by Zhao Haihong
I still remember the moment I was inspired to be a writer. I was twelve at that time, a sixth-grade primary school student.
When I came across the line in Gardener by Tagore, “Who are you, reader, reading my poems a hundred years hence,” I was deeply touched by the moment of conversation built between a past poet and a little girl. That moment was real and that is the moment Tagore already foretold. The simple line builds a bridge between different time spaces, like a time machine might do. At one side, the confident poet called for his future readers; at another, a girl who receives the precious information and decides her future.
Here in this story, I looked back at my writing career and finally figured out why I could keep writing SF for twenty years.
I became a devoted reader when I was six, but my reading mainly related to literature as a whole, the canon, as Harold Bloom called it, and also some popular literature. In middle school, I started my writing—poems, kung-fu stories, historical romances, and science fiction. I just wrote them for fun. Among them, a story “Great Rift” (about how an alien watchman on Earth uses a video camera to record the Earth’s history in a fast mode) was published in the fanzine of a student club when I was 16. And two years later, I sent it to Science Fiction World, the most important and, for a long time, the only science fiction magazine in China. It was published in February 1996, when I was a freshman. Continue reading “Finding My Place in the Universe”
It may have taken thirty years, but we’re thrilled to publish the intended follow-up to “Why I Left Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers,” which was featured in the July 1987 issue of Asimov’s. Below, author Lawrence Watt-Evans describes its journey to our pages as well as his own within the writing profession.
Asimov’s Editor: What is the story behind this piece?
LWE: The story behind the story: Back in 1987 I made my first sale to a major science fiction magazine, when Asimov’s bought “Why I Left Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers.” I was thrilled, and wanted to find a way to exploit this opening.
It immediately occurred to me that I could use Harry’s as the setting for other stories. I came up with several premises, and started writing five of them. The most ambitious was called “How I Found Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers,” and it was intended as a pretty direct follow-up.
But the only one I finished in anything like a reasonable time frame was “A Flying Saucer with Minnesota Plates.”
But then, early in 2018, Warner Brothers optioned a script based on “Why I Left Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers,” and my interest was suddenly renewed. This time I did complete “How I Found Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers.” Naturally, I sent it to the same place I’d sent the first two, and they bought it—my first sale to Asimov’s in over twenty years. Also my first submission there in over twenty years.
Continue reading “Q&A with Lawrence Watt-Evans”
by Michael Swanwick
Emily Hockaday [Asimov’s Associate Editor] asked me if I would write a guest blog post for From Earth to the Stars about how I came to write my latest story for Asimov’s Science Fiction.
Um . . . okay.
At the risk of sounding reductionist, it took eighteen songs and two days to write “Eighteen Songs by Debussy.” Here, as best as I can reconstruct things, is what went into the creation of that story.
Of Debussy’s songs I know almost nothing. Only that they are lush, moving, romantic, tragic, erotic, and capable of touching the spirit as well as the body. Also that, when well performed, they are worth paying money to hear.
Thus it was that I found myself at the Academy of Vocal Arts, one of Philadelphia’s cultural treasures, listening to Lyric Fest’s recital of the songs that inspired my story.
Continue reading “Two Days and Eighteen Songs”
Kofi Nyameye appears in our pages for the first time in the March/April issue [one sale now] with his short story “The Lights Go Out, One by One.” Here he describes how the tale expanded from its original version, his endless fascination with people, his writing process, and much more.
Asimov’s Editor: What is the story behind this piece?
KN: I wrote a very early form of this story about five years ago. It was barely over a thousand words long, but the germ of the idea was there. Deep down I knew there was more to the story than what I’d written, but I felt too lazy to put in the work required to expand it, so I put the story away and moved on to something else.
Three years later I showed that draft to my mentor, Geoff Ryman. After reading it he also believed there was a bigger story in there than what I’d written, and encouraged me to return to it, see what I’d find.
The Lights Go Out is what I found.
AE: How did this story germinate? Was there a spark of inspiration, or did it come to you slowly?
KN: The image that grew into this story popped into my head one day while I was doing some meaningless task I no longer remember. I saw two people on the outside of a spaceship, trying desperately to repair a fault while their ship spun wildly out of control. The image hooked me at once. I knew I had to find out what was going on there.
Continue reading “Q&A with Kofi Nyameye”
After decades of prolific storytelling, Tom Purdom thought he had run out of ideas. So he decided to confront SFnal themes he had previously avoided, and inspiration returned. The result, among other stories, was “January March” in our current issue [on sale now].
Asimov’s Editor: What is the story behind this piece?
TP: A few years ago I discovered I didn’t have any ideas for new stories. All my life, it seems to me, I’ve known what my next fiction project would be while I was working on the current one. I could have assumed I was just getting old, my idea generator had conked out, and I should stop writing science fiction. That didn’t seem like an attractive option. Instead, I looked around for a type of SF story I hadn’t written and decided I could start by experimenting with faster-than-light interstellar travel. I’ve avoided FTL in every interstellar story I’ve written except my first Ace Double (I Want the Stars, 1964). I’ve limited my stories to stuff that lies squarely within the realm of the possible, like long-term ships that depend on developments like hibernation and long lifespan.
Continue reading “Q&A with Tom Purdom”
Jack Dann visits our blog to discuss his Salinger-influenced tale “Mr. Death Goes to the Beach” on sale now in our Jan/Feb issue. Learn about his upcoming projects, his history with our magazine, and advice for emerging writers in our Q&A below.
Asimov’s Editor: What is the story behind “Mr. Death Goes to the Beach”?
JD: This is one of those short stories that just sort of slipped out of my unconscious. That rarely happens, and I’m sure it has something to do with the death of my dear friend Gardner Dozois. I remember waking up from a night of bad dreams, one of those exhausting, seemingly sleepless nights; and as I propped myself up in the bed, I imagined the idea of death as the personification of a harried bureaucrat. And this combined with the ocean and the beach, which I associate with comfort, freedom, and . . . fear: the idea of drowning, of the pull of deep water, that sort of thing.
. . . I imagined the idea of death as the personification of a harried bureaucrat.
Over the next few days, I kept thinking about death, my image of “him”; and as I did so, the so-called texture of the image took on the coloration of a deadly story I admire by J. D. Salinger: “A Perfect Day For Bananafish.” It’s a mood-piece of a story with an ending that shocked the hell out of me. I knew “Mr. Death Goes to the Beach” wasn’t going to have that kind of a shock ending, but I wanted to contrast the quiet joys of peace and relaxation with the undeniable finality of sudden death. I wanted to create a story that would be warm and familiar . . . so warm and familiar that it would chill like an ice-cube dropped into the collar of an unsuspecting bather. Whether I accomplished any of this will have to be determined by my readers.
So I think—and this is just a bit of pop-psychological self-analysis—that “Mr. Death Goes to the Beach” was this writer’s natural way of working out grief and guilt and all those subterranean emotions that accompany the death of a loved one. Dunno. Sounds plausible, anyway.
AE: Is this story part of a larger universe, or is it stand-alone?
Continue reading “Q&A with Jack Dann”
This throw-back Thursday brings a piece from Herb Kauderer on his poem “Ghosts of Robots” (see end for poem) that appeared in our September/October 2018 issue. Herb is uniquely qualified for this post about robots, as he worked with industrial robots in the eighties—read on for a fascinating view of robots both real and SFnal.
by Herb Kauderer
I spent the 1980s working with touch screen computers and industrial robots, things that seemed impossibly futuristic in that long ago era when smartphones and Roombas were still decades away. This was part of twenty years I spent as a Teamster, during which my natural abilities with technology provoked my employers to toss me the keys to a wide array of very expensive contraptions. Yes, I’ve driven tractor-trailers and tank trucks and tow motors of every variety, but I’ve also used hand-held scanning computers, multi-million dollar pasteurization units, and automated pipe-cleaning systems that handled more than a mile of pipe at a time.
I retired from all that to become an English professor, which certainly caused some cognitive dissonance, but also provided an unusual vantage point from which to consider the role of robots in literature, as compared to their real appearance in factories. Back in the eighties, the industry defined robots as machines that made decisions of sufficient complexity without human input. There was occasional discussion of where the cut-off line was but such things are difficult to make hard and fast. The industry generally agreed on what was robotic, and what was merely mechanical, even if they couldn’t clearly define the difference. In the bulk of the science fiction I’ve read, decision-making was the province of Artificial Intelligences which were often stationary, and sometimes presented as immoveable. When I think of Multivac in Isaac Asimov’s stories, especially “The Last Question,” I imagine a monolithic computer that humans approach with questions. Despite my impression of Multivac, it is not lost on me that Asimov placed the story at the end of the ‘Robots’ section of Opus 100. Dividing artificial intelligence and robotics is difficult, and this discussion is partly of perception rather than reality, so let me clearly state: I am writing about what industry called robots when I worked with them. They were not AI in any way. Furthermore, all my generalizations about SF are based on my subjective consumption, admittedly voracious but far from comprehensive, of books, magazines, television and film. You may have a different experience base.
Perhaps the most interesting example of robots and robot multitasking was a whole room that was a robot.
Continue reading “About Those Robots”