I’ve just learned that Thomas M. Disch, author, teacher, editor, and poet, has passed away. He is the second instructor I had at the Clarion Science-Fiction Writing Workshop to have died in the past few weeks, having been preceded by Algis Budrys. In addition to having both been teachers of mine, Tom and Ajay were bound together in another, far more intense way, as can be seen by the recent posting in which Tom wrote of Ajay, “I was certain I would beat him to the exit, but now I get to dance on his grave,” an eerie sentiment to reread in light of this new context.

I can no longer remember when I read my first Disch, but I can very much remember when I read my favorite Disch. It was in the pages of Terry Carr’s 1967 Ace Books anthology New Worlds of Fantasy, which reprinted “The Squirrel Cage.” The story begins:

The terrifying thing—if that’s what I mean—I’m not sure that “terrifying” is the right word—is that I’m free to write down anything I like but that no matter what I do write down it will make no difference—to me, to you, to whomever differences are made. But then what is meant by “a difference?” Is there ever really such a thing as change?

We learn that our narrator is locked in a small, windowless room. He has no memory of how he got there or why he is there. Perhaps he volunteered for an experiment. Perhaps he’s the sole survivor of the human race, Perhaps he’s being studied by aliens. All he knows is that time is passing while the only things he has with which to entertain himself are the copies of the New York Times which keep showing up in the room. (more…)

Several weeks ago, after Bill Shunn posted photos from his Clarion class of 1985 in the wake of Algis Budrys’ death, I bemoaned the fact that—as far as I know—no photos exist from my own Clarion year.

Then I remembered that I do have one image that reflects how I looked as a member of the Clarion class of 1979, but it isn’t a photograph—it’s a portrait done of me by my classmate Barb Rausch.

After Clarion, Barb went on to become a well-known comic-book artist, drawing Katy Keene for Archie and Barbie for Marvel. Unfortunately, Barb passed away in 2001. She’s the only member of my class to have died … I think.

Not only did she draw me at Clarion, Barb also drew on me, as she painted the fake tattoos I sported when I dressed as a Hell’s Angel for our ’60s party.

So—the class of 1985 has photographs, while the class of 1979 has pencil drawings. I guess this means that if we query the class of 1968, we’ll discover that all they have to remember their year are carvings on stone tablets!

I don’t usually leap into the fray when memes spread across LJ, but this one intrigued me:

Rules:
* Post 3 things you’ve done that you believe nobody else on your F-list has done.
* If anybody responds with “I’ve done that,” add another thing.

So here’s my attempt to come up with three things I’ve done which I doubt any of you could have possibly done:

1) Jumped out of a plane—while wearing a parachute, of course—with an Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics.

2) Looked into the eyes of Ted Kennedy as we stood alone in the rotunda of the Supreme Court at opposite ends of the coffin of a Chief Justice.

3) Received the very first badge the very first day of the very first Star Trek convention.

Any challengers?

I just received the final tweaks to my programming schedule for Denvention 3, the 66th World Science Fiction Convention, which will be held August 6-10 at the Colorado Convention Center in Denver.

If I end up seeming a little morose on the Saturday afternoon of the convention, this list will help explain why—I’ll have just been reminiscing about two of my lost friends. They’re both men worth remembering, and it’s an honor to be asked to take part, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t be sad.

This is where you’ll be able to find me:

Thursday, August 7 at 9:00 a.m.: Strolling With The Stars

Thursday, August 7 at 4:00 p.m.: Reading

Friday, August 8 at 10:00 a.m.: SF Magazine Publication and Market Share

Saturday, August 9 at 10:00 a.m.: A Tribute to Jack Williamson

Saturday, August 9 at 1:00 p.m.: A Tribute to Algis Budrys

I look forward to seeing you all five weeks from tomorrow—assuming I survive both Readercon and the San Diego Comic-Con International, that is!

Pete Crowther has just released the final cover to Postscripts #15, which will debut next month at the Denver Worldcon. The cover illustration is by EC great Al Feldstein.

I appear on the cover under my famous pseudonym “many others,” a pen name which is being shared this issue by the likes of Brian Aldiss, Terry Bisson, Paul Di Filippo, Jay Lake , Robert Reed, Mike Resnick, Steve Utley, and, well, many other writers.

What a killer cover!

A sudden thunderstorm swept through while we were eating dinner early yesterday evening, knocking out our power. As the storm ended, we were given the gift of the sight at right, which at the time more than made up for what we assumed would be a temporary discomfort. After all, we’ve had fairly minor power outages before, and expected that this would be no different.

That’s the view from the end of our drive down the street toward the east. The rainbow was so huge across the sky that I was unable to capture all of it, but this should give you some idea of what it’s like to live where I do … though I assure you that it doesn’t look like that every day.

As the outage continued through the night and into the morning, it became a little less fun, and the rainbow no longer seemed to make up for how grungy I felt. When I ran out in the morning to buy ice with which to fill the refrigerator and freezer—since this morning’s prediction was that the area might be without power for 48 hours or more—I learned that when the storm went through nearby Gerrardstown, it supposedly took down 13 consecutive telephone poles, which also carry the electricity.

After covering all of our perishables with ice, Irene and I vanished to, first, a cyber cafe, and then, a wired supermarket, to try to get some work done. It wasn’t so much that I needed constant online access, as my Blackberry can handle that, but I wanted to keep my laptop powered up, since until our electricity was restored, that was the only was I could watch the stack of pilots I needed to see to prepare for SCI FI magazine’s Fall Preview issue.

We stayed out on the road until I got a call from a neighbor a little while ago telling me that power was back, about 18 hours earlier than expected. So we’re now home again after an outage of about 27 hours. Not much in the scheme of things, and certainly not when I think of what others are going through elsewhere in the country, but still, it sure did make me grateful for that hot shower I just took.

I took part in a conference call earlier this week which turned strange. When someone commented that I sounded exactly like Alan Arkin, the other participants all chimed in with words of agreement, including people I’d known for many years.

There was a period in my life when many people told me that I looked like Elliott Gould, but no one—before this call—had ever told me that my voice sounded similar to anyone else’s. And to suddenly have half a dozen people agree that I could be mistaken for Alan Arkin … well, I felt as if I’d gotten caught in the middle of a mass hallucination.

So I turn to you all to ask—

Do I sound like Alan Arkin?

Some writers, when attacking their first drafts, condense them, and their stories shrink as they mature, like fruit becoming jam. Other writers have a different method, and for them, first drafts grow like coral reefs.

I learned along ago that I was one of the latter sort. In fact, over the years, I’ve discovered that my process has very clear parameters.

Though my editing consists as much of cutting out as of adding in, my second drafts tend to be approximately 50% larger than my first drafts, and the second draft I completed yesterday was no exception. A first draft of 14 pages, or 2,642 words, had been massaged into a second draft of 22 pages, or 4,638 words.

Other recent short stories had the following leaps in word count from the first to second draft: 2,598 to 4,991; 3,901 to 7,975; 5,236 to 7,515.

As for subsequent drafts, I usually never end up adding more than a few hundred words to the length as I edit the third draft, and the fourth and further drafts either maintain the same length or are slightly shorter than the third. I realized long ago that’s just the way my brain works, and have noticed very few exceptions to this.

So—what’s your method? Are you a taker-outer or a putter-inner?

For the past few months, we’d hear and feel loud thuds several times a week, and sometimes several times a day, almost as if kids had been hurling snowballs into the side of our house. But, no, it hasn’t been the neighbors—it’s been birds of all sizes and kinds crashing into our windows.

Sometimes, they bounce off and continue on without ever interrupting their flights. Other times, they fall to the ground dazed, only to wander off once they recover from their concussions. Once, a bird hit with such force that it died instantly.

This afternoon, we heard the loudest thud ever, and ran to the kitchen window to discover this poor guy, unmoving on our back deck.

One of the many Pileated Woodpeckers we’ve enjoyed watching as they’ve hammered away at our trees was down. We usually only see one at a time, but often we’ve seen them in pairs. Once, we even saw three working on the same tree. (more…)

I had a dream this morning in which I was in an unnamed, unidentifiable foreign country. I was teamed with Donald O’Connor, who bore the same physical appearance as he did in Singing in the Rain, and Robert Silverberg, who looked exactly like he does today.

We were in a marketplace, similar to what you’d see in a film like Casablanca. The three of us were circled around a life-sized, hollow cardboard mock-up of a car. For some reason that never became completely clear, it was very important that we convince someone who was about to show up that this was a real, functional car. So I crouched down and hid behind a rear tire (a cardboard rear tire), while Donald and Bob showed off the car and I made automobile noises as best as I could.

I’m no Mel Blanc, so unfortunately, my attempt was rather pathetic and I wasn’t very successful in my part of this ruse. Luckily, I woke before I discovered what would happen if we failed.