Thanksgiving every year superimposes itself upon the 'whole truth' that you remember until one day, for the life of you you can't recall what the flaws in your parents' version were, so you just go with it. You and your family have lived with this version so long that it's the truth now, no matter what really happened.

It's like explaining last night's dream to someone after you wake up. Dreams often don't make sense, but the dream you had last night was so wild and interesting that you have to share it with someone, so you fudge the details a little, connecting point A to point B so that the fluidly juxtaposed images of your dreaming mind come together to make a story. Then, when you try to remember your dream, it is not the dream that you invoke but the story you told of your dream. Because we are humans and patterns are easier for us to remember than lacks-of-pattern. So. You've lost a dream but gained a story.

Maybe you write that story. And so it goes.

Even the most fantastic of tales are constructed from the building blocks of memory, just as you can draw a beautiful dragon using the building blocks you develop from studying the anatomy of birds, bats snakes and fish. Or turtles and pterodactyls. (Hey, it's your dragon. Draw what you want.)

It's like that scene in Star Trek: The Next Generation. (Yes, I am dipping into the great well of Star Trek metaphors. Don't judge me.) In “The Measure of a Man,” Data refuses to allow his android body to be dismantled, studied, and reconstructed because he believes that, though his memories will technically stay intact, the 'flavor' of those memories will be lost. Data makes it sound like this is a horrible thing that can only happen to androids, but to me it just sounds like what happens to any of my memories, once I try to tell it.

For me, at least, writing is erosion. It requires sacrificing those loves and fears I hold closest to my heart and reconstructing them into tools. It requires breaking down what I feel, what I remember, what I dream and writing it onto the page in a way that a reader can access. I may lose the immediacy of the feeling, but sometimes, if I am very lucky, I can translate that immediacy -- or a version of it -- to the page.

This self-erosion is both bittersweet and exhilarating.

Katherine Heath Shaeffer is a writer and graduate student who lives in Gainesville, Florida with her boyfriend and three cats. She is the current Production Editor of the academic journal ImageTexT: Interdisciplinary Comics Studies. She has a short story forthcoming in Daily Science Fiction. Katherine's article Beauty and the Body and the Beast, along with her short story The Witch, the Curse and the Prince were published in the May issue of Penumbra eMag.

Dreaming the Muse

by Lyn McConchie
(author of The Domen in Penumbra May issue)

I have always dreamed. Long dreams in full colour, audio, and often a complete story. It wasn’t until I began to write professionally that I found this useful as more than mere entertainment. My subconscious has always led its own life, as evinced by the dreams. Sometimes I can identify the strands that have gone into them, but sometimes I write out a dream, look at the result and wonder where on Earth (or anywhere else) that came from!

The second story I ever sold was from a dream, a slightly mad tale about a parking meter who disliked life in a big city. He went to live in a small country town where he is valued because he stands guard over parking spaces reserved for the disabled and ensures that they are saved for legitimate users. And yes, I can identify where that came from. I'm crippled, have a display card for such parking spaces and am often infuriated to find them filled by cars not displaying the required card. This story sold to two markets, however, so I got something out of my on-going frustration over the problem.

Another dream-story was a flash fiction tale on the origin of the Saluki, dog) and which sold in four markets in two countries. In fact, and on checking my story list, dream-stories always sell, and usually several times. Three of my books have begun from a dream. The first book I sold in America "The Key of the Keplian" was started by one of the main characters showing up in a dream and introducing herself. The book went on from there.

I write steadily, 1-3 books, 10-20 new stories, a number of articles, a few poems, some reviews, and my blogposts each year. But my dream-stories are my favorites. They weren't written just from my imagination, they were lived in full color, with “live” characters, dialogue, and a background. The story that appeared in the May issue of Penumbra was a dream-tale, as was a story that last year won the International Cat Writer's Muse Medallion. Dream-stories often seem to have that 'certain extra something.'

Of course, I have to move quickly to catch the dreams before they vanish, but after more than twenty years of professional writing I am adept at doing so. I think that many writers dream this way, some may not like to admit that's where they get plots, others may not remember the dreams, but if you can catch that dream by the tail, hold it long enough to write down a synopsis and recreate the dream, you often have something worth recounting.

So where does my speculative fiction come from? All of it comes from my imagination with aspects of real life woven in, but now and again the story you're reading may have arrived by an alternate route. And usually they're some of the best.