#zoomorphics — Public Fediverse posts

Otters!

Over on Gemæcce, my research blog, a post all about the difference between a) the static, two-dimensional profile art of the Early Medieval gospels and Pictish stones, and b) today’s more dynamic, realistic portrayal of beasts.

It’s longish, and not all readers will be interested in what it’s like to try create things like a doe and her faun, an eagle, and swimming orcas in a style that’s related to the Early Medieval. (If you do, of course, you can just follow the link above.) But my guess is quite a few of you wouldn’t mind seeing a few playful otters.

The reason I became interested in trying to draw otters was that I wanted a handmade cover for the tiny excerpt/outtake of Menewood that’s all about an otter that I posted on Patreon. (I did a cover for the entire, previously unseen chapter that went up a week later—but that was just a version of the existing book cover.) I thought it would be easy to draw a quick otter in the style I’ve developed for my zoologics series but, well, it wasn’t!

Otters, like hares, are very difficult to draw in simple black and white lines. They look reasonable enough in photos, and in colour images, and even in realistically shaded pencil sketches, but the minute you try to simplify them they become…improbable.

The first few I tried looked like Frankenbeasts: a blend of seal, weasel, and cat-turning-into-a-beaver. (One unfortunate version was rather like a manatee…) So then I decided to begin with basics: the dreaded static profile. And here I ran into a different problem: to make doubly sure they looked like *otters* and not any of the other mustelids (or marine mammals), I exaggerated things about the face and head that ended up neotonising them, turned them into cutesy baby cartoon versions of themselves.

I went back to the drawing boards—or, well, actually went to look at a lot of photos (lots and lots of photos; so very many photos—thanks to all on Bluesky and Facebook who suggested sites), plus an otter skeleton. And then I was finally able to figure out how to draw something recognisably otterly, vaguely Early Medieval, and with some personality: alert, curious, but not too cute…

But it’s still a profile. Yes, I turned the head (I’ve learnt that’s the best way to animate an otherwise stiff pose) and artistically curved the tail but, still: a fucking profile. None of that otterly twisting, turning, diving playful curiosity that is so characteristic of the murderers with a twinkle in their eye. So then the hard work began.

I’ll spare you the litany of woe, the shouting at my iPad, cursing the universe for making such weird and simultaneously attractive animals, and bellowing at the cats when they deleted six minutes work by thoughtfully tapping the wrong icon, and just show you what I ended up with (click through each image to larger versions).

There are things about all three that I like, and things that I can’t figure out how to fix. I experimented with different ways to draw the head, the paws, the limbs. None are quite as successful in their own right as the one in simple profile. If I had to choose a favourite of these three it would be the last—it feels more alive and proportional than the other two. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s also the one that’s least Medievalised. At my level of artistic skill (beginner, self-taught), that mix of Lindisfarne Gospels and Pictish Stones style that I’m fond of does not play nicely with dynamic movement and personality. Could an actual artist do it? Very probably. (And if one of you wants to have a go I would absolutely love to see some otters done right!)

And here, just because I can, are all three otters playing together.

Otters!

Over on Gemæcce, my research blog, a post all about the difference between a) the static, two-dimensional profile art of the Early Medieval gospels and Pictish stones, and b) today’s more dynamic, realistic portrayal of beasts.

It’s longish, and not all readers will be interested in what it’s like to try create things like a doe and her faun, an eagle, and swimming orcas in a style that’s related to the Early Medieval. (If you do, of course, you can just follow the link above.) But my guess is quite a few of you wouldn’t mind seeing a few playful otters.

The reason I became interested in trying to draw otters was that I wanted a handmade cover for the tiny excerpt/outtake of Menewood that’s all about an otter that I posted on Patreon. (I did a cover for the entire, previously unseen chapter that went up a week later—but that was just a version of the existing book cover.) I thought it would be easy to draw a quick otter in the style I’ve developed for my zoologics series but, well, it wasn’t!

Otters, like hares, are very difficult to draw in simple black and white lines. They look reasonable enough in photos, and in colour images, and even in realistically shaded pencil sketches, but the minute you try to simplify them they become…improbable.

The first few I tried looked like Frankenbeasts: a blend of seal, weasel, and cat-turning-into-a-beaver. (One unfortunate version was rather like a manatee…) So then I decided to begin with basics: the dreaded static profile. And here I ran into a different problem: to make doubly sure they looked like *otters* and not any of the other mustelids (or marine mammals), I exaggerated things about the face and head that ended up neotonising them, turned them into cutesy baby cartoon versions of themselves.

I went back to the drawing boards—or, well, actually went to look at a lot of photos (lots and lots of photos; so very many photos—thanks to all on Bluesky and Facebook who suggested sites), plus an otter skeleton. And then I was finally able to figure out how to draw something recognisably otterly, vaguely Early Medieval, and with some personality: alert, curious, but not too cute…

But it’s still a profile. Yes, I turned the head (I’ve learnt that’s the best way to animate an otherwise stiff pose) and artistically curved the tail but, still: a fucking profile. None of that otterly twisting, turning, diving playful curiosity that is so characteristic of the murderers with a twinkle in their eye. So then the hard work began.

I’ll spare you the litany of woe, the shouting at my iPad, cursing the universe for making such weird and simultaneously attractive animals, and bellowing at the cats when they deleted six minutes work by thoughtfully tapping the wrong icon, and just show you what I ended up with (click through each image to larger versions).

There are things about all three that I like, and things that I can’t figure out how to fix. I experimented with different ways to draw the head, the paws, the limbs. None are quite as successful in their own right as the one in simple profile. If I had to choose a favourite of these three it would be the last—it feels more alive and proportional than the other two. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s also the one that’s least Medievalised. At my level of artistic skill (beginner, self-taught), that mix of Lindisfarne Gospels and Pictish Stones style that I’m fond of does not play nicely with dynamic movement and personality. Could an actual artist do it? Very probably. (And if one of you wants to have a go I would absolutely love to see some otters done right!)

And here, just because I can, are all three otters playing together.

Otters!

Over on Gemæcce, my research blog, a post all about the difference between a) the static, two-dimensional profile art of the Early Medieval gospels and Pictish stones, and b) today’s more dynamic, realistic portrayal of beasts.

It’s longish, and not all readers will be interested in what it’s like to try create things like a doe and her faun, an eagle, and swimming orcas in a style that’s related to the Early Medieval. (If you do, of course, you can just follow the link above.) But my guess is quite a few of you wouldn’t mind seeing a few playful otters.

The reason I became interested in trying to draw otters was that I wanted a handmade cover for the tiny excerpt/outtake of Menewood that’s all about an otter that I posted on Patreon. (I did a cover for the entire, previously unseen chapter that went up a week later—but that was just a version of the existing book cover.) I thought it would be easy to draw a quick otter in the style I’ve developed for my zoologics series but, well, it wasn’t!

Otters, like hares, are very difficult to draw in simple black and white lines. They look reasonable enough in photos, and in colour images, and even in realistically shaded pencil sketches, but the minute you try to simplify them they become…improbable.

The first few I tried looked like Frankenbeasts: a blend of seal, weasel, and cat-turning-into-a-beaver. (One unfortunate version was rather like a manatee…) So then I decided to begin with basics: the dreaded static profile. And here I ran into a different problem: to make doubly sure they looked like *otters* and not any of the other mustelids (or marine mammals), I exaggerated things about the face and head that ended up neotonising them, turned them into cutesy baby cartoon versions of themselves.

I went back to the drawing boards—or, well, actually went to look at a lot of photos (lots and lots of photos; so very many photos—thanks to all on Bluesky and Facebook who suggested sites), plus an otter skeleton. And then I was finally able to figure out how to draw something recognisably otterly, vaguely Early Medieval, and with some personality: alert, curious, but not too cute…

But it’s still a profile. Yes, I turned the head (I’ve learnt that’s the best way to animate an otherwise stiff pose) and artistically curved the tail but, still: a fucking profile. None of that otterly twisting, turning, diving playful curiosity that is so characteristic of the murderers with a twinkle in their eye. So then the hard work began.

I’ll spare you the litany of woe, the shouting at my iPad, cursing the universe for making such weird and simultaneously attractive animals, and bellowing at the cats when they deleted six minutes work by thoughtfully tapping the wrong icon, and just show you what I ended up with (click through each image to larger versions).

There are things about all three that I like, and things that I can’t figure out how to fix. I experimented with different ways to draw the head, the paws, the limbs. None are quite as successful in their own right as the one in simple profile. If I had to choose a favourite of these three it would be the last—it feels more alive and proportional than the other two. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s also the one that’s least Medievalised. At my level of artistic skill (beginner, self-taught), that mix of Lindisfarne Gospels and Pictish Stones style that I’m fond of does not play nicely with dynamic movement and personality. Could an actual artist do it? Very probably. (And if one of you wants to have a go I would absolutely love to see some otters done right!)

And here, just because I can, are all three otters playing together.

Orcas and Otters and Eagles! Oh My!

A couple of months ago a reader sent me a photo of a Pictish stone I hadn’t seen.1 It was absolutely crammed with beasts, including two I hadn’t encountered on a stone before (a bear, and a goat—I think), plus two new combinations: a doe and faun, and an eagle eating a salmon.

It’s a puzzling stone because some of the beasties are incredibly lifelike—the bear is easily recognisable, so much so that you can tell it’s a brown bear, and the doe and faun are lovely!—while others are, well, perhaps the kindest way to describe them is ‘stylised to strangeness’. One beast in particular, the goat, is so odd the only reason it could be a goat is the horn.2 And the eagle eating the fish is so stiff I’m guessing the stone mason had never seen such a thing happen in the wild, so they just took an image of an eagle, swivelled it 90 degrees at the hips, and made it look as though it was lying on top of the fish like a toppled tree. (As I’ve noted elsewhere, some Pictish carvers were not very good at depicting animals in motion. Static and in profile? Yes. In motion and/or turned a few degrees? No.)

Still, I really liked that doe and faun, and I thought that if I rationalised the weird goatish beast just a bit it could at least look interesting. And then of course I thought I’d draw my own version of a Pictish eagle, only without the bother of the fish.

So that’s what I did—trying to represent Pictish style but with a slightly more 21st-century sensibility—that is, a sense of personality and a lot more movement:

I admit I completely forgot about the bear. Eh, maybe another time.

But then I started thinking about all the beasties that might, reasonably speaking, be familiar to Picts of the Early Medieval but that aren’t—as far as I know—represented on any stones.3 Things like dolphins and orcas, beavers, lynx, otters…

I’d already tried my hand at the lynx (though sadly that came out rather stiffly—it gave me much sympathy for the poor old stonemasons of yore) so I thought orcas might be cool. And they were! But. And. It turned out to be a bit difficult to render them Pictish style because—having lived in Seattle for more than 30 years—when I think of stylised orcas I tend to think of First Nations/Native American, particularly Coast Salish, imagery.4

Given that both cultures—Picts and Coast Salish—were working with the constraints of two-dimensional sculpture, it’s not surprising that there is a certain similarity between the two art styles. Anyway, to get the influence out of my system I did a version of the Tulalip Casino logo as it might have appeared on a Pictish stone. It’s a male orca (note the shape of the dorsal fin) with classic predator teeth.

Once that was done I felt better and could buckle down to a proper attempt. I wanted a killer whale, one that looked Early Medieval without also looking like the evil, mustachio-twirling villain of a silent movie. Also, given that traditionally female orcas do more hunting, I wanted her to be a girl.

I was pretty happy with that—and I wanted more of a challenge: to draw something more dynamic, less of a simple profile. So then I came up with this.

So now I couldn’t decide which I liked best. They were pretty different in tone: one serious, watchful, deadly; the other playful and carefree. And then it struck me: they belonged together!

When I worked on the hares I managed to get some dynamic figures—but they were still largely in profile. I wanted a really big challenge—and what better beastie to work with than an otter?

Otters, like hares, are very difficult to draw in simple black and white lines. The first few I tried looked like Frankenbeasts: a blend of seal, weasel and beaver. (One unfortunate version was rather like a manatee…) So then I decided to begin with basics: the dreaded static profile. And here I ran into a different problem: they looked like cute cartoons. However, after studying photo after photo of otters in the wild, then one of an otter skeletons, I finally figured out how to draw something recognisably otterly, vaguely Early Medieval, and with some personality: alert, curious, delightful but not too cute…

But it’s still a profile. Yes, I turned the head (I’ve learnt that’s the best way to animate an otherwise stiff pose) and artistically curved the tail but, still: a fucking profile. None of that otterly twisting, turning, diving playful curiosity that is so characteristic. So then the hard work began.

I’ll spare you the litany of woe, the shouting at my iPad, cursing the universe for making such weird and simultaneously delightful animals, and bellowing at the cats when they deleted six minutes work by thoughtfully tapping the wrong icon, and just show you what I ended up with (click through each image to larger versions).

There are things about all three that I like, and things that I can’t figure out how to fix. I experimented with different ways to draw the head, the paws, the limbs. None are quite as successful in their own right as the one in simple profile. If I had to choose a favourite of these three it would be the last—it feels more alive and proportional than the other two.5 I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s also the one that’s least Medievalised. At my level of artistic skill (beginner, self-taught), that mix of Lindisfarne Gospels and Pictish Stones style that I’m fond of does not play nicely with dynamic movement and personality. Could an actual artist do it? Very probably. (And if one of you wants to have a go I would absolutely love to see some otters done right!)

But for now I might be done with drawing. I need to be writing.

1. I’ve searched and searched but can’t seem to find who it was—sorry! ↩︎
2. Hmm. Maybe also that bifurcation in the belly—which I take to be an indication of the anatomy of a ruminant. But, oof, the legs, hooves, and tail… ↩︎
3. Except, maybe, dolphins/Pictish Beasts ↩︎
4. See, for example, this wonderful sculpture from Kwakwaka’wakw Master Carver Bill Henderson. At the other end of the scale you get commercial casino logos, like this one for the Tulalip Bingo & Slots. ↩︎
5. The middle one in particular feels sort of bulgy, not to mention stiff—a bit like a puppet on strings. ↩︎

Charlie and George: In their prime!

Today Charlie and George are seven years old. A prime birthday for kitties very much approaching their prime. Compared to the tiny little rescue beasties we first met they are monstrously large, magnificently mighty, and hugely handsome. Biased? Not at all!

I’ve posted many (many!) photos of these two over the years (for some examples, go read previous Kitten Reports, or just search under Charlie and George, or go read my Instagram or Bluesky accounts—more Charlie and George pictures than anyone (except their besotted staff) could possibly want).

So today I’ve gathered up a selection of my sketches, starting with my very first attempts—when I got my very first iPad with Pencil. They seemed as good a subject as any to experiment with. How old are they here? Honestly, I don’t know, but I’m guessing about two.

After a couple of weeks I got a bit better, figuring out how to (sort of) use (some) brushes on Procreate. This was when I discovered that Charlie had a gift I had hoped to never encounter again: the Paw of Permanent Delete. Two decades ago, this was a gift his forebear, Zack, had—with audio files. I’d spend an hour perfecting a reading from, say, Stay, only for Zack to trundle across the keyboard and just…erase everything. I don’t mean ‘erase to the most recent backup’, I mean make it unexist, as though I’d lived an hour in another universe. It was only ever audio files; never text or images. Sadly for me, Charlie has that gift—though only with Photoshop, and only on my iPad. Thankfully, at some point and some software update, his Paw was rendered inactive.

(Ah. He just opened his eyes, gave me a lazy yawn, a knowing blink, and a look that clearly said, That’s what you think…)

Anyway, after several traumatic days of work loss, I set my iPad and Pencil aside for a while—until I started working hard on maps for Menewood. But for whatever reason he wasn’t keen on those, so they (mostly) stayed safe.

But about a year ago I started to experiment with I call my Zoomorphics—copying and/or adapting the beautiful animal imagery of Early Medieval Britain, sometimes from their jewellery, sometimes from sculpture, and sometimes from il.uminated manuscripts, most often the Lindisfarne Gospels and the Book of Kells.

I never liked the Early Medieval versions of cats (see this one, or this one) so I decided to try my hand at Charlie and George, seventh-century style. In case you can’t really tell which is which—I don’t blame you!—on the left is eorge curled up asleep with his eyes open, and on the right Charlie crouched to pounce on a catnip mouse.

Those feel a bit, well, jazzy to me (not to mention that George’s hindquarters look disconcertingly like a large ham)—though I have to say the picture of Charlie does capture some of that coiled-to-spring energy that is such a part of him.

Anyway, it was at this point that I started to really focus on how to adapt realistic-looking animal poses to Early Medieval artistic styles—and now I’m talking specifically a) the Lindisfarne Gospels (whose scribe had a wonderfully fluid style that I admire enormously—s/he was particularly gifted when it comes to animal heads: see, for example, George’s head above, and then a bit further down; lifted whole cloth from Lindisfarne) and b) the early pre-Christian Pictish Stones. The Pictish carvers could do realism quite well—but only if that animal was very statically posed. I had to learn make a lot of mistakes before I could figure out how to adapt a blend of Lindisfarne and Pictish styles to start to create my own.

Here’s a purely Lindisfarne image of a young—six months old, maybe—George just waking from one of those sudden kittenish naps, and here’s Charlie, taken from a photo last year, at the height of his summer weight and muscle, looking more like a 90-lb cougar than a 9-lb tabby. There’s something about Charlie facial expressions that make him much harder to draw in adapted medieval style; even that wonderful Lindisfarne scribe couldn’t catch our beastie’s Resting Demon Face.

And, just for a change, here’s a picture of George when he’s not asleep, or just waking up. This is from a photo taken a year or two ago of him stalking a leaf. And here is Charlie looking sweet as pie, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. I forget what photo I used as a reference for this, though honestly it’s such a typical pose for him it could have been on of scores.

In the end what I’m trying to get at isi that Charlie and George are both now fully themselves. Their personalities have found their permanent form. That doesn’t mean they’re not growing and changing—they learn, absorb, and adapt all the time—but that they are distinct, and only growing more so as they gather experience and shape it around them.

George is still our kitty engineer—studying things carefully to work out the parameters and mechanism of action before engaging; after all, life is good and risk exists to be reduced to ensure continuing success. Charlie is still our, What’s that? Charge! knight in shining fur who will assume he is big enough to tackle anything and, after all, the world is his plaything.

They are both, of course, right. Kelley and I are honoured to host their magnificence and serve their needs as long as they’ll let us. We hope it will be many, many more years.

Charlie and George: In their prime!

Today Charlie and George are seven years old. A prime birthday for kitties very much approaching their prime. Compared to the tiny little rescue beasties we first met they are monstrously large, magnificently mighty, and hugely handsome. Biased? Not at all!

I’ve posted many (many!) photos of these two over the years (for some examples, go read previous Kitten Reports, or just search under Charlie and George, or go read my Instagram or Bluesky accounts—more Charlie and George pictures than anyone (except their besotted staff) could possibly want).

So today I’ve gathered up a selection of my sketches, starting with my very first attempts—when I got my very first iPad with Pencil. They seemed as good a subject as any to experiment with. How old are they here? Honestly, I don’t know, but I’m guessing about two.

After a couple of weeks I got a bit better, figuring out how to (sort of) use (some) brushes on Procreate. This was when I discovered that Charlie had a gift I had hoped to never encounter again: the Paw of Permanent Delete. Two decades ago, this was a gift his forebear, Zack, had—with audio files. I’d spend an hour perfecting a reading from, say, Stay, only for Zack to trundle across the keyboard and just…erase everything. I don’t mean ‘erase to the most recent backup’, I mean make it unexist, as though I’d lived an hour in another universe. It was only ever audio files; never text or images. Sadly for me, Charlie has that gift—though only with Photoshop, and only on my iPad. Thankfully, at some point and some software update, his Paw was rendered inactive.

(Ah. He just opened his eyes, gave me a lazy yawn, a knowing blink, and a look that clearly said, That’s what you think…)

Anyway, after several traumatic days of work loss, I set my iPad and Pencil aside for a while—until I started working hard on maps for Menewood. But for whatever reason he wasn’t keen on those, so they (mostly) stayed safe.

But about a year ago I started to experiment with I call my Zoomorphics—copying and/or adapting the beautiful animal imagery of Early Medieval Britain, sometimes from their jewellery, sometimes from sculpture, and sometimes from il.uminated manuscripts, most often the Lindisfarne Gospels and the Book of Kells.

I never liked the Early Medieval versions of cats (see this one, or this one) so I decided to try my hand at Charlie and George, seventh-century style. In case you can’t really tell which is which—I don’t blame you!—on the left is eorge curled up asleep with his eyes open, and on the right Charlie crouched to pounce on a catnip mouse.

Those feel a bit, well, jazzy to me (not to mention that George’s hindquarters look disconcertingly like a large ham)—though I have to say the picture of Charlie does capture some of that coiled-to-spring energy that is such a part of him.

Anyway, it was at this point that I started to really focus on how to adapt realistic-looking animal poses to Early Medieval artistic styles—and now I’m talking specifically a) the Lindisfarne Gospels (whose scribe had a wonderfully fluid style that I admire enormously—s/he was particularly gifted when it comes to animal heads: see, for example, George’s head above, and then a bit further down; lifted whole cloth from Lindisfarne) and b) the early pre-Christian Pictish Stones. The Pictish carvers could do realism quite well—but only if that animal was very statically posed. I had to learn make a lot of mistakes before I could figure out how to adapt a blend of Lindisfarne and Pictish styles to start to create my own.

Here’s a purely Lindisfarne image of a young—six months old, maybe—George just waking from one of those sudden kittenish naps, and here’s Charlie, taken from a photo last year, at the height of his summer weight and muscle, looking more like a 90-lb cougar than a 9-lb tabby. There’s something about Charlie facial expressions that make him much harder to draw in adapted medieval style; even that wonderful Lindisfarne scribe couldn’t catch our beastie’s Resting Demon Face.

And, just for a change, here’s a picture of George when he’s not asleep, or just waking up. This is from a photo taken a year or two ago of him stalking a leaf. And here is Charlie looking sweet as pie, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. I forget what photo I used as a reference for this, though honestly it’s such a typical pose for him it could have been on of scores.

In the end what I’m trying to get at isi that Charlie and George are both now fully themselves. Their personalities have found their permanent form. That doesn’t mean they’re not growing and changing—they learn, absorb, and adapt all the time—but that they are distinct, and only growing more so as they gather experience and shape it around them.

George is still our kitty engineer—studying things carefully to work out the parameters and mechanism of action before engaging; after all, life is good and risk exists to be reduced to ensure continuing success. Charlie is still our, What’s that? Charge! knight in shining fur who will assume he is big enough to tackle anything and, after all, the world is his plaything.

They are both, of course, right. Kelley and I are honoured to host their magnificence and serve their needs as long as they’ll let us. We hope it will be many, many more years.

Pictish Beasts in Bronze

Remember the silver snakestone lapel pin I sometimes wear on my jacket? It was cast by MaudPunk (who also makes the great Fairford Duck pendants that Kelley likes so well). Now, with my blessing, she has used two of my Pictish- and one Viking coin-inspired animal designs to cast pendants. (The raven is from the Norse coin.) Right now they’re only for sale in bronze, but in a week or two they’ll be available in copper—and maybe silver? (Not sure about that.) Also, though I’m not sure of the timetable, she’ll cast the designs as lapel pins.

Each image below links to its Etsy sale page.

If metal isn’t your thing but linoprints are, another artist friend, Vicki Platts-Brown, is working on a couple of other images (flying heron and the boxing hares). More when I have it. And if neither metal nor paper work for you, I recently had a conversation with a ceramicist about mugs. Stay tuned!

Pictish Beasts in Bronze

Remember the silver snakestone lapel pin I sometimes wear on my jacket? It was cast by MaudPunk (who also makes the great Fairford Duck pendants that Kelley likes so well). Now, with my blessing, she has used two of my Pictish- and one Viking coin-inspired animal designs to cast pendants. (The raven is from the Norse coin.) Right now they’re only for sale in bronze, but in a week or two they’ll be available in copper—and maybe silver? (Not sure about that.) Also, though I’m not sure of the timetable, she’ll cast the designs as lapel pins.

Each image below links to its Etsy sale page.

If metal isn’t your thing but linoprints are, another artist friend, Vicki Platts-Brown, is working on a couple of other images (flying heron and the boxing hares). More when I have it. And if neither metal nor paper work for you, I recently had a conversation with a ceramicist about mugs. Stay tuned!

Pictish Beasts in Bronze

Remember the silver snakestone lapel pin I sometimes wear on my jacket? It was cast by MaudPunk (who also makes the great Fairford Duck pendants that Kelley likes so well). Now, with my blessing, she has used two of my Pictish- and one Viking coin-inspired animal designs to cast pendants. (The raven is from the Norse coin.) Right now they’re only for sale in bronze, but in a week or two they’ll be available in copper—and maybe silver? (Not sure about that.) Also, though I’m not sure of the timetable, she’ll cast the designs as lapel pins.

Each image below links to its Etsy sale page.

If metal isn’t your thing but linoprints are, another artist friend, Vicki Platts-Brown, is working on a couple of other images (flying heron and the boxing hares). More when I have it. And if neither metal nor paper work for you, I recently had a conversation with a ceramicist about mugs. Stay tuned!

Dear Reader: a note about SHE IS HERE

I have a new book coming VERY SOON. I, of course, want you to read it. I’m also trying to find time to prep the events—y’know, what bit/s to read, how to talk about the book—before those events actually begin. Which means I’ve been working out how to talk about the book.

I thought you might like to see what I came up with.

Dear Reader,

Novelists learn very early in their careers to summarise every new book with a pithy phrase. (My first novel Ammonite: “Change or die.”) But today, less than a month before the publication of She Is Here, I am still struggling to define it. Perhaps that’s because it’s not a novel—nor all fiction, nor even prose. Not even text. 
      She Is Here is a selection of various published and unpublished creations spanning my career from before the publication of that first novel through to today. The fiction ranges from very short, to very early, to a novella about the magic of music published here for the first time. The poems were written to express emotion in private—grief, refusing ableism, dangerous lust, and the despair of degenerative illness. None are previously published—in fact, this marks the first publication of any of my poems anywhere. Similarly, I made the art purely for its own sake—in this case, images (very) loosely inspired by the illuminations of Early Medieval gospels. The non-fiction ranges from manifesto to Op-Ed to epistolary criticism to musings on etymology and the double-edged tool that is branding. Different facets from different eras of my creative life.
      That long-ago tagline, “Change or die,” was perfect for Ammonite. More than 30 years later I find it has become the bedrock principle of my life. Writers are often advised to write what we know. I believe, rather, that we write from our deepest self, from who we are. If we want our work to change and grow, we must, too. Life is change—constant discovery.
      The last words of “Glimmer,” the shortest fiction in the book, are “She is here. She has arrived.” The narrator has made a galaxy-spanning journey through time and space, past reality—astonishing, impossible—a miraculous achievement. But the achievement, the arrival, isn’t the point; the rest of her life is about to begin. Because it’s always about to begin.
     She Is Here, then, is a snapshot of a moment in time, containing, as do all of us, bits of the past, present and future. A kind of creative Commonplace Book.
      She is here. I am here. But where, exactly, is that? I have no idea; that’s the point! The joy lies in continuing to find out…

If you like the sound of that, perhaps you’d like to join me for one of those events in Seattle or Edmonds or virtually, before or during publication. I’m curious about what aspect of the book you’d like to know more about—so if you have an opinion, comment, or question, just drop it here.

Meanwhile, feel free to pre-order the book. Or put a hold on it at your library. It’s all good.

#bookBirthday #essays #interview #novella #poems #publication #sheIsHere #shortFiction #zoomorphics

Dear Reader: a note about SHE IS HERE

I have a new book coming VERY SOON. I, of course, want you to read it. I’m also trying to find time to prep the events—y’know, what bit/s to read, how to talk about the book—before those events actually begin. Which means I’ve been working out how to talk about the book.

I thought you might like to see what I came up with.

Dear Reader,

Novelists learn very early in their careers to summarise every new book with a pithy phrase. (My first novel Ammonite: “Change or die.”) But today, less than a month before the publication of She Is Here, I am still struggling to define it. Perhaps that’s because it’s not a novel—nor all fiction, nor even prose. Not even text. 
      She Is Here is a selection of various published and unpublished creations spanning my career from before the publication of that first novel through to today. The fiction ranges from very short, to very early, to a novella about the magic of music published here for the first time. The poems were written to express emotion in private—grief, refusing ableism, dangerous lust, and the despair of degenerative illness. None are previously published—in fact, this marks the first publication of any of my poems anywhere. Similarly, I made the art purely for its own sake—in this case, images (very) loosely inspired by the illuminations of Early Medieval gospels. The non-fiction ranges from manifesto to Op-Ed to epistolary criticism to musings on etymology and the double-edged tool that is branding. Different facets from different eras of my creative life.
      That long-ago tagline, “Change or die,” was perfect for Ammonite. More than 30 years later I find it has become the bedrock principle of my life. Writers are often advised to write what we know. I believe, rather, that we write from our deepest self, from who we are. If we want our work to change and grow, we must, too. Life is change—constant discovery.
      The last words of “Glimmer,” the shortest fiction in the book, are “She is here. She has arrived.” The narrator has made a galaxy-spanning journey through time and space, past reality—astonishing, impossible—a miraculous achievement. But the achievement, the arrival, isn’t the point; the rest of her life is about to begin. Because it’s always about to begin.
     She Is Here, then, is a snapshot of a moment in time, containing, as do all of us, bits of the past, present and future. A kind of creative Commonplace Book.
      She is here. I am here. But where, exactly, is that? I have no idea; that’s the point! The joy lies in continuing to find out…

If you like the sound of that, perhaps you’d like to join me for one of those events in Seattle or Edmonds or virtually, before or during publication. I’m curious about what aspect of the book you’d like to know more about—so if you have an opinion, comment, or question, just drop it here.

Meanwhile, feel free to pre-order the book. Or put a hold on it at your library. It’s all good.

#bookBirthday #essays #interview #novella #poems #publication #sheIsHere #shortFiction #zoomorphics

Dear Reader: a note about SHE IS HERE

I have a new book coming VERY SOON. I, of course, want you to read it. I’m also trying to find time to prep the events—y’know, what bit/s to read, how to talk about the book—before those events actually begin. Which means I’ve been working out how to talk about the book.

I thought you might like to see what I came up with.

Dear Reader,

Novelists learn very early in their careers to summarise every new book with a pithy phrase. (My first novel Ammonite: “Change or die.”) But today, less than a month before the publication of She Is Here, I am still struggling to define it. Perhaps that’s because it’s not a novel—nor all fiction, nor even prose. Not even text. 
      She Is Here is a selection of various published and unpublished creations spanning my career from before the publication of that first novel through to today. The fiction ranges from very short, to very early, to a novella about the magic of music published here for the first time. The poems were written to express emotion in private—grief, refusing ableism, dangerous lust, and the despair of degenerative illness. None are previously published—in fact, this marks the first publication of any of my poems anywhere. Similarly, I made the art purely for its own sake—in this case, images (very) loosely inspired by the illuminations of Early Medieval gospels. The non-fiction ranges from manifesto to Op-Ed to epistolary criticism to musings on etymology and the double-edged tool that is branding. Different facets from different eras of my creative life.
      That long-ago tagline, “Change or die,” was perfect for Ammonite. More than 30 years later I find it has become the bedrock principle of my life. Writers are often advised to write what we know. I believe, rather, that we write from our deepest self, from who we are. If we want our work to change and grow, we must, too. Life is change—constant discovery.
      The last words of “Glimmer,” the shortest fiction in the book, are “She is here. She has arrived.” The narrator has made a galaxy-spanning journey through time and space, past reality—astonishing, impossible—a miraculous achievement. But the achievement, the arrival, isn’t the point; the rest of her life is about to begin. Because it’s always about to begin.
     She Is Here, then, is a snapshot of a moment in time, containing, as do all of us, bits of the past, present and future. A kind of creative Commonplace Book.
      She is here. I am here. But where, exactly, is that? I have no idea; that’s the point! The joy lies in continuing to find out…

If you like the sound of that, perhaps you’d like to join me for one of those events in Seattle or Edmonds or virtually, before or during publication. I’m curious about what aspect of the book you’d like to know more about—so if you have an opinion, comment, or question, just drop it here.

Meanwhile, feel free to pre-order the book. Or put a hold on it at your library. It’s all good.

#bookBirthday #essays #interview #novella #poems #publication #sheIsHere #shortFiction #zoomorphics

Dear Reader: a note about SHE IS HERE

I have a new book coming VERY SOON. I, of course, want you to read it. I’m also trying to find time to prep the events—y’know, what bit/s to read, how to talk about the book—before those events actually begin. Which means I’ve been working out how to talk about the book.

I thought you might like to see what I came up with.

Dear Reader,

Novelists learn very early in their careers to summarise every new book with a pithy phrase. (My first novel Ammonite: “Change or die.”) But today, less than a month before the publication of She Is Here, I am still struggling to define it. Perhaps that’s because it’s not a novel—nor all fiction, nor even prose. Not even text. 
      She Is Here is a selection of various published and unpublished creations spanning my career from before the publication of that first novel through to today. The fiction ranges from very short, to very early, to a novella about the magic of music published here for the first time. The poems were written to express emotion in private—grief, refusing ableism, dangerous lust, and the despair of degenerative illness. None are previously published—in fact, this marks the first publication of any of my poems anywhere. Similarly, I made the art purely for its own sake—in this case, images (very) loosely inspired by the illuminations of Early Medieval gospels. The non-fiction ranges from manifesto to Op-Ed to epistolary criticism to musings on etymology and the double-edged tool that is branding. Different facets from different eras of my creative life.
      That long-ago tagline, “Change or die,” was perfect for Ammonite. More than 30 years later I find it has become the bedrock principle of my life. Writers are often advised to write what we know. I believe, rather, that we write from our deepest self, from who we are. If we want our work to change and grow, we must, too. Life is change—constant discovery.
      The last words of “Glimmer,” the shortest fiction in the book, are “She is here. She has arrived.” The narrator has made a galaxy-spanning journey through time and space, past reality—astonishing, impossible—a miraculous achievement. But the achievement, the arrival, isn’t the point; the rest of her life is about to begin. Because it’s always about to begin.
     She Is Here, then, is a snapshot of a moment in time, containing, as do all of us, bits of the past, present and future. A kind of creative Commonplace Book.
      She is here. I am here. But where, exactly, is that? I have no idea; that’s the point! The joy lies in continuing to find out…

If you like the sound of that, perhaps you’d like to join me for one of those events in Seattle or Edmonds or virtually, before or during publication. I’m curious about what aspect of the book you’d like to know more about—so if you have an opinion, comment, or question, just drop it here.

Meanwhile, feel free to pre-order the book. Or put a hold on it at your library. It’s all good.

#bookBirthday #essays #interview #novella #poems #publication #sheIsHere #shortFiction #zoomorphics

Dear Reader: a note about SHE IS HERE

I have a new book coming VERY SOON. I, of course, want you to read it. I’m also trying to find time to prep the events—y’know, what bit/s to read, how to talk about the book—before those events actually begin. Which means I’ve been working out how to talk about the book.

I thought you might like to see what I came up with.

Dear Reader,

Novelists learn very early in their careers to summarise every new book with a pithy phrase. (My first novel Ammonite: “Change or die.”) But today, less than a month before the publication of She Is Here, I am still struggling to define it. Perhaps that’s because it’s not a novel—nor all fiction, nor even prose. Not even text. 
      She Is Here is a selection of various published and unpublished creations spanning my career from before the publication of that first novel through to today. The fiction ranges from very short, to very early, to a novella about the magic of music published here for the first time. The poems were written to express emotion in private—grief, refusing ableism, dangerous lust, and the despair of degenerative illness. None are previously published—in fact, this marks the first publication of any of my poems anywhere. Similarly, I made the art purely for its own sake—in this case, images (very) loosely inspired by the illuminations of Early Medieval gospels. The non-fiction ranges from manifesto to Op-Ed to epistolary criticism to musings on etymology and the double-edged tool that is branding. Different facets from different eras of my creative life.
      That long-ago tagline, “Change or die,” was perfect for Ammonite. More than 30 years later I find it has become the bedrock principle of my life. Writers are often advised to write what we know. I believe, rather, that we write from our deepest self, from who we are. If we want our work to change and grow, we must, too. Life is change—constant discovery.
      The last words of “Glimmer,” the shortest fiction in the book, are “She is here. She has arrived.” The narrator has made a galaxy-spanning journey through time and space, past reality—astonishing, impossible—a miraculous achievement. But the achievement, the arrival, isn’t the point; the rest of her life is about to begin. Because it’s always about to begin.
     She Is Here, then, is a snapshot of a moment in time, containing, as do all of us, bits of the past, present and future. A kind of creative Commonplace Book.
      She is here. I am here. But where, exactly, is that? I have no idea; that’s the point! The joy lies in continuing to find out…

If you like the sound of that, perhaps you’d like to join me for one of those events in Seattle or Edmonds or virtually, before or during publication. I’m curious about what aspect of the book you’d like to know more about—so if you have an opinion, comment, or question, just drop it here.

Meanwhile, feel free to pre-order the book. Or put a hold on it at your library. It’s all good.

#bookBirthday #essays #interview #novella #poems #publication #sheIsHere #shortFiction #zoomorphics

Black and white through the writing ages

Every now and again I remember: I have a new book coming out in January! And then I have to go look at the cover.

And every time I see that photo I smile—it’s one of those absolutely-unaware-of-the-camera pictures of me that I wish I had more of. PM Press had asked for something in black and white, unusual, and ‘not like an author photo’. I was familiar with the Outspoken Author series design aesthetic, so I went on a hunt through my files for B&W shots that might fit. I assumed they’d want ones that most clearly resembled the over-60 writer I am now, so I sent them a handful taken from the Hild era onwards. But it turned out they didn’t like those: I looked too writerly and they wanted something less formal/more arresting. So then I dug a bit deeper and came up with stuff going back to age 20—at least those that I like, which tend to be unposed1, unselfconscious pictures taken when I was not aware of the camera, whether laughing or drinking, performing or lost in my inner thoughts.

The early ones—right through to the one shot at Whitby—were taken with old school analogue cameras loaded with black and white film. The later ones were colour and digital but, in my opinion, look better as black and white. I thought you might like to see them, in chronological order, starting when I’m 20 and moving through to 63.

• Age 20, in Pearson Park, Hull. Photo by Heidi Griffiths (no relation).
• Age 21, rehearsing with the band. Photo by Heidi G or maybe Jan Gordon.
• 22, hungover after an epic night. Photograph by Heidi G.
• 24, playing guitar at home in Hull. Photo by Carol Holmes
• 27, playing beer can percussion at Clarion in East Lansing. Photo by Mark Tiedemann
• 30, at Whitby Abbey. Photo by Kelley Eskridge
• 43 (?), at an awards ceremony. Photo by Mark T
• 45, drinking Guinness at Murphy’s pub in Wallingford for a calendar photoshoot to raise money for the Multiple Sclerosis Association. Photographer, er, I don’t remember.
• 53, at a local SFWA reading. Photo—I think—by Jennifer Durham
• 54, a reading for one of the multiple HILD tours. Photo by Jennifer D
• 54, another HILD reading. Photo by Jennifer D.
• 58, signing books after winning my second Washington State Book Award. Photo by Kelley E
• 61, me and Charlie Bean one cold but lovely winter morning. Photo by Kelley E
• 63, expounding on the Queer Medieval at Town Hall Seattle. Photo by Libby Lewis
• 63, at World Fantasy mass signing. Photo by either Mark T or Kelley E

The PM Press folks decided that the one taken at Whitby was the one. I thought that was a bit odd. I mean, why choose a photo of a 30 year-old author for a book of collected works by someone who is now 65? I couldn’t quite make it make sense. That is, until I considered the actual contents of the book, which is 150 pages long, the majority of which (86 pages) is fiction. Let me explain.

The 39-page section of nonfiction begins with the oldest piece, a blog post, “A Writer’s Manifesto.” That’s followed by a 2018 Op-Ed I did for the New York Times, then three essays—two of which are from a planned series of epistolary criticism—all written around the same time (2014 and 2015) and published (and republished) in various venues since. There are three drawings, all made in 2024 (none previously published; none of my drawings have been published, except a handful on Patreon). Then four poems, mostly written in my 40s and 50s (none previously published; none of my poetry has ever been published, except a few on Patreon). But the meat of the matter, the bulk of the book, is fiction—and that, interestingly, is in ascending word length and (mostly) reverse chronological order: the earlier I wrote it, the longer it is.

It starts with the shortest and most recently published story, “Glimmer” (2018; 1,000 words; SF). Then “Cold Wind” (2014; 3,600 words; Dark Fantasy). Followed by “Down the Path of the Sun” (4,400 words; 1990; post-apocalyptic SF). Although that last wasn’t published until I was 29 it was actually the first real short story I finished (since I was a fifteen-year old schoolgirl), written when, at aged 25, I decided to teach myself to write with short fiction. It was one of two I used as my submission pieces for Clarion. (The other was “Mirrors and Burnstone—not included in this collection—which just as I turned 28 ended up being my first professionally published piece, in Interzone.) These three are probably my least anthologised stories—in fact, I think “Glimmer” might be the only fiction I’ve ever published that hasn’t been either reprinted (until now) and/or translated into a variety of languages.2

But the biggest thing in the whole book, fully half the page count (17,750 words and 75 pages) is a previously-unpublished novella, “Many Things in Dumnet.” I wrote it in 1989, when I was either 28 or 29, not long before I moved from the UK to the US. It was a commissioned work-for-hire (originally called “Blood and Earth”) for which I was well paid, but when that project collapsed I fought for and got the rights back.3 I made one half-hearted effort in the early 90s to get it published but then withdrew it—because I’d started to see it as part of a larger work: an alt-history/sfnal apocalypse/virus-as-magic novel.4

I rewrote the novella to fit that concept at which point it seemed to me that, shorn of its surrounding-novel concept*, it no longer really made sense as a standalone.

So why is it included in She Is Here? Because, er, well, I made a mistake :)

When Nisi Shawl, the series co-editor, asked me to send initial selections of nonfiction, poetry, and short fiction, I combed through my work and divided each category into three folders: Yes, Maybe, and Hell No. She wanted me to send her about 3 times the amount of work that might end up in the finished volume to give her a wide pool from which to draw and so shape the collection. Given that she didn’t want fiction or nonfiction that had been too widely anthologised, translated, and/or reprinted, and given that I have no notion of myself as poet and am incompetent to judge, I decided to send both the Yes and Maybe folders for all three categories. And while I sent her the right sets (Y, M) of poems and essays, by mistake I sent her all three sets (Y, M, HN) of fiction. And because no two editor’s tastes are alike, Nisi chose the two shortest from Y, a medium-length from M…and the longest HN, the novella. (Hell No not because I thought it badly written but because of * above.)

I baulked. No, I said. This is meant to be a career-spanning retrospective—and what I write best, the short fiction that’s most representative of me, is supercool sex-and-tech SF and sex-and-shivers Dark Fantasy! To me, this novella, stripped of its sfnal alt-history context, reads as an old-school, music-as-magic secondary world fantasy. Sure, but I really like it! she said. But there’s no sex! I said. So what? she said. To which I had no real answer. Plus, look, she said. The book will get more attention if it includes something never before published. I pointed out that the poems were unpublished, the interview was unpublished, and the drawings were unpublished. Sure, she said again. But I really love this story, I really want it, and I mean to have it!

I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that for this entire collection—the nonfiction, the fiction, even the poetry—Nisi had consistently chosen pieces with no sex in them. I wasn’t sure that felt entirely true to me. In particular the fiction she chose feels more gentle and lonely than both my usual short work and my novels: very different to the sharp-edged crime fiction of Aud, the Early Medieval visceral embodiment of the Hild sequence, the seamy dark corners of Slow River, or molten rage of So Lucky.5

But in the end, between them Nisi and Kelley persuaded me that, as a collection—the combination of drawings and interview, poems and essays, as well as the fiction—it works, and more to the point highlights different emotional facets of my creative production. The poems are raw, the nonfiction stern, and the drawings pure, joyful whimsy. So, well, perhaps they have a point: perhaps the more gentle fiction turns She Is Here into a well-rounded showcase of who I am as a creator, not just a writer of fiction: who I am, period.

And of course, now finally seeing the collection typeset and proof-read, and being able to recognise that well over half the book is fiction written before that cover photo of 30-year-old me was even taken, perhaps PM Press chose the right picture after all: the young Nicola standing in a place steeped in the Long Ago dreaming of her own future reworking the past to a purpose.

But don’t take my word for it. You’ll be able to judge for yourself on January 27th. You can pre-order the finished book and book professionals may request a digital galley.

Pre-Order

US: Bookshop.org | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | PM Press
UK: Amazon | Waterstones | Blackwells | WH Smith

Request a digital galley

• NetGalley
• Edelweiss

1. With one exception, which I’m sure will be obvious to you—but I like it anyway. ↩︎
2. Ooops, spoke too soon. I just agreed for it to be translated into German for an anthology. ↩︎
3. Note to all creators, whether newbie or old-timer: always get your rights back! ↩︎
4. I still do. Every now and again I go write a bit, or rewrite another bit, or make some notes… ↩︎
5. I think you could argue there’s a kinship with Ammonite, though. ↩︎

#authorPhotos #collection #essays #interviews #newBook #nisiShawl #outspokenAuthorSeries #photos #pmPress #poetry #sheIsHere #shortFiction #zoomorphics

Black and white through the writing ages

Every now and again I remember: I have a new book coming out in January! And then I have to go look at the cover.

And every time I see that photo I smile—it’s one of those absolutely-unaware-of-the-camera pictures of me that I wish I had more of. PM Press had asked for something in black and white, unusual, and ‘not like an author photo’. I was familiar with the Outspoken Author series design aesthetic, so I went on a hunt through my files for B&W shots that might fit. I assumed they’d want ones that most clearly resembled the over-60 writer I am now, so I sent them a handful taken from the Hild era onwards. But it turned out they didn’t like those: I looked too writerly and they wanted something less formal/more arresting. So then I dug a bit deeper and came up with stuff going back to age 20—at least those that I like, which tend to be unposed1, unselfconscious pictures taken when I was not aware of the camera, whether laughing or drinking, performing or lost in my inner thoughts.

The early ones—right through to the one shot at Whitby—were taken with old school analogue cameras loaded with black and white film. The later ones were colour and digital but, in my opinion, look better as black and white. I thought you might like to see them, in chronological order, starting when I’m 20 and moving through to 63.

• Age 20, in Pearson Park, Hull. Photo by Heidi Griffiths (no relation).
• Age 21, rehearsing with the band. Photo by Heidi G or maybe Jan Gordon.
• 22, hungover after an epic night. Photograph by Heidi G.
• 24, playing guitar at home in Hull. Photo by Carol Holmes
• 27, playing beer can percussion at Clarion in East Lansing. Photo by Mark Tiedemann
• 30, at Whitby Abbey. Photo by Kelley Eskridge
• 43 (?), at an awards ceremony. Photo by Mark T
• 45, drinking Guinness at Murphy’s pub in Wallingford for a calendar photoshoot to raise money for the Multiple Sclerosis Association. Photographer, er, I don’t remember.
• 53, at a local SFWA reading. Photo—I think—by Jennifer Durham
• 54, a reading for one of the multiple HILD tours. Photo by Jennifer D
• 54, another HILD reading. Photo by Jennifer D.
• 58, signing books after winning my second Washington State Book Award. Photo by Kelley E
• 61, me and Charlie Bean one cold but lovely winter morning. Photo by Kelley E
• 63, expounding on the Queer Medieval at Town Hall Seattle. Photo by Libby Lewis
• 63, at World Fantasy mass signing. Photo by either Mark T or Kelley E

The PM Press folks decided that the one taken at Whitby was the one. I thought that was a bit odd. I mean, why choose a photo of a 30 year-old author for a book of collected works by someone who is now 65? I couldn’t quite make it make sense. That is, until I considered the actual contents of the book, which is 150 pages long, the majority of which (86 pages) is fiction. Let me explain.

The 39-page section of nonfiction begins with the oldest piece, a blog post, “A Writer’s Manifesto.” That’s followed by a 2018 Op-Ed I did for the New York Times, then three essays—two of which are from a planned series of epistolary criticism—all written around the same time (2014 and 2015) and published (and republished) in various venues since. There are three drawings, all made in 2024 (none previously published; none of my drawings have been published, except a handful on Patreon). Then four poems, mostly written in my 40s and 50s (none previously published; none of my poetry has ever been published, except a few on Patreon). But the meat of the matter, the bulk of the book, is fiction—and that, interestingly, is in ascending word length and (mostly) reverse chronological order: the earlier I wrote it, the longer it is.

It starts with the shortest and most recently published story, “Glimmer” (2018; 1,000 words; SF). Then “Cold Wind” (2014; 3,600 words; Dark Fantasy). Followed by “Down the Path of the Sun” (4,400 words; 1990; post-apocalyptic SF). Although that last wasn’t published until I was 29 it was actually the first real short story I finished (since I was a fifteen-year old schoolgirl), written when, at aged 25, I decided to teach myself to write with short fiction. It was one of two I used as my submission pieces for Clarion. (The other was “Mirrors and Burnstone—not included in this collection—which just as I turned 28 ended up being my first professionally published piece, in Interzone.) These three are probably my least anthologised stories—in fact, I think “Glimmer” might be the only fiction I’ve ever published that hasn’t been either reprinted (until now) and/or translated into a variety of languages.2

But the biggest thing in the whole book, fully half the page count (17,750 words and 75 pages) is a previously-unpublished novella, “Many Things in Dumnet.” I wrote it in 1989, when I was either 28 or 29, not long before I moved from the UK to the US. It was a commissioned work-for-hire (originally called “Blood and Earth”) for which I was well paid, but when that project collapsed I fought for and got the rights back.3 I made one half-hearted effort in the early 90s to get it published but then withdrew it—because I’d started to see it as part of a larger work: an alt-history/sfnal apocalypse/virus-as-magic novel.4

I rewrote the novella to fit that concept at which point it seemed to me that, shorn of its surrounding-novel concept*, it no longer really made sense as a standalone.

So why is it included in She Is Here? Because, er, well, I made a mistake :)

When Nisi Shawl, the series co-editor, asked me to send initial selections of nonfiction, poetry, and short fiction, I combed through my work and divided each category into three folders: Yes, Maybe, and Hell No. She wanted me to send her about 3 times the amount of work that might end up in the finished volume to give her a wide pool from which to draw and so shape the collection. Given that she didn’t want fiction or nonfiction that had been too widely anthologised, translated, and/or reprinted, and given that I have no notion of myself as poet and am incompetent to judge, I decided to send both the Yes and Maybe folders for all three categories. And while I sent her the right sets (Y, M) of poems and essays, by mistake I sent her all three sets (Y, M, HN) of fiction. And because no two editor’s tastes are alike, Nisi chose the two shortest from Y, a medium-length from M…and the longest HN, the novella. (Hell No not because I thought it badly written but because of * above.)

I baulked. No, I said. This is meant to be a career-spanning retrospective—and what I write best, the short fiction that’s most representative of me, is supercool sex-and-tech SF and sex-and-shivers Dark Fantasy! To me, this novella, stripped of its sfnal alt-history context, reads as an old-school, music-as-magic secondary world fantasy. Sure, but I really like it! she said. But there’s no sex! I said. So what? she said. To which I had no real answer. Plus, look, she said. The book will get more attention if it includes something never before published. I pointed out that the poems were unpublished, the interview was unpublished, and the drawings were unpublished. Sure, she said again. But I really love this story, I really want it, and I mean to have it!

I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that for this entire collection—the nonfiction, the fiction, even the poetry—Nisi had consistently chosen pieces with no sex in them. I wasn’t sure that felt entirely true to me. In particular the fiction she chose feels more gentle and lonely than both my usual short work and my novels: very different to the sharp-edged crime fiction of Aud, the Early Medieval visceral embodiment of the Hild sequence, the seamy dark corners of Slow River, or molten rage of So Lucky.5

But in the end, between them Nisi and Kelley persuaded me that, as a collection—the combination of drawings and interview, poems and essays, as well as the fiction—it works, and more to the point highlights different emotional facets of my creative production. The poems are raw, the nonfiction stern, and the drawings pure, joyful whimsy. So, well, perhaps they have a point: perhaps the more gentle fiction turns She Is Here into a well-rounded showcase of who I am as a creator, not just a writer of fiction: who I am, period.

And of course, now finally seeing the collection typeset and proof-read, and being able to recognise that well over half the book is fiction written before that cover photo of 30-year-old me was even taken, perhaps PM Press chose the right picture after all: the young Nicola standing in a place steeped in the Long Ago dreaming of her own future reworking the past to a purpose.

But don’t take my word for it. You’ll be able to judge for yourself on January 27th. You can pre-order the finished book and book professionals may request a digital galley.

Pre-Order

US: Bookshop.org | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | PM Press
UK: Amazon | Waterstones | Blackwells | WH Smith

Request a digital galley

• NetGalley
• Edelweiss

1. With one exception, which I’m sure will be obvious to you—but I like it anyway. ↩︎
2. Ooops, spoke too soon. I just agreed for it to be translated into German for an anthology. ↩︎
3. Note to all creators, whether newbie or old-timer: always get your rights back! ↩︎
4. I still do. Every now and again I go write a bit, or rewrite another bit, or make some notes… ↩︎
5. I think you could argue there’s a kinship with Ammonite, though. ↩︎

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