It’s NaNoWriMo-time!

Words are being written. Characters are being created. Worlds are coming into fruition. It’s my favorite time of year! I’m 1748 words into this, and already it’s taken some turns that I didn’t expect. For one, I’ve decided to face my biggest writing fear and use gender neutral pronouns. The ey, em, eir, eirs, eirself set, which hopefully 50,000 words from now will feel like second nature, because right now, I have to look at a chart each time, and if I have to keep that up, it’s going to be a looooooong month.

Anyway, no time for blogging, but here’s a sneak peak at my novel, code name “Awesome Twin Awesome Novel.” Don’t ask. That’s just what I put into the NaNoWriMo site, and I’m sticking with it: http://nanowrimo.org/participants/nicolemd/novels/awesome-twin-awesome-novel/

Here’s a brief excerpt:

Vainglory

The quease of longing empties from my gut as I spy Kassir through the glass door of his classroom. Mrs. Maven paces at the front of the class in road-worn orthotics, her facial features as precisely angled as the writing across her chalkboard: Heed the Narrow Season, and a Fruitful Year Renewed. Her greetings may be merry, but the lines drawn on the foreheads of her students are not. Eyes gaze down at paper, pencils scribble furiously. Sweat drips from worried brows. Finally, Kassir feels my proximity, and sighs in frustration. He places his test pencil on his desk, then glares at me.

“What?” he mouths.

“I’m going out for a smoke with Geona. Meet us when you’re done,” I mouth back.

“What?” he says again. We may be twins, but he can’t read lips for shit.

“I’m–” I point to my chest. “Going out–” I make exaggerated swings with my arms and walk past the door. When I pop back up from below, a few other students have taken note of my presence. I catch a few half-smiles. “For a smoke–” I take a puff on an imaginary clove cig. “With Geona–” I cup my hands beneath my muscled chest and sashay like I’ve got the rack of a centerfold. This gets stifled giggles from a few students, and the mellow brown of Kassir’s cheeks flush red beneath.

Mrs. Maven stops her pacing, and as her eyes dart to the door, I duck out of sight.

“Concentrate, class,” I hear her say. “This exam will count for fifty percent of your final grade, and partial answers will not be accepted.”

I heave a sigh, thankful that I’d drawn Mr. Brerelle, fresh out of university, as my Bio teacher instead of Mrs. Maven. Bet he didn’t think, graduating from a Primways university, that he’d end up at some third-rate secular school, teaching sacrilege to a bunch of kids from one of poorest Comfies in the Coralease. He’d skimmed over so many chapters that we’d had our final exam weeks ago–all multiple choice. I’d aced it, but then again, it had been so easy that nearly everyone did.

“Mr. Okoye,” booms a deep voice from behind me. I look up from my crouch and panic when I catch a glimpse of Principal Boro’s reflection in the glass, bulky arms folded firmly across a laced lapel revealing just a hint of eir even bulkier chest. I forget how intimidating Boro is up close and personal, and somehow I resist the urge to ask for eir workout regimen.

“Principal Boro,” I stammer, then turn, “I was just–”

Boro plucks the cigs peaking out of my shirt pocket. “Getting back to class,” ey finishes for me. “And button that up. You’re in violation of dress code.”

“Yes, Principal Boro. Right away, Principal Boro.” You’ve never seen buttons get fastened so quickly. I’m out of there and running down the hall, so fast, Boro’s voice has gone soft before I hear that baritone “Walk. Mr. Okoye!” chasing after me.

I don’t walk, and I don’t return to class either. The narrow season has already started as far as I’m concerned. As soon as my feet hit pavement outside the school, my proximity with Kassir breaks and the quease is back–just a small granule buried an inch behind my navel. I feel my anger welling up, and all those things I’d wanted to cuss at Boro fill my saliva with bitterness. Finemister know-it-all, stole my cigs, and is probably smoking them now. I grab the collar of my uniform shirt with both hands, and tug until all the buttons pop loose. “Yes, Principal Boro, Right away, Principal Boro!” Sometimes I hate the person Kassir makes me, but left to my own devices, I’d be sitting in detention right now, or probably worse.

Short Women in Space Recap!

Space Woman Art based on photo by Zaprittsky, Creative Commons

This month I had the pleasure of reviewing 23 tales about women ( and other genders) living life in the void of space. It was eye-opening, the amount of good space fiction out there, and interesting to see how we envision ourselves as we trek across the stars.

Below are the gems I found. There’s a lot of variety–deep space travel, martian colonies, whacky aliens, interstellar war, so there ought to be something that tickles your fancy.

So check them out, and seek out more from these authors. I know I will!

Space Travel Loses its Allure When You’ve Lost Your Moon Cup by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley

Salvage by Carrie Vaughn

Lysistrata of Mars by Tory Hoke (Nicky’s Pick)

The Things They Were Not Allowed to Carry by Helena Leigh Bell

The Serial Killer’s Astronaut Daughter by Damien Angelica Walters

Ten Rules for Being an Intergalactic Smuggler (the Successful Kind) by Holly Black (Nicky’s Pick)

Found by Alex Dally MacFarlane

The Rocketeer by Rebecca Hodgkins

Dancing by M. E. Garber

Special Delivery by Maddie Engelfried

Communion by Mary Anne Mohanraj (Nicky’s Pick)

The Mythology of Salt by Octavia Cade

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Monkey by Ruth Nestvold

What Purpose a Heart by Rachael Acks

The Gaps in Translation by Andrea Corbin

The Hymn of Ordeal, No. 23 by Rhiannon Rasmussen (Nicky’s Pick)

Deep End by Nisi Shawl (Nicky’s Pick)

The Symphony of Ice and Dust by Julie Novakova

The Speaking Ground by Erica Satifka

Primrose or Return to Il’maril by Mary McMyne (Nicky’s Pick)

Red Dust and Dancing Horses by Beth Cato

Threads of Pearl, Writhing by Gwendolyn Clare (Nicky’s Pick)

Heroic Relics by Catherine H. Shaffer

Red Dust and Dancing Horses by Beth Cato

Escape Pod
http://escapepod.org/2014/10/10/ep464-red-dust-dancing-horses/
Author Website: http://www.bethcato.com/

Eleven-year-old Martian colonist Nara wants nothing more than to see a horse gallop across the red dust of her planet. It’s a tall order, considering that even horses on Earth are a rarity these days. Still, Nara is obsessed, watching old horse movies until she gets the idea to build her own equine companion. She’s a prodigy with mechanics and convincing AI is pretty easy to come by, but realism…that’s the tricky part. Her father agrees to let her use his workshop to create a metallic version of her favorite horse of all:

She nodded, her mind already filtering through the possibilities. She had to think of horse breeds, no—she would think of specific horses. Trigger, her favorite. He was tough and fast, with all the grace of a dancer. Oh, how he could dance. His hooves shuffled, his gold skin shimmering and muscles coiling. Nara would watch him, holding her breath. Nothing on Mars could move like that.

“You’ll have to use the scrap pile,” Papa continued, snapping her out of a reverie. “But if you need anything fresh, you need to order through me, and you’ll have to work for it. This isn’t going to be cheap.”

“Cheaper than a trip to Earth,” Mother said from the doorway. “And speaking of expenses, we’re going to need inner sealants replaced on three windows as soon as this storm is over. One gap was so big a fiend beetle could almost squeeze through from inside the walls, and God knows what it would cost if one of those got in.”

“As if it’s ever just one,” Papa said, shaking his head. “Well, we’re due for a full sealant inspection anyway.”

Nara closed the equine anatomy charts, her eyes already taking in the nearest scrap pile and a stout piece of pipe ideal for a femur. Mama and Papa’s chatter faded. She tapped her fingers along the tablet, already picturing a horse of her own, programmed to nuzzle her shoulder and whicker in greeting.

Papa was wrong. Balancing the mass would be easy. The artificial intelligence could be adapted from existing programs. Realism was the issue. A glossy hair coat, a trailing mane and tail, the musty smell described in the old books she’d read.

I’ll have to preface my review with the fact that I was never a horse girl growing up. (Unicorns, on the other hand…) so for me, this story already had one strike against it going in. I did really enjoy the characters and the relationships between them, and getting a glimpse of a colony that has settled past the initial excitement and into the mundane of checking glass seals and worrying about insects. But this story really never spoke to me. I tried to re-imagine it if Nara had been obsessed with dogs instead. What if she’d discovered Benji’s coat among the relics in the Corcoran’s Mansion? Nah, it’s just kinda weird, and not really in a good way. But the story does bring up the issues of what precious items deserve to emigrate with us to another planet? What things are so important in Earth history that they deserve an automatic spot in Martian history as well?

I suspect if you’re into horses and taxidermy, this story might be right up your alley, but this one fell flat for me, unfortunately. The writing itself though was enjoyable, and I’d definitely give this author another try.