Someone local to me did something that annoyed me, and I wrote a post about it. And then after I wrote I realized that what this person did, did not rate me venting to 40,000+ people about it, especially since a) this person is a normal person, not a public personality, b) this person doesn’t have much of an online presence and wouldn’t be particularly well-positioned to respond to the venting, which would necessarily cast them as I chose to cast them, c) which, focused as it was on the thing that annoyed me, would have been an inherently slanted and unfair portrayal, and finally d) I have to live in the same town as this person.

Basically I knew that if I posted it I’d hate myself for posting it almost immediately, because among other things it would have been more about me satisfying my urge to be a dick to someone in public than anything else. And this person didn’t actually deserve that. So I deleted the post and this is all you’ll ever hear about it.

This is just me using myself as an object example of being aware that sometimes discretion is the better part of being able to stand yourself on a daily basis.

In honor of my friend Deven’s birthday today, here’s a Thomas Dolby song he likes:

I also got him a mathematical proof, but the margins here are to small to express it. Maybe for Christmas.

Behold the Abba Zaba, a taffy candy bar. Also behold one of Athena’s teeth, which had been loose. The tooth met the Abba Zabba, and the taffy adherence power of the candy yanked the tooth right out of Athena’s jaw. I would have found it alarming if I were her, but she apparently seems to think tooth extraction via candy bar is the way to go with these things. Kids.

As it happens, I also ate an Abba Zaba today. I chewed it very very slowly.

SFReviews.net has published a complimentary review of The God Engines, which includes this blurb-worthy bit:

In its surprising final third, when assumptions are overturned, beliefs are challenged, and our heroes’ sense of what’s right and wrong in the universe is thrown into chaos, The God Engines shifts into high and redlines right across the finish. The climax is as visceral as anything Scalzi’s ever done.

Heh, heh, heh. “Visceral.” It is indeed an advisedly-used word in the context of the book’s climax.

That said, my favorite part of the review is this bit, in which the fact that TGE is wholly unlike anything else I’ve had published is considered:

[A] very different Scalzi has written The God Engines. So different, in fact, that I suspect what really happened was that John’s evil twin Spike chewed through his ropes, emerged from the crawlspace, disabled John with an impressive series of hapkido moves rated 8/9/9.5 respectively by John’s cats, and then left the poor man bound and gagged in an amusing position in the garage while writing the story and cackling to himself. I’d like to think that, because it’s one of those things where reality is probably less fun.

Yes, well. I could go into great detail about why it was I wrote something completely different than all the other stuff I write, but I think instead I will tell you a possibly enlightening, possibly entirely unrelated story about when I was a boy, and I was playing a schoolyard game called “Danish.”

The actual rules of Danish are not really important to this story. What you need to know is that it was played on a netless volleyball court on the playground of Ben Lomond Elementary, and the goal was to hit with your fist a racquetball that was pitched to you, and then run around a set of bases before someone caught the ball or tagged you or another runner with it. One salient feature is that you could have as many people on a base as you wanted, all waiting for someone to hit the ball far enough for them to run home.

In the game of Danish, there were generally two kind of hitters: The kids who sort of blooped the ball lightly into the “infield,” and the kids who swung as the ball as hard as they could, banging it out into the field behind the volleyball court. When the infield hitters were up, the other team would call their players in; when the outfield hitters were up, kids would fan out into the field to catch the ball. You can generally guess which kinds of kids were infield hitters and which ones were outfield hitters.

I was, possibly not surprisingly, pegged as an infield hitter. Which by and large didn’t bother me because I mostly didn’t care about the game of Danish; it was just another game we played for our PE slice of the day. But one day, I don’t know, maybe I was in a bad mood about something, or maybe something else had tweaked me a bit, and we were playing Danish and when I came up to the “home base” (the corner of the volleyball court), all the kids in the outfield trotted in to take up places in the infield.

And I very clearly remember thinking the following words: You think you know me. And then the racquetball got pitched to me, and I whacked it far into the outfield, and by the time the other team retrieved it, everyone on base and I had run home. And after that day, whenever I was up to bat in Danish, no one in the outfield ever moved in, because no one felt certain they knew where I was going to send that racquetball. And you know what? I liked that a whole lot.

And that’s my possibly enlightening, possibly unrelated tale.

This direct mail solicitation from Reason to get me to subscribe to the magazine is ironic for two reasons:

1. That’s not my house they’ve circled there, it’s my neighbors, so if “they” go looking for me there, man, won’t the Harshbargers be surprised!

2. I already have a subscription to Reason magazine, which you’d think Reason would be in a position to know.

Anyway, the real reason “they” know where I am is because I’m in the phone book. I know! Who knew you could still do that? Answer: Me, apparently.

Apropos to Charlie Stross’ piece today about what goes into making a book and why it’s not just as simple as tossing out a bare manuscript to whomever might be willing to buy it, I’d like to point out something that I think gets overlooked as a net benefit to books being made the way they currently get made, which is:

As an author, my manuscript makes jobs.

For example: When I turn in my manuscript, it’s taken up by an editor, who looks at it, gets it into commercial shape, and shepherds the manuscript through the book production process. That editor has a job because of what I wrote.

That manuscript is handed off to a copy-editor, who makes sure that my lack of attention in junior high composition class does not haunt the final book. That copy editor has a job because of what I wrote.

The editor talks to an art designer, who manages the process of giving the book a distinctive look. One thing the art designer does is assign a cover artist, who makes something to catch the potential book buyer’s eye from across a crowded bookstore. Then there’s the interior/page designer who makes the words on the page look like something other than a Word document. The art designer, cover artist and interior designer have jobs because of what I wrote.

All that done, off my book goes to marketing and publicity, who will do the job of letting other humans know my book is about to exist in the world, and that they should be excited about that fact (and they should!). The marketing person and the publicity person working on my book have jobs because of what I wrote.

And so does the person at the printer who actually prints the book. And so does the person at the warehouse who makes sure the book gets to the bookstore. And so does the person at the bookstore who sells the book to you.They have jobs because of what I wrote.

So, right off the top of my head, ten people who have jobs because I took it into my head to write a story. There are more I’m forgetting about or omitting for the moment, but these ten will do for the point I’m making. How do I feel about the fact they have jobs because of my work? I think it’s pretty damn awesome, to tell you the truth. Not only does my work feed, clothe and house me (and my family and pets), but it feeds, clothes and houses an exponential number of people as well (and their families and pets).

True, it’s not just my work that does that for them; they have jobs because of what other people wrote, too. But my own work has a direct and material contribution to their employment and well-being. And I like that, a lot. I like the idea of what I do being a cause for many different people, some of whom I will never meet, to have employment and productive lives.

And here’s the kicker: Not only do my words give all these people jobs, but under the current system, I don’t have to pay them anything. In fact, I actually get paid to do it! Getting paid for giving other people work — hey, that doesn’t suck.

Which is one of the other reasons when people declare how great it’ll be when there’s nothing between authors and readers I give them that cocked-head puppy dog look. What will be so great about not giving work to a whole bunch of people, all of whom can do their specific and essential book-creating job better than I could? Sure, I could hire them personally if I felt I needed to, but then I would have to pay them. As opposed to someone else paying them, and also paying me.

Bear in mind, of course, I’m saying all this as someone who has a) self-published, and b) has actually hired artists and editors to work on stuff for him, and may do so again in the future when the mood strikes him. I’m not anti-DIY. But I am pro creating jobs for other people, and pro doing it while getting paid myself. I mean, seriously: Job creation and personal profit! How much more rampagingly capitalistic can I get?

So, yes, just one more perspective for folks to consider when they’re talking about the future of books.

On account that Charlie is going to school you on the matter of How Books Are Made, because, as Charlie notes, the idea that the only two people needed to make a book are the author and the consumer is a bit of contemptible nonsense:

This is a bit like saying that in commercial air travel, “the only two people that matter are the pilot and the passenger (the rest add cost)”. To which I would say: what about the air traffic controllers (who stop the plane flying into other aircraft)? What about the maintenance engineers who keep it airworthy? The cabin crew, whose job is to evacuate the plane and save the passengers in event of an emergency (and keep them fed and irrigated in flight)? The airline’s back-office technical support staff who’re available by radio 24×7 to troubleshoot problems the pilots can’t diagnose? The meteorology folks who provide weather forecasts and advise flight planners where to route their flights? The fuel tanker drivers who are responsible for making sure that the airliner has the right amount of the right type of fuel to reach its destination, and that it’s clean and uncontaminated? The designers and engineers at Boeing, Airbus, Embraer, or the other manufacturers who build the bloody things in the first place …?

I’d personally use an even simpler formulation, which is that there a lot of people who seem to think that all you need for a book are a reader and an author, but no one seems to think that all you need for a double cheeseburger is a hungry dude and a cattle rancher. For that matter, no one ever seems to tell a cattle rancher that in the glorious future he’ll be able to do all the steps of cheeseburger production himself, either. Possibly because a cattle rancher can instigate a stampede. Do not enrage a cattle rancher.

Anyway, head over to Charlie’s, he’ll get you in the loop as to what actually has to happen to get a cow novel from a cattle rancher an author to a hungry dude you.

My primary e-mail address (john@scalzi.com) is likely to be down in the next couple of hours (8am – 10am Eastern, 2/25/10), as I’m busy fiddling with it. Don’t be surprised if any mail you send me during that time bounces back. I don’t imagine there’s anything so essential that it can’t wait until after 10am for you to e-mail me about it, so be calm and wait. Thanks.

Update, 8:36am: Well, that was quicker than I anticipated — e-mail is back up and running. As you were.

Over at AMC this week, I’m looking at science fictional video games I think could make decent movies — if they could avoid that thing Hollywood does to video games when it makes them into movies. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. As always, if you have thoughts or comments, leave ‘em over at the AMC site. Because they love it when there are comments there.

This week also marks the final column in which I work with my AMC editor Clayton Neuman, who is heading off to other projects. He’s been great to work with and an asset to the column, and (equally importantly) has been patient with me on those times I’ve sent him e-mail that said “dude, I am so totally going to be late this week.” I don’t have any doubt that he’ll be key at whatever other project he does, because I know the column has been better because of him. Thanks, Clayton.

Well, actually, no. No I don’t.

There’s something very “Community theater version of Dracula” about this picture, isn’t there? It’s really a picture of us before her school’s father-daughter dance last weekend. A rather less dramatic picture of the two of us is here.

Hmmm. Not quite there yet.

Hey, remember how I was telling you about the French language chapbook of my story, “After the Coup?” Well, I’m auctioning off a signed copy over at Con or Bust, which is LiveJournal group set up to help bring fans of color to Wiscon and other science fiction conventions. Other authors and science fiction folk are also auctioning off signed books and other goodies; participants include Toby Buckell, Jo Walton, N.K. Jemisin, Neil Gaiman and Cherie Priest, for starters. Lots of good stuff for science fiction and fantasy fans.

This particular chapbook is a rarity on this side of the Atlantic, so if you’re an obsessive completest of Scalzi stuff, this is likely to give you the sort of bragging rights other North Americans can only dream of. I’ve already signed the copy I’m auctioning, but if the winner of the auction wants, I’ll also personalize it. You can’t beat that.

Here’s the direct link for my auction — bidding has already started and runs through 11:59pm, March 13. While you’re there check out the other auctions, too; just keep scrolling down and you’ll find some neat things.

I’ve been sitting on this news for a bit and suddenly realized that, hey, there’s no reason to be sitting on it: I’ve been asked, and have agreed, to continue as the Creative Consultant for Stargate: Universe for the show’s second season. Indeed, I’m already looking at scripts and chatting with producers and giving notes, and the season is already shaping up to be very cool and interesting and that’s all you’ll get out of me about it. Go on, torture me! You’ll get nothing!

(Note: Please don’t torture me.)

I’m very glad to continue in this gig because on a personal level it’s one of the most fun gigs I’ve had. Krissy has noted to me that when I talk to her about what I do on the show, the expression I get is almost exactly like that of a ten-year-old boy talking about a favorite toy. I won’t deny it, although maybe I’d quibble that it’s not a toy, it’s a seekrit club I belong to, in which we build spaceships out of cardboard boxes and aliens out of stuffed animals and then go zoom zoom zoom around the neighborhood.

By which I mean: One of the things I like most about it is that it is actually collaborative. Most of what I do is largely me sitting off by myself, so doing something where I get work from others, do my part and then send it off to someone else is a good creative experience for me. Especially when I really like the end result, which I have with SG:U.

Speaking of which, I’m supposed to have notes to the show today. Excuse me, please.

First, because I know this will come up: Yes, Subterranean Press and I are working on an official electronic version of The God Engines for everyone else. Patience, please.

Second, I’ve been led to understand by numerous e-mail from a far distant land the natives call “Australia” — wherever that is — that physical copies of The God Engines are difficult to come by (apparently they have to be delivered inside the pouch of a wallaby or something to that effect), and that this places a number of that country’s citizens into a state of despair because it means they won’t be able to consider the work for a “Hugo,” whatever that is (I think it’s a type of brass instrument, between a tuba or a sousaphone). Really, the ways of the people of that land confuse and frighten me; I think it’s all that fermented yeast they eat.

So, in the interest of international amity, I decided to make available an electronic edition of The God Engines, for those antipodean sorts who are also Hugo nominators. But then I realized if I allowed Australians in on this, then other overseas folk — antipodean or not, yeast eaters or otherwise — would point out that they also have a hard time finding The God Engines, as it’s not been released in other countries, either. So I thought, fine, I’ll let all Hugo nominators who are not Americans or Canadians in on this electronic editions. But then I realized that if I didn’t let the North Americans in on this, they would drive to my house and burn it down. Because that is the traditional North American way of displaying disapproval.

So, fine: If you are a Hugo nominator, regardless of geographical location, you are eligible for a special Hugo edition of The God Engines from me for your consideration. I’ll send you a pre-production pdf of the novella (1.2 MB), which means that there may be a copy edit error or two in it; I think you can handle it. But to get it, you must follow to the letter these following instructions:

1. Send your request to “TGE@scalzi.com” and not my standard e-mail address (because it’s easier for me to keep track of requests that way, that’s why).

2. When you send your request, you must include your Worldcon membership number (either for Anticipation or Aussiecon 4) and the name you registered for the Worldcon under, so I can confirm that in fact you are eligible to nominate for the Hugo, and not just some schmoe. DO NOT SEND ME YOUR VOTING PIN. Because if you do, I’ll do horrible, horrible things with it [insert maniacal laugh and ominous thunderclap here].

3. In the body of your request, please cut and paste the following words:

I hereby solemnly declare that I will in fact nominate works for the Hugo this year, because nominating for the Hugos is AWESOME, and those who nominate for the Hugos are AWESOME, and I am AWESOME, so how could I not nominate for the Hugos?

Note: The above declaration does not oblige you to nominate The God Engines. That would be silly. Nominate it only if you feel it is worthy. If you don’t feel it’s worthy, don’t nominate it — but remember to nominate other things. Seriously, remember to cut and paste those above words in your request, otherwise I’ll go, “you’re totally not serious about nominating for the Hugos” and will deny your request until you put them in. Don’t think I won’t!

4. Finally, in exchange for getting this version of The God Engines for no cost, please consider taking some of the money you’re saving in purchasing and shipping the book and donate it to a literacy charity of your choice. No, I’m not going to stand over your shoulder and make you do this one; I’m just asking you to consider it. I’d consider it a fair trade.

There you go. This offer is open through March 12, 2010, so those of you who aren’t yet Hugo nominators still have time to become so. Update: Whoops, too late to be a nominator if you’re not one already. But not too late to register to vote on the actual Hugos. Get to it!

I point to it because I am quoted in it. Yes, I am just that self-serving. But it’s a pretty good article, even without the bit I provided. I was interviewed for the piece while I was loitering at the airport in Atlanta, waiting for my connecting flight, so for several moments I was that guy at the airport, you know, the one talking loudly into his cell phone, oblivious to the annoyance of others. Sorry, Atlanta.

Because I think in the wake of Nebula and Norton nominations it’s relevant to do so, here are some snippets of one star reviews of my recent work, via Amazon:

The God Engines:

It is hard to believe that John Scalzi wrote this hot mess! Bad premise, bad plot, bad characters, bad ending – the only GOOD thing about it was that it was mercifully short! Please bring the REAL John Scalzi back!

This book, though beautifully written, did not hold my interest, and I didn’t like even one character in it. Darn.

Zoe’s Tale:

This is probably the only book I have returned to Amazon for a refund. It is really that bad. Bad, bad, bad. It is truly beyond belief that a writer of Scalzi’s talent would put this book on the market.

I’ve ready 5 other Scalzi novels, enjoying each, but couldn’t make it past 60 pages of Zoe’s Tale. It was that excruciating/boring. If John wants to write a novel like this, then fine, he should have written it as a stand-alone novel. He shouldn’t have tried to push it by tacking it onto the coat-tails of this franchise.

Zoe’s Tale contains so little action and is such a regurgitation of The Last Colony that I quickly resorted to reading it only on my exercise bike. Even pedaling away at 90 rpm, this book was barely engaging enough to keep my attention.

Yup, those are my works currently nominated for awards, folks.

Why do I bring up these terrible reviews? Oh, for the same reason I brought up my one-star reviews the first time I did a couple of years ago: I think it’s useful for all us writers to remember no one work pleases everyone, and you can’t make anyone like it if they don’t, and you can’t keep them from telling other people what they think of it, even if they hate it… and that’s fine. Learn to deal with it. Otherwise it doesn’t matter how much success or praise or satisfaction you earn through your writing, you’ll still obsess over those one-star reviews and it will eat away at your joy. That’s no way to live.

So: own your one star reviews, don’t let them own you. And once you own them, let ‘em go. You’ll feel better, and you’ll worry less about them going forward. Try it for yourself. You’ll see.