Hotel

"Hotel" is a sci-fi novelette by Suzanne Palmer published in the January issue of Asimov's.  It seemed to match its publisher's style perfectly.  The time-span is too long to make an accurate statement, but I believe this was my favorite story out of this issue.

Setting is, as most people know, important in sci-fi.  This story is set on Mars.  While not entirely unique, the localized setting was fresh and intriguing.  I won't give too much away.  As the story suggests, most of the action takes place in a hotel.  The hotel is also sort of a character (a simulated intelligence), bringing new meaning to "setting as a character".

There were a lot of characters in this story.  I like that.  A lot of people feel that a novelette should have very few characters.  I don't think that's necessarily the case.  However, you have to be a talented writer to get it right.  Ms. Palmer did a great job with this story.  I connected with the characters, could tell them apart 95% of the time, and found them to be quite cool.  As a bonus, two of the characters were aliens!  The characters had many secrets to be discovered over the course of the novelette.  Which is, of course, a plot device.

The plot had an awesome feel to it.  It ranged from high-action to suspenseful to almost mystery at different points.  Tension was always there, something ever story should have to keep the readers' chests a little tight.  One tiny section at the end could have been shortened even further, but it had to be mentioned anyway, so I can live with a few paragraphs spent on it.  Every problem presented was resolved, typical for a short fiction piece.  The resolutions were satisfying, all except for the death of one character.  It was foreshadowed passably, but felt a little far-fetched and slightly like a "deus ex machina".

I recommend this story to anyone who likes sci-fi, especially in the style of Asimov's.  It gets a 94% from me.

Under the Apple Tree

(Note: This first appeared as a comment on one of the 1000th Monkey's Friday Flash posts.)

     We found it under the apple tree in Jake Wilson's yard. It squirmed, crawled, excreted slimy orange fluid. One of its three eyes blinked at us, the iris blood red. A second eye opened, this one gold. A narrow beam of light shot out of the pupil.

     "Ow," my brother, Michael, said. He shook a scorched forefinger.

     I took a step back as it opened its final eye. Nothing happened.

     "Wow, it's so green," Michael said. He sucked on his finger.

     "I think we should tell Mr. Wilson about this..." I trailed.

     "No," came a voice. I looked around, pivoting. Nothing.

     Michael's face turned snow white. "I...I think that thing talked."

     "But it doesn't even have a mouth."

     "Why yes, I do, and quite a large one," said the voice. "All the better to eat you with."

The Glacier of Speculative Fiction

You've probably heard of the two writing principles that I'm combining in my lovely Paint illustration.  The first is The Triangle of the Familiar and the Strange.  The second is a mostly-hidden glacier (of triangular shape, to make this work).

The Triangle of the Familiar and the Strange is a visual rule-of-thumb for descriptions in speculative fiction.  You don't want to include too many fantastical elements in your story, especially early on (I'll talk about learning curves soon).  A purely secondary world leads to mass confusion.  It is the small, constant details that remind you of our own world that keeps things from turning into mindless chaos.  Typically, most varieties of flora and fauna are the same in speculative worlds as they are in ours, with a few new ones thrown in for flavor.  Measurements almost have to be based upon our own, with exceptions based on human anatomy (arm-lengths, paces, literal feet, etc.)  However, a speculative setting is not complete without magic or high-technology, utopias or dystopias.  A good balance is tough to achieve, yet far from impossible.

Only about ten percent of every well-written story makes it onto the page.  The rest lurks beneath the surface, sometimes acting as sub-text, other times as strategically omitted information.  As a writer, you should know some of the glacier's lower region---you don't want to go out like the Titanic.  Good authors hint at the ninety percent of their stories that go unpenned.  If you mention a great warrior who died at a particular milestone in a travelogue, readers will know that a battle probably took place there, an irrelevant but satisfying detail.  Some authors take years developing the ninety percent you don't see, most notably J.R.R. Tolkien.  Figuring out too much of it manifests as a case of World-Builders' Disease.  While The Triangle of the Strange and Familiar has a fairly consistent ratio across speculative fiction, the ratio of strange to familiar in the lower ninety percent varies greatly depending upon the story.

These two writing principles work hand-in-hand to form The Glacier of Speculative Fiction.

The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction

I've only read four stories from this magazine, but from those readings I've detected some unique qualities for speculative fiction of today.  They're written in 3rd-narrative.  Not limited.  And yet they're quite good.  The latest story I read, "The Heartsmith's Daughter", seems to be my favorite.  It appears to be a fairy tale (and is), but there is depth and grit to support the suave narration.  Asimov's, and even Analog, have some of the same types of stories, sort of Howl's Moving Castle for readers a few years older.  The Magazine of F&SF operates at about the same level, with its own eclectic style.

Lovers of fantasy and science fiction will almost certainly love one of the three mentioned magazines, and at the least make it to the end of stories in the others.  I love all three.

There Is Time Left Yet

     Kiyoshi didn't consider himself a superstitious man, but when a third crow landed on his mailbox, he felt led to reevaluate his thoughts on the matter.  Worse was the single green feather on each wing of the last carrion bird: the mark of the Shade.
     He tore into his house, throwing open door after door to his late father's private chapel.  A circle of stones lay prepared for rites, unbroken despite years of disuse.  He hefted a pot of ash from the corner and covered the fine mahogany floor boards contained in the circle.  With two fingers, he drew the divine symbol for protection, so far as he could remember it.  His heart rate slowed.  He took a deep breath.
     The sound of splintering wood erupted from the other end of the house.  Kiyoshi's hands darted to the holster at his hip.  He pulled out the revolver, clutched it close to his newly thumping chest.  The temperature dropped, at first just a few degrees, but in moments the air turned frigid.  Kiyoshi shook.
     A low, grating voice whispered, "Come to me.  Feed the darkness."
     "I," Kiyoshi choked, "follow the light."  He held his firearm out, aimed at the door.
     "All light must fade in the darkness."
     The door rocked.  Both hinges bent, then cracked.  Kiyoshi opened fire as it tumbled to the floor.  A black figure stretched phantom arms toward him.  The bullets did nothing to slow its approach.
     The Shade bent over him, perched to join him with the darkness.  Its fingers stopped centimeters from his body.  The whole silhouette shone white, flickered, stilled.  A voice came from it, saying, "I will save you this time, Kiyoshi, but know this: 'Without light there can be only darkness'."
     Kiyoshi fell to his knees.  "My Lord!  My savior!  How long have I lived outside the light?  My years of sin have surely cursed my soul."
     "Rise," said the voice.  "You are forgiven.  Go out and preach my ministry as your father did before you.  There is time left yet."