What is Nascence? In Buckell’s own words:

I’ve written 145 or so short stories and sold 45 of them. It took me the better part of 100 stories to start selling them. I often get asked about those 100 ‘trunked’ stories (that’s what many of us call stories we’ve retired). The truth is, I’ve not found much value in them, or attempting to rewrite them.

But as a way of talking about how I learned to write stories that now sell, and in terms of explaining the evolution of what I was writing, they make for an interesting journey.

While I wouldn’t want to just plop those stories out onto an unsuspecting public, the idea of a curated look at the stories, what they taught me, and how I learned from them over 15 years of writing, I thought a very cool collection could be assembled.

I don’t talk of my own writing very often, but my own place as an aspiring writer is at the heart of my interest in this recently released collection of short fiction from Tobias Buckell. You see, just a few months ago, I began to play the submit-a-short-story-and-wait-endlessly-before-having-your-heart-ground-to-dust-beneath-the-heels-of-evil-evil-short-fiction-editors game. Sounds fun, no? But being able to read about the experiences of an established author like Buckell is exactly the type of motivation and extra shove I need to remind myself that it’s not worth curling up in a corner and crying. It teaches me that these stories I’m busting my balls on might not sell. Probably won’t sell, I suppose. But there’s something of value in the creation of them, whether they find an audience or not.

You see, Buckell’s a good writer. A damn good writer. But, even with a few novels and award nominations under his belt, he’s still humble enough to admit and speak eloquently about his ‘failures’. But, as I’m sure Buckell examines in the collection, is it really a failure if it teaches you something that helps you succeed in the future?

Sure, they’re stories that’ve been rejected and ‘trunked’, but who cares? Whether you’re an aspiring short fiction writer like myself, looking for inspiration; or a voracious reader of short fiction, Science Fiction or Fantasy, Buckell’s collection of stories is sure to offer something of value.

You can find out more about Nascence or purchase a copy HERE.

Sam Sykes is a good Internet friend of mine. Why? Because he’d crotch-stomp me if I said any differently. He’s also a bloody good interview, achingly funny and of similar age to myself. It’s like we’re destined to be buddies.

You’ll notice, perhaps, that I’ve not said anything about his books. Easily explainable. You see… I haven’t read them. Derp. What a friend I am, huh? Still, doesn’t mean I can’t get excited about the release of his second novel, Black Halo (or move his first novel, Tome of the Undergates even closer to the top of my TBR pile…). Luckily the good folks at Tor.com have Sam’s fans better covered than I do.

Dawn had never been so quiet in the country.

Amid the sparse oases in the desert, noise had thrived where all other sound had died. Dawn came with songbirds, beds creaking as people rousted themselves for labor, bread and water sloshed down as meager breakfast. In the country, the sun came with life.

In the city, life ended with the sun.

Anacha stared from her balcony over Cier’Djaal as the sun rose over its rooftops and peeked through its towers to shine on the sand-covered streets below. The city, in response, seemed to draw tighter in on itself, folding its shadows like a blanket as it rolled over and told the sun to let it sleep for a few more moments.

No songbirds came to Anacha’s ears; merchants sold such songs in the market for prices she could not afford. No sounds of beds; all clients slept on cushions on the floor, that their late-night visitors might not wake them when leaving. No bread, no water; breakfast would be served when the clients were gone and the girls might rest up from the previous night.

A frown crossed her face as she observed the scaffolding and lazy bricks of a tower being raised right in front of her balcony. It would be done in one year, she had heard the workers say.

One year, she thought, and then the city steals the sun from me, too.

So, head on over to Tor.com and read a lengthy excerpt from Black Halo and support young Sam Sykes. I get to keep my balls intact and un-mushed, you get to read a good story and Sam gets to feel special. Really, it’s a win-win(-win) situation.

Via Tor.com, via me, via Jackson’s Facebook page:

Principal filming for The Hobbit has begun. Feels good, doesn’t it? Peter Jackson, the god-among-men directory of both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, has posted two photos of himself (looking startlingly like Meriadoc Brandybuck) on the set of the upcoming prequels. It’s exciting to see the world come back to life, though the set, predictably, looks like it could have come from the period when The Lord of the Rings was shot (minus about 50 pounds worth of Peter Jackson). Hopefully such updates and photos follow on a regular basis.

From King’s website:

The major story of Roland and his ka-tet was told, but I realized there was at least one hole in the narrative progression: what happened to Roland, Jake, Eddie, Susannah, and Oy between the time they leave the Emerald City (the end of Wizard and Glass) and the time we pick them up again, on the outskirts of Calla Bryn Sturgis (the beginning of Wolves of the Calla)?

There was a storm, I decided. One of sudden and vicious intensity. The kind to which billy-bumblers like Oy are particularly susceptible. Little by little, a story began to take shape. I saw a line of riders, one of them Roland’s old mate, Jamie DeCurry, emerging from clouds of alkali dust thrown by a high wind. I saw a severed head on a fencepost. I saw a swamp full of dangers and terrors. I saw just enough to want to see the rest. Long story short, I went back to visit an-tet with my friends for awhile. The result is a novel called The Wind Through the Keyhole. It’s finished, and I expect it will be published next year.

It won’t tell you much that’s new about Roland and his friends, but there’s a lot none of us knew about Mid-World, both past and present. The novel is shorter than DT 2-7, but quite a bit longer than the first volume—call this one DT-4.5. It’s not going to change anybody’s life, but God, I had fun.

Ahh, I’d almost forgotten about this. I’m of the mind that King’s direct tales relating to The Dark Tower were almost perfectly concluded with the final volume and are in no need of expansion. Despite King claiming holes in Roland’s story, sometimes the mystery of untold adventures is better than actually hearing them told.

It’s strange to me that King is going back to Roland and his ka-tet; though, for someone who’s been telling that tale and living in that world for nearly 30 years, I suppose it’s hard to leave fully behind. The aforementioned hole was left in the story at the time of writing, so I don’t see why, all of a sudden, it’s important enough to tell, especially if it ‘won’t tell [us] much that’s new about Roland and his friends’. The writing of this series has been anything but steady and consistent, however, so I’m not surprised to see King jumping around in the telling of it. If King had fun writing it, hopefully we’ll have fun reading it. I’ll be approaching it with cautious optimism.

The children of the embassy all saw the boat land. Their teachers and shiftparents had had them painting it for days. One wall of the room had been given over to their ideas. It’s been centuries since any voidcraft vented fire, as they imagined this one doing, but it’s a tradition to represent them with such trails. When I was young, I painted ships the same way.

I looked at the pictures and the man beside me leaned in too. ‘Look,’ I said.

‘See? That’s you.’ A face at the boat’s window.

The man smiled. He gripped a pretend wheel like the simply rendered figure.

‘You have to excuse us,’ I said, nodding at the decorations.

‘We’re a bit parochial.’

‘No, no,’ the pilot said. I was older than him, dressed-up and dropping slang to tell him stories. He enjoyed me flustering him. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘that’s not…It is amazing though. Coming here. To the edge. With Lord knows what’s beyond.’ He looked into the Arrival Ball.

There were other parties: seasonals; comings-out; graduations and yearsends; the three Christmases of December; but the Arrival Ball was always the most important. Dictated by the vagaries of trade winds, it was irregular and rare. It had been years since the last.

China Mieville’s a big deal these days.

How big? The City & The City was nominated for almost every single genre award (and won many of them). Perdido Street Station was recently chosen by readers of Tor.com as one of the ‘Best SFF Novels of the Decade’ in a reader poll. But, perhaps the most damning evidence is a recent party thrown by Tor UK to celebrate… the announcement of new cover art for his old books.

Yeah. Not a new book announcement. Not a celebration of his success on the awards circuit. Not a milestone in his career. New book covers.

Hidden in amongst this ‘celebration’ were several bloggers and industry folk who, by attending the party, were able to acquire early galleys of Mieville’s hotly anticipated Embassytown, the author’s first foray into hard Space Opera. Jealous fits could be heard the world over from those fans who didn’t get a copy.

Well, it’s not a galley, but now Mieville fans can get an early glimpse of Embassytown courtesy of Pan Macmillan (Mieville’s UK publisher), who have made the prologue and Chapter One of Embassytown available on their website.