Time For an Occasional Reminder re: How to Pay For My Books

This morning I got a nice letter from someone who enjoyed one of my books and wanted to send money to me directly for it rather than to get the book through my publisher, on the idea that I as the author should get most of the money because I wrote the book. This gives me a good excuse to remind people:

Don’t send me money directly for the books I write, actually go ahead and buy them from a bookstore.

For one thing, I get paid more than adequately that way. For another thing, my publisher is not my enemy — my publisher is my business partner, and my business partner does a lot of things for my book. It hires the editor, copy editor, page designer, art director and cover artist who improve my book and make it something people want to buy. It handles the printing and distribution and warehousing of my work. It keeps track of sales and collects payment for that work. It hires publicists and marketing people to make folks aware the book is out in the world. My foreign publishers hire translators. It does all these things so I don’t have to, and can focus on the thing I’m good at and actually want to do, which is: write.

Does it take a large chunk of sale price of the book to do all these things for me? Yes it does. But as a result of the work it does, I sell more than I could on my own, and as noted before, my cut of the proceeds is more than adequate. And all of the people who work on my book deserve to get paid fairly and adequately for their efforts.

Beyond the publisher, when you buy my book in a bookstore, someone else gets money — the bookstore. I like that. I like bookstores of all sorts, but particularly like supporting local bookstores, who do author events and reading clubs and other cool things, and where a good portion of the money stays in the community. I am happy that I get to contribute to other people making a livelihood supporting the field I work in.

All of which is to say that when you buy my book, from my publisher, in a bookstore, everyone involved in the making and selling of a book gets a little something — and that’s exactly how it should be. And while I understand people believe they might be doing me a favor by trying to pay me directly, in the long run it’s not beneficial to me at all, not the least because it hurts the people who have made my work better. If you’ve liked any of my novels, you like them because they are a group effort, not in spite of it.

So: If you want to support me as an author, support everyone who works on my books. They deserve it, and I prefer it. Buy the books legitimately, from your favorite bookseller. Thank you.

New Books and ARCs, 11/8/19

Another week, another very fine stack of new books and ARCs at the Scalzi Compound. What here is grabbing your attention? Share in the comments!

View From a Hotel Window, 11/7/19: Knoxville

Honestly this may be one of the finest hotel parking lot pictures yet, as it encompasses not only the hotel parking lot, but the parking lot of a McDonalds and a Verizon Store. This trip may have peaked early. We’ll have to see.

In town here overnight, am seeing friends and then will be off again in the morning. Traveling! It’s a thing.

On the Road, Again

Wait, what? I thought you said you were done with travel for the year, Scalzi! I am, indeed, done with travel for public purposes — I have no more events scheduled for 2019. But now that The Last Emperox is finished, and I have a free moment or two, I’ve decided to take a week and visit friends, some of whom I haven’t seen in a long time. I’m renting a car and traveling the great American southland. It should be fun. Unless the car breaks down and I am consumed by bears. But that seems… unlikely.

In any event, the travel begins today, so whilst I travel updating here may be sporadic. I’ll try to get some nice shots of hotel parking lots, however.

Election Day 2019 Thoughts

In no particular order:

* First and most importantly, the only thing I could vote for this year that was competitive — a levy for a local career center — passed, so I feel pretty good about that. Also on the ballot were a couple of uncontested races for township representative and school board, both non-partisan positions and the people who were up for those slots were perfectly good. While philosophically I am against uncontested political races, as a practical matter, meh, it was fine. Around the Dayton area, voters passed every single school levy that was put to them, which I think is a positive thing.

One new thing this election was that my polling place had different voting machines — ones where the machine you voted on was not connected to the Internet, and which printed out your voting choices on a long strip of paper so you could physically confirm the choices before it was scanned and sent into voting box. I thought this was kind of the long way around for something you could have done with a pen, but I appreciate the apparatus being more secure than the previous version.

So in all, a successful election day locally, from my point of view.

* In a larger sense I am also pleased with the results generally. I’m especially pleased with the result of the governor’s race in Kentucky, because Matt Bevin, the outgoing governor, is a real shitheel of a politician and I doubt he will be missed all that much. Despite being a real shitheel, he still managed to lose by less than 6,000 votes — partisan loyalty is a thing, y’all — and of course is now whining about how there were “irregularities” in the voting and how he’s not conceding the race and so on. At least he’s consistent. President Trump came out the day before the election and stumped for Bevin but of course made it all about him, telling Kentuckians re: Bevin not being reelected, that “you can’t let it happen to me!” Well, Bevin wasn’t reelected, and now it’s all about Trump! Well done him.

Virginia’s House and Senate (and governorship) are now all democratic as well (or will be in January), which doesn’t actually surprise me all that much — Virginia’s been turning bluer for a while now — but it should be interesting to see how that affects the state. I saw on Twitter someone noting that Virginia could become the 38th state to pass the ERA Amendment, but I’m not holding my breath on that one. As I understand it for it to be enshrined in our Constitution there would need to be a special dispensation from the House and Senate of the US (due to the lateness of the 38th vote for it), and I don’t see Mitch McConnell letting that one get by on his watch. Because he’s an awful person, you see.

* This was an off-off election cycle, so I wouldn’t read too much into it, but what I do think is important to see is that conventional wisdom out of Washington doesn’t seem to have that much connection to reality. There was some muttering/hand-wringing that the current impeachment proceedings would have an effect on voting, but… probably it didn’t? As far as I can see, most of the voting seems to be turning on local issues and concerns. Yes, Trump swooped in to Kentucky at the last minute, but when Bevin finally accepts the fact he’s lost, it’ll because of his own policies and karma, and not really about what’s going in Washington.

It’s for that reason I wouldn’t draw too many conclusions yet about what this means for this time next year. Next year, it will be about Washington. And what a time that will be.

The Big Idea: Cynthia Hand

In this Big Idea for her new novel The How & The Why, author Cynthia Hand looks into what makes us “family” — whether it’s genetics, blood, love, care or… more than that.


I’ve always had a hard time with the way adoption is portrayed in television and film. My central complaint, speaking as an adopted person, is that the portrayal is so often wildly unrealistic. These stories tend to focus on the search for the adoptee’s “real” parents and give little-to-no energy to understanding the adoptive parents. For example, look up, “Who is Superman’s father?” and you’ll find page after page on Jor-El, not Jonathan Kent. Or think about how in Once Upon A Time, the biological mother, Emma, does battle with the adopted mother, the literal evil queen. Or how the creators of The Umbrella Academy responded to questions about the incestuous relationship between Luther and Allison by saying “They’re not even related,” and “They are not biological.” The message comes through clearly: what makes a relationship “real” is blood.

For most adoptees, that is simply not the truth. Our “real” relationships are with our parents, and by parents, we mean the people who loved us and took care of us every day.

Therefore my goal as I set out to write The How & The Why was to give a realistic portrayal of adoption–one that thoroughly examines the different sides. The big idea was to show the point of views of both a teen birth mother and a teen adoptee and to examine the way each of them experiences “family.”

What ended up happening as I wrote the book, of course, was far more complex. Yes, my characters have a variety of family in their lives—biological and adopted, friendships, connections, and support systems that defy the conventional definition of what it means to be “related” to someone. What I didn’t expect was how much of the novel ended up being about how people shape their identities out of the stories they are told about themselves.

This made me think about how I had shaped my own identity, as an adopted person. I followed my character, Cass, as she tried to understand herself through her adoption, asking who am I over and over again. Then I followed S, the birth mother, who was basically asking the same question. I could see the invisible connections S had with Cass: the shape of their feet, their hatred of anything cherry-flavored, how they both felt gazing up at the moon—things they shared without even realizing it but that still inevitably connected them.

This made me wildly uncomfortable when I applied it to myself. Through the writing of these fictional people’s stories, I came to realize that who I am has been shaped by my relationship with my parents, of course, but it had also been forged from what I got from my birth parents, both in DNA and something even less tangible–those invisible connections I still had with them. Which are real, too.

Writing is funny that way. You start off having something definitive to say — adoptive families are real families — and then the narrative veers away toward something deeper. You come to figure out what you know through writing it. You discover things about yourself you never dreamed were there, lurking in the unexplored shadows. It’s what makes writing worth it, in the end.


The How & The Why: Amazon|Barnes & Noble|RDBooks|Indiebound|Powell’s

Read an excerpt. Visit the author’s site. Follow her on Twitter.

So, Scalzi, Now That You’re Done With the Book Are You Gonna Write About Politics More?

Eeeeeeeh, probably? But maybe not? Essentially, the problem I’ve been having writing about politics in the Trump era is the same problem I’ve had since it’s begun, which that it’s so obvious that Trump’s a corrupt, incompetent, bigoted tool that I find it difficult to find much new to say about him. Likewise, not too much to say about the Republican party these days except that it’s decided to expend its capital propping up the most corrupt, incompetent, bigoted tool that we’ve had as president in living memory, and will deserve what they get when demographics catch up with them and all the old white voters they’ve invested so much money into scaring die in the next 20 years, to be replaced by everyone else for whom the GOP brand is “ignorant white racist fauxvangelical moneyworshippers.” I’m going to live long enough to see this bullshit expunged, which is a lovely thought. But again, not sure how many words that merits from me at the moment.

My first thought is it seems likely the majority of my political thought is going to stay in the Twittersphere, the format of which is congenial to my state of mind these last few years. But of course there is more to politics than just Our Dimwit President, sooooo maybe I’ll talk about that? Or maybe I will just snap and do an 8,000 word rant on Trump one day, which will likely not be coherent but may be cathartic? Who knows?

So, basically: Probably I’ll talk about politics more here now? But maybe not? That’s the best I can do for you right now in terms of predictions, sorry.

I do know today is an election day in many places in the US, so if it is where you are, and you are eligible to vote, please do get your ass out there and vote. It’s not a difficult thing to do, and it matters.


Post-novel-writing brain truly hit today and I feel fine, just so long as you don’t expect me to think.

How are you?

What Authorial Agitation Looks Like, Scalzi Edition

A tale in three tweets:

Yeah, this.

I should be clear this was mostly for comedic effect. But on the other hand, yes, absolutely, once I send in a manuscript, after a couple of hours my brain is all “well? and?” because my brain, I think like most people’s brains, is not entirely convinced that anyone has a life outside my immediate needs and wishes. I do a lot of work not to show that part of my brain at all times.

But the good news is the book apparently works! I thought it did, mind you, and so did Krissy. But it’s nice to have verification outside the Scalzi household. You’ll see for yourself! In, uhhhh, April.

Terminator: Dark Fate Review

I’ll begin by noting that Terminator: Dark Fate director Tim Miller is a friend of mine, and that we’ve worked together on Love Death and Robots, so you’ll have to filter the following through that fact. Hey, disclosure is fun!

With that said, I was happy with this movie, which is what I wanted it to be: Lots of really nicely-done action, unstoppable killing machines, Arnold Schwarzenegger once again showing that being an actor with limited range is not a problem when a role is smack dab exactly in what little range you have, and most importantly, Sarah Connor.

As I walked out of the film last night I posted a five word recommendation of this film: “It gets Sarah Connor right.” This actually matters because despite the name of films, the “Terminator” films are about Sarah Connor, and the arc of her life dealing with the terrible fate that life has dealt her: Victim to fighter to avenger. Sarah Connor is realistically (within the context of these films) damaged by this fate of hers; particularly in this film she’s a PTSD wreck. And, well, she would be, wouldn’t she. It’s important that the Terminator films show her this way. It’s for better or worse the grounding the films need to make every other absurd thing that happens in them function on the level of plausibility.

People were pleased that Linda Hamilton was coming back to play Sarah Connor in this film, because she is iconic in the role — Emilia Clarke’s turn in the role in Terminator: Genisys was a decent cosplay of T2-era Hamilton that reminded me of how great Hamilton was in the role. What I like most about T:DF is that it doesn’t pretty up either Hamilton or Connor: She’s lined, she’s haggard, she’s old, and the character is not what you would call pleasant. Hamilton is 63 and in this film, at least, it’s not a Hollywood 63. I don’t think this counts as brave, exactly — ain’t nothing wrong with a 63-year-old woman looking her age — but I like that the film, and Hamilton, were perfectly fine with portraying Connor this way. The performance is the solid core of this film, and why this film is both the best Terminator film since T2, and also a solid capstone on Connor’s journey through this universe.

This film getting Sarah Connor right is important enough to me that I would be willing to overlook other issues with the film, but aside from one weirdly-janky CGI shot in the first act, this film hits most of its marks with confidence. As a director, Miller knows his way around an action scene, and the film doesn’t skimp on those. Generally speaking, Miller’s directorial style and sensibility is closer to James Cameron’s than the other directors in the series, which also helps in making this all-around the most credible non-Cameron sequel.

As the Terminator and Kyle Reese analogues in this film, respectively, both Gabriel Luna and Mackenzie Davis do their thing well. I was especially impressed with Davis, because my other experiences with her in film and TV did not show her as a particularly physical actor; she very credibly kicks ass here. Natalia Reyes is fine, although I found her character development a bit rushed. The script is trying to do a lot of things at once, and (probably accurately) assumes the audience is well familiar with the series as a whole, even the films (T3, Terminator Salvation, Genisys) this film retcons out of the timeline. I’d’ve been happy with a tighter focus. There’s some nice, unforced bits of humor I liked, most coming from Schwarzenegger.

Six films (and one television series) in, it’s worth it to ask whether the world needed yet another stab at the Terminator mythos. My response is: in this case, yes — because the arc of Sarah Connor was not yet complete, and the Terminator films are her story. Terminator: Dark Fate is the film that completes that arc. Which is makes it, of all the non-Cameron-directed films in the series, the only necessary one. For my own sense of completion, I’m glad to have it.

(Note: In the comments I’m going to trim out anything I think is an egregious spoiler inasmuch as it’s the first week of the film run, but there may still be some minor plot point discussion, so be aware of that. Also, if you’re gonna comment, try not to put in spoilers, thanks.)

And Now, A New Short Story: The Origin of the Flow

Back around my birthday, I ran a fundraiser for RIP Medical Debt, which buys up the medical debt of Americans for pennies on the dollar, and having done so, erases it — meaning those people, previously despairing of the cost of their medical care, just didn’t have to worry about it anymore. I noted that if the amount raised was $5k, I would write a short story, and if it reached $10k, I’d do audio. Well, we hit about $18k, so, uh, yeah. I was gonna have to pay up.

And so, here it is, and an interesting bit it is — I mentioned yesterday, when I wrote about writing The Last Emperox, my upcoming novel, that I sometimes write reference pieces for myself so I can give some context to myself about what I’m writing. Those pieces usually are never seen by others, but they’re useful for me, and they make a better book for everyone else.

This is one of those pieces. In the book, humans get around space via “The Flow” — a “metacosmological multidimensional space” that’s not of this universe but lets people get around in it at multiples of the speed of light. I decided I needed to give The Flow an origin story, as well as understand how people discovered it, so I wrote this piece for myself, which I am sharing with you now.

Because the piece is not in the book, this origin story of The Flow is not “canonical” — which is to say, while I wrote it to understand the universe I created, I reserve the right in the future to ignore it entirely or in parts if, for the purposes of writing a new book in the universe, I decide to go in another direction. To that respect, you could consider it “fan fiction” of my own universe. Which I think is pretty nifty.

So: If you donated to RIP Medical Debt for my birthday: This is for you. Thank you for being awesome.

In addition to this fulfilling my promise to write a short story for the RIP Medical Debt donators, today over on Twitter I passed the 170,000 followers mark — which makes this story a pretty nifty way to mark that occasion as well. If you follow me on Twitter: Hey, thanks. I appreciate it.

And now, without further ado, our story. The audio version is up at the top, and the text version follows.


by John Scalzi


13.7 billion years ago, there was an event that was commonly known as “The Big Bang.”

(On first blush this might appear to be going back a little too far, but stick with this for a moment.)

After the briefest of moments after the Big Bang, it’s generally understood how the universe proceeded. There was the appearance of everything that would ever exist in the universe in a tight, hot little space, a brief but significant expansion phase, and then from there it’s atomic creation: hydrogen and some helium turning into stars which turn into heavier elements which turn into other stars and rocks and planets and air and people and so on. Which is fine as far as it goes.

Of course, it was not as far as it goes. As the Big Bang birthed the universe, other cosmological entities, not of the universe but concurrent with it and in some cases coincident with it, sprang into multidimensional being and evolved as the universe evolved, although not always in the same ways or at the same pace. The universe, despite the roots of its name, was not alone.

Understandably human beings, and presumably any other intelligent species that might have also been developing along the entropic vector known as “time,” could be forgiven for thinking it was alone, and having a parochial view of things. For most of their time as a species, humans could only apprehend, understand and respond to the physical world directly surrounding them, a planet filled with water and atmosphere and predators. It was only after the species developed the capacity for abstract thought, language and mathematics that its understanding could contemplate the possibility that its planet, much less its solar system, galaxy and universe, was not all there was to the story.

Even then, and even after their capacity for thought was augmented by machines that would eventually do nearly all the heavy lifting, humans could only theorize that things beyond their universe might exist. This was for the same reason that their ancestors could only see to what was directly in front of them: They couldn’t escape their own frame of reference. The universe, as vast as it was – vaster even than could be observed – contained them utterly, a prison extending billions of lightyears in every direction.

And so it continued, until Tirzah Dalimunthe, a doctoral student at the University of Chicago, came to the realization that her dissertation work – on an excitingly new and profoundly abstruse branch of mathematics describing wildly theoretical structures called “metabranes” – accidentally, incidentally and indeed almost insultingly casually suggested that at least some metabrane structures actually existed and intruded into the known universe – a fact that could shake the very foundations of mathematics, physics and indeed reality as it was then understood.

Or would have, had Dalimunthe given a shit about it, which she didn’t, because she was desperately trying to finish her fucking dissertation, which was about something else entirely. She couldn’t just abandon years of research and antagonize her dissertation advisor, who she was pretty sure hated her guts anyway, on the mere suggestion of metabranes maybe poking into normal spacetime. That was fine and all, but what she really wanted to do was get her doctorate, find a teaching job, marry her fiancé and go on a honeymoon in Anguilla with nothing to do but drink fruity drinks and sex up her new spouse.

And indeed Dalimunthe did all of those things, in roughly that order. Then she lived, mostly happily, for another 53 years, having forgotten entirely about emergent metabrane structures. Good for her.

Twenty years after Dalimunthe was cremated, and her ashes covertly spread near a beach bar in Anguilla, there was another doctoral student, this one at the Freising-Weihenstephan branch of Technische Universität München, who came across her dissertation while searching for supporting material for their own nascent doctoral project. Unlike Dalimunthe, Korel Mainz had not already invested years to a particular topic, so when they followed the math on her discovery, they were more than willing to invest the time, and the university’s resources, in building it out fully.

Six years later, Mainz’s dissertation exploded across the fields of mathematics and physics and made them into their generation’s rock star scientist. Ten years after that Mainz picked up their Nobel Prize in physics, following the Fields-Lee medal in mathematics they had picked up the year before. A year after that, while attending symposium on the rapidly growing field of metabrane research, Mainz stepped off the curb to take a picture of the newly refurbished Empire State Building and walked backward into a bus, killing them instantly.

Two years after that fatal vehicular embrace, there was a statue of Mainz on the Technische Universität München main campus, and a final paper, revised and finished by their post-docs, which posited an instance of metabrane intrusion within the solar system, positioned, for mathematical reasons that only six people on the planet could genuinely follow, 35 astronomical units away, well below the plane of the ecliptic, in the direction of the constellation Tucana.

Sixteen years later, the Dalimunthe I spacecraft (so named because Korel Mainz was not an asshole and quite willingly gave credit where it was due, propelling the late Dalimunthe into minor posthumous fame) arrived at Mainz’s Rift, as the metabrane intrusion was colloquially called. The Rift couldn’t be seen from Earth, or in the Dalimunthe spacecraft’s cameras and sensors. The Dalimunthe rocketed at sixty thousand kilometers an hour toward a spot described only by math, of unknown size and dimension, reached it, and disappeared.

Some minutes later, allowing for the speed of light, there was champagne being cracked open in the Dalimunthe’s mission control center. Humanity had proven the existence of metabrane structures by blindly chucking a spacecraft into one to see what would happen. Someone in the Dalimunthe mission control noted that humans had effectively littered outside the bounds of the universe. Someone else dumped their champagne on his head.

Where that litter went was the topic of intense discussion among metabrane scientists for the next thirty years, with the field schisming into two camps, the ones who theorized there was a there there, and the ones who theorized there was no there there. The former camp hypothesized the Tucana Metabrane was actually another universe with more or less the same design as our own, whereas the latter camp laughed in their faces for being naïve enough to believe that any alternate universe-sized structure would operate under the same rules.

The two sides yelled at each other at annual conferences until a physicist named Diego Vasquez, of the “no there there” camp, presented a paper that posited that by wrapping a bubble of local space-time around a spacecraft, it might enter the Mainz Rift, study what was there, and exit to transmit the data. Everyone agreed this was an intriguing idea. Now all they needed to do was figure out how to create and maintain a bubble of local space time.

Which only took 58 years. Along the way several of the “failed” avenues of scientific exploration into doing so created more efficient spacefaring propulsion systems, the “push” fields which simulated gravity (and kept crews inside spaceships from being crushed by high-gravity acceleration) and a number of advances in computational science. While the scientists were working away on the Bubble Problem, commercial spaceflight, exploration and habitation took off in a significant way. When the Bubble Problem was solved and an exploratory spaceship (the Vasquez) prepped for the rift, it did not launch from Earth on the top of the rocket years before reaching its destination, but was ferried there in a cargo ship – a Lockheed/Wu Tacoma-class hauler, in point of fact – which reached the Mainz Rift from Earth orbit in thirteen days.

The plan was for the Vasquez to enter the rift, spend six hours (of subjective, relative time as counted off by the craft’s internal chronometer) collecting data, and return the way it came, if possible. As backup, an antenna aimed in the direction of a science station stationary a third of an AU over the sun’s north pole (again, relative to the Vasquez’s position as it entered the rift) would squirt data back into space. If time worked weirdly in the rift – or didn’t work at all – and the Vasquez popped out months or years later, it was designed to locate the sun, reorient, and hail the science station and start sending data.

Which it did, sixteen years and a couple of months later.

The good news was that the emergency reorient protocol worked; the Vasquez found the sun, deduced where the science station would be, and the data streamed in strong and uncorrupted.

The bad news was the data was useless; whatever was in the Mainz Rift was not observable by any of the instruments the Vasquez carried with it. The “no there there” crowd was smug about this.

The weird news was that the Vasquez’s signal was coming from AD Leonis, a red dwarf star sixteen lightyears from Earth.

The fact that the signal was coming from AD Leonis was weird in itself; what was even weirder was the fact that the signal was received just a little over sixteen years after the Vasquez had disappeared. The signal in itself had taken sixteen years to reach Earth, coursing across the heavens at the speed of light.

Which meant the Vasquez had reached AD Leonis a little over two months after it disappeared into the Mainz Rift.

To do that, it would have had to have traveled about ninety times the speed of light.

Which is just not done.

In our universe, at least.

New Books and ARCs, 1/11/19

New month, new books and ARCs! What in this stack of very fine titles is something you like to start your month with? Share in the comments —

Thoughts on the Completion of The Last Emperox

Now that it’s done, and because I think it’s useful and interesting for people, let’s talk a little about the process of writing The Last Emperox, and other things about the book. The following thoughts are in no particular order because, well, my brain is still a little mushy.

* I rather famously wrote TLE’s predecessor, The Consuming Fire, in two weeks. Did I do the same with The Last Emperox? No, and also maybe a little. The writing this time went a little like this: Nine months to write the first third of the book, three weeks to write the second third, and one week to write the last third, which includes an 11,000-word final day (which was yesterday).

This breakdown of writing time, i.e., first third slow, second third faster, final third in a rush, is actually not at all unusual for me. The first third of the writing is usually less about the typing than it is about the figuring out of the story and the characters and how they all fit together — this is the time where I spend lots of days staring out windows or taking long showers or looking up at a dark ceiling when a cat’s woken me up at 3fucking AM in the morning — seemingly pointless activity, but what my brain’s doing is problem solving.

The first third is also where I write a lot of stuff I don’t end up using, either writing what I thought was going to go into the book but eventually didn’t, or occasionally writing things so I can know it for myself, even if no one else sees it (sometimes I start writing the first but then it becomes the second). Writing that stuff out also takes up time.

After the first third, things speed up because by that time I know who the characters are, what they’re doing and where the story goes. There’s still the opportunity for surprises in terms of the writing, and for me to make substantial changes if necessary, but that sort of thing becomes increasingly rare the longer I’m in this phase.

With the final third, everything is locked, and the “writing” — plotting and story building — is done, so the only thing left is the typing. And I can type pretty fast.

So that aspect of the writing wasn’t and isn’t unusual at all. When I wrote The Consuming Fire, I did it unusually in that I did almost all the plotting and story building without physically writing. So when it came to do that, I did it all in one burst (which I don’t recommend because it meant me doing 8,000 words a day, which is neither physically nor mentally comfortable). This time, I did it more like I usually do it, and was not mentally/physically exhausted at the end of it. Which is a nice thing. Exhaustion is a lot.

* Except — well. I don’t usually take ten months to write one third of a book. What was going on with me this time that it took so long? Some explanations, which are different from excuses:

  1. I tried to write two pieces of long fiction at the same time to see if I could do it — TLE and the second installment of the Dispatcher series, and found it was detrimental to both stories, which is good to know about my bandwidth but bad in terms of getting either done (Dispatcher 2 is still only halfway done, and I will wrap that up in December, I think);
  2. I did a lot of travel this year, particularly international travel, and I was busy while traveling, so that both cut into writing time and also messed up my internal clock during and after, which made writing and focusing more difficult;
  3. I developed (and still have) a pretty significant case of tendonitis in my left shoulder, which has had an effect on the arm’s mobility and my ability to use it, from things like lifting overhead baggage to, yes, typing comfortably. It’s also messed up my sleep significantly (turning in bed sometimes means waking up suddenly in a lot of pain), which has had an effect on my ability to focus… rather more than I actually anticipated, and for a too-long time, wanted to admit;
  4. And of course, the world is on fire, and 2019 has been particularly fire-y, and world’s ability to pull my focus has been even more significant than usual. I’ve written about the difficulty of focus in the current era before, so I don’t need to do it again here. I will say that in four years now, I haven’t gotten inured to it all. This is good for me as a measure of my being a decent human, but regrettably not great for my writing speed.

At the beginning of the year, the theory was that I would be finished with The Last Emperox in April or possibly May, which would leave lots of time for fine tuning, promoting and what not. Obviously, I failed at that. This frustrates me a great deal. I have been fortunate that the team at Tor, from Patrick Nielsen Hayden on down, have been uniformly great in dealing with my delays, and the book will be out when it was meant to be out. The thing is, I don’t want them to have to be uniformly great. I want for me not to be a problem child.

It also means some projects I wanted to get to this year had to be punted down the road, which is also frustrating. I’m 50 now, and there’s only so much more punting I get to take before certain things will have to fall off the schedule forever.

The short version of this is: I need to do better at focus, and also, please fucking vote against bigoted awful incompetent criminal chaos actors in 2020 if you want work from me on a regular basis, thank you and please.

(Please note that I am not looking for advice here — I get to deal with my own shit, and also, since you’re not me, your advice on one (or more) of these issues is not likely to be directly useful. Thank you for the impulse, but just don’t.)

(Also, if you’re thinking of commenting something along the lines of “hey at least you write faster than GRRM/Pat Rothfuss/Whomever hur hur hur” and I know some of you are, do me a real big favor and don’t do that shit. Because it’s not a contest, and I get sick of hearing that sort of crap and I’m not even them. Also they’re friends. Don’t dump on my friends and/or other authors here and think you’re complimenting me when you do it.)

* I am happy to say that, kvetching about lengthy gestation periods aside, I’m happy with this book. Intentionally writing a trilogy is a new thing for me — I usually just write a standalone and then put out sequels if people like it — so one of the things I was confronting with these books was pacing: not just within a single book, which is hard enough, but three of them. Patrick will let me know soon enough, but I think I pulled it off reasonably well.

I also got to have a lot of fun with the established series characters in this book. There was more than once when Krissy, who reads the book chapter by chapter as it comes out of my brain, yelled up the stairs “You did WHAT?!?!?” to me as she got to some particularly gnarly plot point or event involving the characters. And of course I would just sit here in my office and snicker when she did.

I won’t go into detail about what happens, obviously. But I will say I think it’s very much of a piece with the previous two books, and people who enjoyed those books will enjoy this one as well. And now that the trilogy is done people can enjoy the entire scope of the series. There are no cliffhangers in this one, I promise…

* … Although there are places to go if I ever come back to this universe. To be clear, this trilogy is this trilogy; it’s done and finished, and the characters in it go to their various endings. It’s not a spoiler in the least to say that the promised collapse of an empire is fulfilled. I don’t tease like that, folks. But on the principle of “waste not, want not,” there’s enough open space for me in this universe that I could return to it without disturbing the fundamental nature and character of the Interdependency trilogy.

Fun fact: This trilogy was originally sold as a two-book series, in which the empire collapsed entirely in the first book, and in the second book we come back to see what’s going on 5,000 years later. Things changed once I got into the writing, and the single book very quickly expanded into three. And that book about things five millennia later? Well. Let’s see how things go.

* TLE comes out on April 14, 2020 in North America, which means probably April 16 in the UK and territories served by UK publisher. Yes, there’s an audiobook (remember that I have a deal with Audible that mirrors the Tor deal, so if I’m publishing a novel with Tor I automatically am publishing with Audible as well, you don’t really have to ask at this point). I can’t confirm who the audiobook narrator is at this point but I would be deeply surprised if it’s anyone other than who it’s been for the other two books in the series. Obviously it will be out in ebook format as well.

(If you want to pre-order the book in your preferred format so you won’t have to worry that the crush at your local bookstore will overwhelm you, please do. You can do that at your aforementioned local bookstore, who will be happy to take your order, or you can do it with your favorite online retailer.)

I imagine there will be a book tour when it comes out in April, but I haven’t confirmed that yet, nor do I know the particular cities I will be visiting on the tour. The way to make it more likely that I visit your town is not to tell me you want me to come, but instead tell your local bookstore, because they’re the ones the Tor PR people talk to. Also, people outside the US/Canada, asking the tour to include you won’t work because Tor only publishes my books in North America, so they’re going to focus on this continent (and, honestly, mostly the US) as a matter of practicality. You’ll have to ask the local publisher of my work to bring me out and tour me (or suggest me to a book festival in your country).

* And for the people who want to know, yes, the TV adaptation of the Interdependency series is still in process, and I’m very happy with how it’s going so far, although I can’t give you any more details than that at the moment. Just remember it’s a very long process involving a whole lot of people, and there are a whole lot of opportunities for it to fall down a dark hole, because that’s Hollywood for you. The good news is, no matter what, you have the books.

* Indeed, that is the good news: You’ll have the books. Going back to the idea that this is my first intentional trilogy, there was something a little disquieting about the idea that I might get eaten by a bear or run over by a fruit cart or whatever, and because of that people would never know the fates of Emperox Grayland II or Marce Claremont or Nadashe Nohamapetan or Kiva Lagos. Now, no matter what happens to me, you will. Patrick has the manuscript, and the actual book making process has begun. So now I’m fair game for bears and/or fruit carts and/or bears pushing fruit carts. Come at me, Fruity bear merchants! I await your wheels.

The Last Emperox — Done!

At 4:35pm today, Halloween, 2019. And it’s no trick, this book is a treat. I’m very happy with how it turned out.

I’m putting some acknowledgements on it now, and then off it goes to Tor.


My In-House Editor Prepares Me For the Final Push

Spice the cat at my keyboard

She tells me I got this thing. We will see.

Okay, folks. The next time you’ll hear from me is when this book is done. Wish me luck today.

An Update on the State of Things

It’s going well. I’m at the point where the writing is done and all that’s left is the typing, but there’s a lot of typing to be done between now and Friday.

I’m also at the stage where the issue is not the plot, but the sequencing; I wrote a chapter last night and then woke up early this morning and the first thought I had in my head was I need to chop that chapter in two and add another chapter in the middle. A chapter I had already intended to write, fortunately, not a whole new chapter I need to invent. At this point in the writing, these are better problems to have than, say, the ones where you’re left thinking I don’t know how to end this book. I know how to end this book, I’m happy to say.

To give you another indication of where I am on things, last Friday the back of one my molars just yeeted itself right out of my mouth and my thought on that was, well, that’s not getting fixed until after the book is done.

(Don’t worry, it’s not painful, it was just an old filling. And I have an appointment a week from now.)

Anyway, here’s Smudge.

Back to writing for me.

Look, Here’s Me at This Year’s National Book Festival

In this I talk about writing The Last Emperox, I read my short story “Automated Customer Service” and then I answer a whole bunch of questions. All told, about 45 minutes of me doing my thing. Enjoy.

Update: Also, I’m adding in the transcript of the main portion of my talk, just in case you don’t want to sit through the video. Enjoy.

Thank you everybody.

Before I begin, I just couldn’t notice that somebody that I know is actually in the audience, my friend, Joe, who I worked with at America Online when I lived in this area, about 20 years ago. And the thing to know about Joe is that I actually killed him not once but twice in my books [laughter]. The first time it was because he was my editor, and I’d said something to him, and he was snarking, and I was like, “that’s it! I’m going to murder you in a book.” [Laughter] And then the second book was happening at the same time, as that first book, so I had to kill him again. And you know, I think his reaction was like, “The first time it was funny, now I’m concerned [laughter].” So, Joe, I apologize for murdering you twice, please don’t kill me now.

I’m going to go ahead and start talking about my book, The Consuming Fire. Actually I’m going to talk about the series, which is the interdependency series, which includes The Collapsing Empire, which is the first book, The Consuming Fire, which is the second book, which is out now, and is the most recent book that I have that has come out, and then the third book, which I’m writing even as we speak. Not literally right this second, because I’m talking to you, but as far as my editor knows [laughter], I am writing it when I go back to my hotel room, which is called The Last Emperox.

And the thing about the Interdependency series, which is kind of funny, is I started thinking about this book in–or these books in about 2014, and the idea behind them is there is a galaxy spanning sort of faster than light highway, or a river, which is called the flow. And that’s how people get from one place to the next, and in the course of the books, the flow starts collapsing. So that’s the basis. And how people are responding to that is what drives the books.

But what’s been interesting to me is watching people respond to the books, specifically in many ways starting with the titles. The first book is called The Collapsing Empire, in which people were like, oh, so we’re writing about America now, are we? You know? [Laughter] Or The Consuming Fire, which is another one where they’re like that’s a little on the nose. And then people are like reading the books and are like, well these are clearly books that are about climate change denial. Or we’d like to know, no actually they’re books about Brexit, no, they’re actually books about Brexit?

No! There are actually books about bad governance, and you know, and so the, you know, listening to people talk about how they are seeing the events of today, being played out in the books that I’m writing. Being played out in the books that I’m writing, that they really believe that I’m writing these books about or commenting on the contemporary world, I’m just setting it in the future.

The irony of this for me is that for these books it really was not–the precipitating idea was not about climate change or Brexit or bad governance. I was, because I am a nerd, thinking about the golden age of European colonization from the 15th to 19th Centuries [laughter]. Particularly when I was thinking about it, was the colonization and exploitation of the Americas, notably by England, Spain and Portugal, and the way that happened was through the technology of the time, and the technology of the time were these wind-driven ships. Now, in the Atlantic ocean, there are, the tradewinds, and the ocean currents, and they basically formed this great gyre, or gyre, or however it’s pronounced, and the ships go one way, then they come back another way, and they come back around, and that’s how a lot of the American exploitation and colonialization happened, because those trade winds were there and the technology took advantage of that.

The Europeans benefited enormously from these natural phenomenon that they had absolutely no control over. And so what I thought about was, what would have happened if these trade winds and the ocean currents just stopped? Okay? Just stopped. Which kind of seems like a fantastical idea, but it’s really not. I mean it’s not impossible to disrupt the cycle of ocean currents, for example. Like, for example, if you heat up the planet and you melt a whole lot of the glaciers in Greenland, then all that cold water goes into the ocean, sinks to the bottom, where the engine of these currents happen, disrupts them entirely, all of a sudden, Europe is a popsicle, and they’re all screwed. Could happen [laughter]. Don’t know now.

But the whole point of that for me is that the course of history would have been changed, and it would have been changed because the technology of the time relied on, assumed a natural feature of the earth was eternal, which it may not have been, and may still not be. And so I took that idea, and because I was not writing historical fiction, because people will check your facts [laughter], I moved it to the future where nobody can tell if I’ve got it screwed up, because by the time it happens, it will be dead. So that was the precipitating idea, and I wrote in in 2014, long before anything that’s happening now was happening. So for me, when people are like, “It’s Brexit!” “It’s climate change denial”…I’m like, “No! It’s about colonialism!”

The other thing is that I also have a general philosophy of not bringing up specific political issues from today in the current–in the science fiction that I write in the very, very far future. The way that I explain this to people is that like taking something that’s going on today, in a very non-allegorical sense, and just bringing it 500 years in the future, or 400 years, or something like that, would be like somebody writing contemporary fiction today in a world where everyone, including everybody in this room is passionately, madly, and has immediately accessible opinions about the Alien and Sedition Acts. Right? I mean, this is Washington, D.C., you may actually have [laughter]…opinions about the Alien and Sedition Acts, and actually, let me have a show of hands, how many of you are Jeffersonians in this particular case [laughter]? And how many of you are Adams’s? You Adams’s can leave the room now [laughter], because he was wrong!

But this is my whole point. This is my whole point. It’s not–most of you know if you had a history class what the Alien and Sedition Acts are, but you otherwise don’t really particularly care. And most of the people 400 years from the future are concurrent, contrasts everything that we’re going through, they’ll be like: Well that was a thing that happened. Do I have to know it for the test [laughter]? And that’s how they’re going to relate to it. If you’re doing stuff like illusion to metaphor, and stuff like that, that’s fine too, but it’s otherwise, but even then you have to be really careful about, and now I’m on a soap box, because all of a sudden, you break the thing where the person is enveloped in your world, and they’re like, oh, he’s talking about Brexit, isn’t he? So…so these are things that generally speaking, when I’m writing in science fiction, I try to avoid.

I don’t try to make it just talking about things that are going on now, but for all of that, for all of that science fiction, all about science fiction being in the future. It is written in the current time, by people who are living in the current times. Hi, I’m John Scalzi. I was born in 1969. I am 50 years old. The only times I’ve ever known are the times we are in now. And the people who are alive today and who are reading, have the same circumstances as I do. Some of you are older, some of you are younger. As I go along, fewer of you will be older [laughter] and lost more of you will be younger. I am freaked out about the idea that there are two generations of adults who are older than me, and the fact that people who are 10 years younger than me are now middle aged, stop doing that [laughter], but that is kind of the way it is.

So, I’m a writer. I live today, and I cannot help but be influenced by current events, both positively and negatively. I thought of this idea for this Interdependency series in 2014, but I started writing it in 2016. So, and I’m currently writing the third book, as far as my editor knows. So, you know, there–the period of time in which I am writing these books encompasses basically what I call the current chaos, right?
And so it has an effect on me, just by existing.

Not only that, but my past as a writer is as a newspaper journalist and columnist, I find it really, really hard not to pay attention because this is my fundamental training of what’s going on today? What do I think about it? Let me tell you. I had my first job as a nationally syndicated columnist when I was 24. I was a professional mansplainer , right [laughter]? That’s–it’s hard to break that out. And so it’s very difficult for me to filter that all out, and not to be thinking about it. So I can’t help but be affected by what’s going on today.

Moreover, you as readers cannot help but be affected by what’s going on in the world today. When writers write a book, they know why they’re writing the book, sometimes, and they have an idea of why they write, and what they meant, and all that sort of stuff. But you are not us. You often do not know what we are thinking about our books. The way you come to the book, basically with what the words are, and your own interpretation of it, the book is only half about the author. The other half is about you as the reader. And it is what you bring into it. And what are you bringing into the books when you read them? You are bringing your own concerns, fears, apprehensions and connections.

So, the fact of the matter is, even if I didn’t intend to write about bad governance, and Brexit, and climate denial, people are still going to be making those connections because it’s what they see in the world right now, and it’s in the air of the times. We are all captive of the world that we live in. Some of us are responsible in greater or lesser ways from making those worlds, but a lot of us are just like, we’re here. This is what we’re dealing with.

And as a writer, I cannot tell people that they are wrong for finding the parallels in these books that I did not necessarily intend. I mean, I could say it, like, all of you are wrong, how dare you? You know? The voice of the author has spoken! But…by and large, again, the book is not just what I wrote. It’s what you bring to it as well. You are going to see parallels there. And I am going to be affected by the times. The world that we live in makes an effect on the world that I’ve built.

I’m currently writing the third book in the series. I am behind, because the world is distracting. Don’t tell my editor [laughter]. And I’m still not intentionally writing about climate denial or Brexit, or bad governance, even though I know so many people who have been reading the series are thinking about these things. But the fact of the matter is, the crisis in the universe I created, the people who are facing the crisis are reacting in a way that is not going to be dissimilar to the way that humans in the real world are reacting to the crises we are all facing today. We are all still the same human beings 1,500 years in the future, as we are today, as we were 30,000 years ago, when we were in the Savannah, and the only thing we had to worry about were jaguars and food.

And I’ll give you an example of this. One of the things that I talk about in the new book is I talk about the five-stages of crisis management, which are used by the people who have no desire to face up to the looming unavoidable, wrenching change that is coming, or for those for whom this looming change is inconvenient for the business plan. So these five stages of the–the five stages of crisis management are denial, denial, denial, [laughter] denial! And holy crap, everything is screwed, grab as much cash as you possibly can and run!

These five stages, I regret to say, are not exclusive to my universe [laughter]. Nor is greed and cupidity and short-sightedness, or the other dynamics, and the dynamics of the events that occur because of these qualities. People are going to see parallels in what I’m writing in this third book, to what is happening now, because the humans in my book are based on the humans that exist in the real world, and how they respond to the crises around them.

But I should also note that in my book, there are people who are fighting against the greed and the cupidity and the stupidity and every–the short-sightedness, and they are doing what they can to save the people who are affected by the change that is coming. That means everybody in that particular universe. And to prepare them for whatever comes next. And that, too, is because the people in my book are based on people in the real-world as well.

Now, in my books, I know what’s going to happen. And I write the fates of the people in them, and I make their choices for them, and I know whether their endings to the response, to the, you know, the extent that they’re in the books are happy or sad, or somewhere in between. In the real-world, we don’t know what’s going to happen, and I can’t write everyone’s fate. And so we all have to decide what sort of people we are going to choose to be. Whether we are going to be the short-sighted ones, or if we’re going to be another type of person entirely. You are the people who have to choose that.

And so I say to you. Choose wisely! The next generation of writers is out there. They are literally out here. And even if they write about the future as I do, they are going to be writing in the world that we leave them for the readers who follow us. And now is the time that we have to decide what it is they choose to say.

And that’s that.

German Expressionist Moon

From this morning. 

(Writing is going well, by the way. About to get back to it.)

New Books and ARCs, 10/24/19

This stack features extra added Sugar! (That’s the cat.) And is otherwise a very very fine stack of new books and ARCs. What here is calling to you? Tell us all in the comments!

Mostly Hiding Out Again

I’m still not done with The Last Emperox, and it absolutely has to be done by the end of the month, so… probably not going to be around a lot in the next couple of weeks, folks. Don’t worry, I’m not dead, but by the time I write “The End” I may wish I was.

I may drop in every now and then with cat pics and sunsets and new book stacks. Otherwise, yeah. November.