Unknown's avatar

About ogresan

Richard Parks' stories have have appeared in Asimov's SF, Realms of Fantasy, Fantasy Magazine, Weird Tales, and numerous anthologies, including several Year's Bests. His first story collection, THE OGRE'S WIFE, was a finalist for the World Fantasy Award. He is the author of the Yamada Monogatari series from Prime Books.

Perspective

I’ve been playing a game of “dueling temperatures” with an old friend via email. I moved to New York State from Mississippi. My former home does not handle winter well. That is, when actual winter conditions occur, which is rare. But a lot of the south, from Texas to Georgia has seen significant snowfall, whereas here the temperatures have varied from -17F to +43F. So snow one week and rain the next. Then everything freezes. The difference is, an inch or three of snow down there is a “We’re all gonna die!” situation. They’re not equipped for it because it happens rarely and you don’t spend your budget on snowplows that are (almost) never going to be needed. So how difficult things are is mostly a matter of perspective.

Which applies to almost everything.

Whenever I’m feeling down about how little I’ve accomplished, it’s good to stop and remember that there was a time, writing wise, when I had accomplished exactly nothing, except to write a bunch of beginner stories that no one other than I and much put-upon First Reader were ever going to see. When I had written novels but never sold any, but then graduated to an entire four book series. Now when I’m holding fire on three novel projects, I can remind myself that I can do this, I’ve done it before, and there was a time when none of that was true.

It’s too easy to forget that, no matter what stage you’re at. If you’ve written stories but not sold any (if that’s your goal), at least you’ve written. Same for writing a novel. Maybe you’ll publish, maybe you won’t, but most people who start a novel never finish it, and maybe you did. That’s something, and it’s a whole lot more than nothing.

Perspective.

New Story Time: The Funambulist

Today’s Story Time is another original piece of flash fiction, “The Funambulist.” A few of these I’ve done, like this one, have no fantasy content whatsoever. I’m not sure what that means, other than perhaps it’s harder to fit that into so few words, but then I’ve done flash fantasy and SF as well. What it probably means is that this, for whatever reason, is the story I wrote.

“The Funambulist” will be online until next Wednesday, January 24th, when it will go away and be replaced by, thank you Captain Obvious, something else.

Brevity is the Soul of Something

Ah, winter in New York State. Two whole degrees this morning, a heating pipe coupling keeps coming un-coupled, and the plumber can’t get here until tomorrow. Last week when the temperature hit fifty-three degrees only to fall quickly, it left a quarter-inch sheet of ice under the snow. Can’t open our back gate, can’t get into the shed, and have to get to the mailbox through the garage. Really good for sledding, though. Our neighbors have been having a blast.

I’ve sold the third story in my Daoist series, working—and probably final—title is “An Account of the Madness of the Magistrate, Chengdhu Village.” It should be up at Beneath Ceaseless Skies sometime this year and of course I’ll post updates as they occur.

Confession time: I’ve never been a huge fan of flash fiction. I always considered it something between a parlor trick and Short Attention Span Theater. Since I’ve joined the local writers’ group, however, I’ve come to appreciate the form a bit more, as we have to write one every week. It does require focus to distill any decent story down to 500 words or so and still have a decent story, with a beginning, middle, and end. It’s also good editing practice, as I tend to go over and have to whittle down the word count without losing the narrative. It’s never going to be my favorite form, but at least I can see the virtues in it now.

Speaking of which, I have one due on Wednesday. Better get cracking.

Story Time: Signs Along the Road

Today’s Story Time is “Signs Along the Road,” originally published in Postscripts 22/23, The Company He Keeps, edited by Nick Gevers and Pete Crowther, PS Publishing, 2010. It’s about two very different lost souls, lost for the same reasons, trying to help each other as only lost souls can.

As always, “Signs Along the Road” will remain online only until next Wednesday,  January 17. Until then, enjoy.

Real Life Considered in the Context of a Lewis Carroll Poem

I’ve been a fan of writers like Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear for years, simply because I enjoy a good bit of nonsense every now and again. The Victorians had a gift for it, probably in reaction to the sense of decorum and propriety that infected the bulk of that era—at least on the surface. One thing I especially liked were all the made-up words, words that sounded like they should mean something but really don’t. Like “jabberwock” and “vorpal” and “mimsy.”

One had to be careful with LC, though. He tended to mix real words with the made-up words, only the “flavor” of the real words and the fake words was so matched that it was hard to tell them apart. Take “mome” for example. It’s an archaic word meaning “fool,” but in context it seems just as made up as “rath,” though it’s possible that Carroll took “rath” from “rathe” which means to bloom early, and used it for a flowery sort of creature. Which explains why, for the longest time, I did not think “burble” was a real word.

Turns out I was wrong.  “Burble” means to make a murmuring sound, like a babbling brook, and had been in use since the 14th century. It’s also a technique in pennywhistle where you rub one finger back and forth over the holes quickly to get a similar sound.

If there’s a point to this, other than word play, perhaps one could point out that it is far too easy to confuse nonsense with reality. Which is the only thing that can explain the current political climate. Maybe we all need to listen and consider more carefully when decision time comes again. Nonsense may have its place, but real life isn’t one of them.