The Sense of Wonder.

I've recently been unboxing books that have been in storage for years. There were always books on my shelves. There had to be. I could never manage without being surrounded by at least some of them. Many more, though, spent years sealed away in boxes in the garage. Now that I've finally sorted the shelving, they're gradually making their way back into the house.

I always knew what I owned. My database kept track of that for me. What I didn't have was easy access to much of the collection. As each box is opened, I check every book against the catalogue, confirm the edition, correct the occasional mistake, update the tags and replace cover images where necessary. It's wonderful to be reuniting with these old friends.

This process throws up the occasional surprise. Every now and then I find a duplicate, a book that somehow slipped through the net and never made it into the catalogue in the first place, or a forgotten signed copy. There are also those books that, despite the database, had completely slipped from my memory.

I've found myself pausing a lot to look at the cover art. I know we can't judge a book by its cover, but we do anyway. When I was younger and trawling second-hand bookshops and market stalls for science fiction novels, the cover often played a significant part in my purchasing. If the book was by a favourite or familiar author but the title was unknown to me, the decision was usually easy enough. Venturing into completely unknown names was different. Then I was relying on a combination of an intriguing blurb and a promising cover.

Looking at these old paperbacks again, I'm reminded just how much the artwork meant to me. I have vivid memories of lying on the living room floor with an Asimov novel beside me and staring at a Chris Foss cover until the image was permanently lodged in my imagination. Those vast spacecraft, impossible structures and alien landscapes promised a whole universe of exploration and discovery.

I once saw a comment that modern covers are designed, whereas older covers were art. Sure, the old covers didn't always match the story, but that almost seems irrelevant. They weren't simply trying to tell you what sort of book you were holding. They were trying to capture a mood, an idea, a sense of wonder and awe. A Chris Foss cover didn't need to be an accurate depiction of anything, it just needed to excite your imagination.

Perhaps that is why so much modern cover art doesn't appeal to me. Digital artists can create images of extraordinary complexity and detail. Yet many modern covers feel as though they have been assembled rather than painted. What they rarely do is stop me in my tracks and make me wonder. When I look at an old Foss, Pennington or Elson cover, I don't just see a book cover. I see a universe waiting. Forty years later they still make me want to pick up the book and see where it will take me.

I think the same distinction applies to the stories themselves. Modern publishing often feels highly designed. Writers have access to endless advice on structure, pacing, character arcs and plotting. Manuscripts pass through rounds of drafts, workshops, beta readers and professional editors. The results are often technically excellent, but I sometimes feel as though the life has been edited out of them. They are polished, refined and carefully constructed, yet most don't excite me the way older books do. The rough edges have gone, but so has some of the spontaneity.

Many of the older science fiction novels sitting on my shelves feel different. Not necessarily better. Often they are far less polished. The dialogue can be clunky, the characters sometimes thin and the plots occasionally held together with little more than enthusiasm. Their imagination is front and foremost.

It was more difficult to produce eighteen drafts when you were hammering away at a typewriter and producing carbon copies, and I suspect that's a big part of it. The writer reached a point where they were simply done. By modern standards that almost sounds reckless, yet some of those books still contain ideas and images that have stayed with me for more than forty years.

And so I continue to return to them. I still read contemporary science fiction and occasionally discover something wonderful, but when I think about Science Fiction, it is usually those older paperbacks that come to mind. I have found my niche. They speak to me. They still carry that sense of wonder that first drew me to the genre.

As I unpack these boxes, I'm finding books that I haven't really seen for many years.  And those covers still have exactly the same effect on me that they did when I first saw them. That sense of wonder has returned and I once again want to dive into those pages, to go and explore the universe..

Event Horizon?

My Dad turned 87 last week, my mother-in-law turned 90. While I could only talk to my dad on a video call due to distance, my in-laws held a large celebration.  We went away for the week, staying in a rental up in Yorkshire. It was a fabulous break.

These kind of events always make me think of the past - and I'm not referring to my last post about my dog. I think about when my dad was the same age as I am now. I think about time differences. Forty years ago doesn't feel that far back to me, but when my Dad was my age, forty years before was firmly in the 50s. Even when I was a kid, and he was in his mid-30s, WW2 was only 30 years in the past. A very different time.

Last week, I realised I have known people who were born in three different centuries. As a kid, I knew people who were born in the 1800s.  They say you can't put an old head on young shoulders, but I would love to see some of those people again, and ask questions about their lives. Even my Grandfather, who did tell me stories about his younger life.  I have so many more questions now, that will never be answered.

As I mentioned, 40 years ago doesn't feel that long ago to me. The 80s, a time when I was younger and my friends and I had a lot of fun. And because we don't notice gradual change, we forget how different everything was then.

Change continues, and it's getting faster and faster. Technology is developing faster than we can manage it. The singularity approaches, and we are so close to the event horizon - if we haven't passed it already.  apart from the spaceships and trips to other planets, this is the world I read of as a young reader. And I mean that both positively and negatively, depending on which book I was reading.

But I want the interstellar ships and to see other planets. Bring them on!

And That's A Big Nope From Me.

2022 was such a disappointing year for science fiction in film.

Now I realise someone is going to say, "Yeah,  but what about...?" And then they'll mention Everything, Everywhere All At Once, or Nope.  Sorry, but I didn't have much love for either of them. Nope was just terribly contrived, unoriginal, and not as clever as it thought it was. It reminded me,in a way, of the Abrams' directed Star Trek. He simply showed he wasn't a fan and thathe didn't really understand the Star Trek universe.

Nope showed that Jordan Peele simply wasn't familiar with SF as a genre. There was nothing new, a whole bunch of holes and poor plotting. Similar to Shyamalan's Signs. I loved Peel's other work, but this just showed he didn't get SF.

Everything Everywhere was simply a mess. Confused, pointless, and so full of plotholes you could drive an Enterprise through them. I actually got bored about three quarters of the way through.  The actors' performances were good.  And while I'm thrilled SF and the actors won so many awards at the Oscars, I'm really disappointed this was the vehicle.

Avatar 2 was simply what we expected. Beautifully shot, but ultimately dissatisfying and over-long.

The best SF film I saw in 2022 was Don't Worry Darling. Shades of Philip K. Dick and others. Great performances and direction, and a lot of fun. And that set design. Superb.

And if you enjoyed these other films, than I'm happy for you. But I thought they were well below average,

Here's hoping to a better year for SF in film.

When Would You Go?

Time travel has always fascinated me. What would it be like to visit times and places long gone and events long passed, to see what your surrounds were like in earlier times, to try to understand how people lived then?

I've been reading some time travel fiction recently. A few short stories, a novel or two, some website posts which claim to be true, as well as some theoretical works. Most of it was pretty good, some was less than impressive. But they all gave me ideas and got me thinking about what I would do if I had the chance to use a time machine.

Where would I go? Or, more accurately, to when would I go? Would I go back and see a Beatles concert? And if so, which one. Would I go back and try to warn the boys about events that would lead to breaking up the band. And how could I prove my credentials? 

"Hey Paul, I'm from the future, and I can prove it. What is the name of a song that you've just written that no one else has ever heard, and I'll sing it to you." That would surely get their attention. "Oh, and here's a new song I wrote you might like - called Blackbird."

But if I had the chance to travel in time, would I choose something so self indulgent.

There are so many historical events, so many big questions.

Last week, while wandering through the Castle and Cathedral, and then looking at some Roman ruins, my thoughts again turned to like in those times. And yes, once more I wondered.

I used to teach a time travel film to my students. It wasn't a bad film and provided a lot of fodder for teacing beyond English. We used to talk about science, survival, history and technology. I also spoke with them about the psychology of visiting another time, and how the biggest danger might simply be not fitting in with the people around you. Stranger danger has a new meaning.

This was something that Year 9 boys in particular thought could be overcome simply by taking a motorcycle, a mobile phone and modern weapons.

The more I think about it, the more I have no idea when I would go. But dinosaurs might be cool.

And So We Wait

So I rewrote, proofread and sent that story off. And I haven't heard anything yet.

Back when I was a new writer, I sent off my first "real" submission, and after about three days watched my inbox anxiously. Oh, how naive I was.  That beast took seven months to come back to me. And even then it was a rejection. A personal one, but a rejection all the same. And seven months?  That was insane.

Still, the editor said fine things about my story, and I did rewrite it and sold it to an anthology. A couple of years later I saw this editor at a convention buying that anthology, and I laughed and told him that I always knew he would buy my story. We always got one well, and he chuckled at that one.

My current story is still out in the wild and still no word. I have subbed to this editor before. He usually only takes about two months but we're closing on three months as I write this and waiting is difficult. I have some confidence it will sell, although I never count on that happening. It would, however, be nice to have this story published.

Oh well, the waiting continues and continues. Tomorrow and the next day and the one after that - I'll be here checking my inbox.  

And as always, any publication details will be announced here

Andy Remic

I haven't been able to write this post for some time. I've wanted to, but just haven't been able to get the words down.

My friend, Andy Remic, passed away just over a month ago. It wasn't unexpected, although it was sooner than we'd thought.

It was a couple of coincidences that brought me into Andy's orbit. We shared several interests, and both loved writing. Andy, of course, was a well know SF and Fantasy writer with a string of credits to his name. I'm just a guy who sells an occasional short story. But Andy treated me like a peer. He not only taught me a great deal but asked my advice and opinions. Due to circumstances, Andy didn't write for a few years. But when he did return to writing, with a short story for Grimdark Magazine, I was thrilled when he asked me to crit it for him. I was really pleased he incorporated most of my suggestions and edits.

We talked of collaborating on some fiction, but time got away from us. Andy started writing a script - I have the early draft here somewhere - and was planning to film a series of short films featuring us both. But in the past few years, Andy's focus was on film-making. He made a series of documentaries on the early days of computer games, mostly centred around the Spectrum, one of his great loves. Writing wasn't completely abandoned, though, as he had started writing another novel, incomplete at his passing.

We weren't able to see each other too often in the past couple of years, mostly due to the pandemic and especially with his vulnerability due to his medical conditions. We planned to catch up, but it was close to two years before I saw him one final time.

I was privileged and thrilled to be invited to his wedding a few months ago. I think like many people, I was surprised at his changed appearance and physicality due to his illness. We managed to grab 20 minutes to chat at the reception. And that was fantastic. We didn't speak about his illness at all, except when he mentioned his discomfort. We spoke about life, film, Philip K Dick, teaching and writing. And beyond his appearance, there was an even bigger change evident.

Andy was a straight-talker. He had no time for people who were dishonest or messed him around, and he could be quick to see red. There were a couple of times at conventions, for example, where I'd have a quiet chat to try and calm him. And ever since I've known Andy, there were certain events and people towards which he had anger.

But at his wedding he was the calmest, and most serene I'd ever seen him. He seemed accepting of much of what had happened to him. I sensed he had forgiven much and felt comfortable. He told me that he was progressing with his new novel, and that he was in the right headspace to be writing. He told me he was past the anger he had held. And he told me it was all due to his new wife, Linda.

I don't know Linda anywhere near as well as I knew Andy (and that wasn't anywhere near as well as I would have liked.) but I like her a lot. She was good for Andy, and I got the impression he was good for her. 

Andy told me how much Linda meant to him, that she was his rock and had eased the anger from inside him. He told me how special she was, and that he didn't know where he would be without her.

Don't get me wrong, he also spent time talking about his boys, how much they mean to him, and how proud he was of them. But when he was talking about Linda, it sounded almost as if she had saved him.

And my heart aches to see Linda going through all this.

Andy was my friend and my writing mentor. Just yesterday, my Facebook memory was:

Despite his nagging, just spent a fantastic afternoon in the company of Andy Remic. Talked books, writing, publishing and music amongst other topics.

Once again I leave feeling inspired and having learned so much.

Thanks, Andy.

Yeah, he always nagged me to write a novel - sometimes loudly and in front of other people. He always said good things about my words.

Tomorrow is his funeral, and although invited, I can't go for reasons beyond my control. And I'm absolutely gutted. I want to be there to remember, to celebrate his life, to mourn his untimely passing, to wish him Godspeed, and to be with others who feel the same way.

I'll be doing all that, but from the comfort of my home.

Farewell, Andy. Sleep well.

Back to Writing.

I've been working on a story.

True, it's a rewrite rather than a fresh story, but it's a major rewrite with restructures and plot changes. And a fairly interesting change to the ending. It's also writing - something I haven't done for enjoyment for a long while.

Most of my writing over the past few years has been academic in nature, as I undertook further studies. But that's now out of the way and I'm in the right place and space to be creative once more. I have this story I like. It's had some close calls, and last year I subbed it last minute to an anthology I wanted to be part of. They held it for a very long time, and it was only cut at the 11th hour. So eleventh hour that I woke up and saw the TOC in an announcement before I checked my emails to see the rejection.

It was a lovely rejection, and very positive, but disappointing, of course, as I had hoped to sell to this particular publisher.

Oh well.

But a month or so later I revisited this story, just to read it, and realised I had not sent the latest version. Also, it contained a few embarrassing errors.

But this story is now rewritten, and although I thought it was a fine piece before, I feel it is all the better now.

And so it's back into the internet to find a suitable market. I have a couple in mind. But before it goes anywhere, I'll wait a week and give it another read.

I mean, I wouldn't want to send out a story that contained too many mistakes now, would I?

Sad Gits. Sad Gits Everywhere.

People are fascinated by all manner of things, and I find that fascinating.

I'm not just talking about people who like or love something, I'm talking about the collectors or fans who love every aspect of their passion, and thrive on a tiny tidbit of new information that others would roll their eyes at. 

There can be a certain amount of elitism and snobbery in fandom. I've witnessed and experienced it myself. A few years ago I was told I wasn't a real football fan as I didn't go to every match. But there are different degrees of fandom and ways to be a fan.

These types of comments remind me of the Detectorists, a TV show about two guys whose hobby is to walk around farm fields with metal detectors looking for treasure, in whatever form that may come. There is one scene, in the video below,  where one of the detectors beeps, and they both pause as one of them digs for the item before recovering a ring pull from a can of soda.

Andy:  What you got?

Lance: Ring pull... '83... Tizer.

Andy: What do you do with 'em?

Lance: Bag 'em up... Stick 'em on eBay... People buy this shit.

Andy: Sad gits.

Never mind the fact that he was instantly able to tell us the year and the brand the ring pull was from. It's also telling that these guys think the ring pull collectors are the "sad gits". The ring pull collectors probably think the same about these guys. 

I sometimes see in the Speculative Fiction world a number of readers or writers who refer to some sports as "sportsball" when pointing out how much they don't like football. I find this term quite condescending as these are people who, for many years, have had to sigh and explain to others that science fiction isn't all about rockets and robots. Perhaps sports fans should start calling SF "robot books" or something.

A bunch of people I know think I'm a Beatles obsessive. I'm not. I collect bits that I can afford and see by chance, but I generally don't hunt for items. On the other hand, I know some fans who want every available pressing of a particular album - even from the same country but pressed at different plants. I know people who can look at a photo of the fabs and tell you the date and the location instantly. (Yeah, I can do that with some photos, but these guys make me look like a know-nothing newbie) 

I just love their music, and want to learn more about them. Maybe it's partly because I'm a frustrated guitar player who always wanted to be a real musician.

It's great to be passionate about something, isn't it? To have something that sparks your interest, that makes you want to learn more, to collect and gather and to enjoy. Does it matter if it's wine, fine art or train time-tables?

Sad Gits of the world, unite!

More On The Way.

It was fabulous to receive a story acceptance overnight. It was even more fabulous than usual because the editor added, "This was a really good story, btw."

For a number of reasons I haven't written or submitted much for a while, so this was a nice surprise. I sent it out a few months ago, because I wanted to get something out, and this is a good story that deserves a home, and had just been kicked back from a major publisher with some good feedback.

I'll share more when I can. Watch this space.

I recently received other publishing news I don't think I'm allowed to share yet, exciting though it is. And this is good stuff. I'm looking forward to announcing this one.

On top of all this I had some other good news today, which won't mean anything to anyone else but is important to me. And then I bumped into a colleague I used to work with but haven't seen for a long time, and finally received email from a much respected and admired friend and mentor I haven't seen or heard from for even longer.

It's been a good time all round.

Trash and Treasure.

Another disappointment story.

A few months ago I bought a book I had heard great things about. It seemed like the kind of thing I would like, the author seems like a cool person I would love to hang out with and chat, the publisher is a name publisher, and the reviews were glowing. Almost universally so.

I threw it straight to the top of my 'to be read' stack, and dived straight in.

Here, a few months later, I find myself thinking about it again. I'm not sure why but it was on my mind when I woke this morning. But not for any good reasons.

It was dull, slow and plodding. Crises points were manufactured to the point of ridiculous levels, dialogue was clunky and unnatural, and some of the scenes and events were plain hokey and would have seemed out-of-place in a 1930s novel.

I really wanted to love it. I really did. Instead I merely tolerated it.

I haven't checked, but it's probably won some awards and been nominated for 'best of' lists. So what is it I'm missing that apparently others are getting?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know taste comes into things. I know people enjoy different reads. I know we all see different things, but this isn't about taste. It's about quality of writing, being able to create snappy dialogue and events that flow naturally.

Is it simply horses for courses?

On the other hand, I've just picked up another book from another name author and this one ticks all the boxes. I'm 30 pages in and hooked. Yes, I've enjoyed this authors other works, and reading this one I can see the reasons why. And I'm learning things from this work.

Oh well. One person's trash is another person's treasure. It's just a shame the above-mentioned novel wasn't one of my treasures.

You Can't Judge A Book By Its Table Of Contents.

Late last year I read an anthology from a publisher with a solid reputation. I had picked it up some time earlier, partly because of its cover art (which was fabulous) and partly because of its title and theme. When I read the TOC, I was thrilled, as there were quite a few name authors I had never previously read. The bios of the other authors filled me with hope - award winners, university and lecturers in writing and published authors. In fact a diverse range of gender and ethnicity.

It sat in my 'to be read' stack for a few months, then I pushed it to the top.

The first story was 'Meh'. The second also. And then it dropped in quality. Nothing rose above average, and in fact, a couple of the name authors appeared to have 'phoned-in' their contributions. Some were just completely ridiculous.

Disappointed? You bet.

Now I know taste has a great part to play in all of this. There can be a certain amount of subjectivity. (I know someone who told me it's all subjective, but that's not true. A good writer is a good writer, no matter whether it appeals to me or not.) Many of these stories, however, were full of plot holes, idiotic protagonists and convenient plot devices. They weren't as clever as they author thought, and at least two stories I worked out the ending in the first page or so.

There are times Goodreads can't be trusted, as family, friends and the authors themselves overvalue everything. This anthology had a stack of 4 and 5 star reviews. And then, right there in the middle was a one-star review, which pretty much detailed my own observations of the collection. I couldn't have written it better myself.

I've written along similar lines before, an again even further back. It seems I will regularly be disappointed by some offerings.

Sometimes I should judge a book by just its cover, not the TOC. Although, this time. I would have still purchased the book as the cover was fabulous.

Oh well, a quick dose of Jasper Fforde followed, and all was well with the writing world.

My First FantasyCon

I've been to conventions before. I used to attend Continuum every year in Melbourne, visited Conflux once and even managed to get to WorldCon a couple of times. Since moving to the UK, I've been to a couple of Edge-Lits and a few Sledge-Lits, the winter counterpart. But I haven't really immersed myself in the British SF scene.

Scene. I choose that in place of a better word instead of 'Community'. Ah yes, the 'Myth of Community'. I am planning to write about that soon, but I'll leave it as it is and just move on for now.

Last weekend I visited Chester for FantasyCon. I was hoping to catch up with old friends, make some new ones and even meet a hero or two. And I succeeded on all counts. It was wonderful to see Philip and James again, to spend time with Penny, Simon, Adele and Tom (as well as a bunch of others I haven't mentioned), and to chat, albeit briefly, with Ian Watson. Ian is a fabulous writer, someone I started reading back in the late 70s and never dreamed of meeting. I managed to get a book or two signed, and even copped some written abuse from him in one of them - which was pretty special.

I spent time chatting with Dr Abbey from Japan, even though my Japanese was rusty and he was polite about my abilities, and met Ian Whates and Adrain Tchaikovsky, who were both delightful and fascinating.

Restaurants, bars, sitting outside with friends, walks, and even listening to the karaoke (bleah) made for a memorable weekend.

Seriously though, how do we manage to spend an entire weekend based in a hotel and still not catch up with people we know? I missed a few people I had planned to see. And they were there! I've seen the photographic proof.

If you haven't been to FantasyCon and you live in the UK, it's highly recommended. I plan to be there next year again.

I May Not Know Art.....

One of the reasons I started reading science fiction was the cover art.

I loved it, back in the seventies, when the spaceships were unusual shapes and bright colours against dramatic spacescapes. Chris Foss, who I was fortunate enough to meet a couple of years ago, soon became a favourite cover artist. I don't recall if I was aware of who he was, but I could easily recognise his work. Then there were other, more metaphoric designs for SF books. Some I loved, others I merely appreciated. Photographed covers have aged the most. Even back then photos of model aliens or men in silver suits look dated. I seem to recall a photographed Stainless Steel Rat cover that was terrible.

So for me it was illustration, preferable paintings. Unfortunately for me, they seem to have died off as the primary source of cover art.
Recently I had a conversation with a writer who told me about the economics involved. It's cheaper to buy and crop stock artwork than commission new. It's even cheaper to buy digital manipulated pictures than buy paintings. And with the unrelenting tsunami of self published mediocrity, the standard of cover art has fallen even further.

I know graphic artists who are in competition with anyone who has access to Photoshop, regardless of the quality. New writers self publishing a story manipulate a couple of pictures, throw on text and away they go.

Here's a clue. Many of these look cheap and nasty and entice no one.

I really miss those painted covers. They had a quality missing in the digital age. I understand a painting is not going to be affordable, but at the very least hire someone trained in design to direct the art on the cover.

Me? Well, you'll find me over here gazing at my Asimov's and Harrison's and dreaming of yellow and black checked starships against enormous nebulae.

With Infinite Complacency.

I'm proud to announce the publication of my story, With Infinite Complacency, in the anthology Beautiful Lies, Painful Truths. Published by Left Hand Publishers, this release is described in their own words as a collection of short stories from writers around the world, spanning different genres, to bring you a compendium of tales to provoke thought, entertain you, and even mystify your imagination.

My story has its origin in a throw-away comment made by one of my students one summer afternoon many years ago. But it stuck in my mind, ended up in my writer notebook, blossomed into a story and ended up in this marvelous publication.

Australian astronaut Amanda Jefferies finally makes it onto the International Space Station only to watch in horror as the apocalypse unfolds on the Earth below.

Interested?  You should be. This story has everything. Space, the Rolling Stones and Vodka. And I even throw in some bananas. There is, of course, a lot more - but to find out you'll have to read it.

I know I can't wait to receive my copy, but you can order yours now.  In the meantime, sit back and enjoy the book trailer.

Most Roads Lead To Helsinki.

Summertime here in the northern hemisphere, and we're rapidly approaching Worldcon. For those not in the know, Worldcon is the World Science Fiction Convention, held annually around the globe. This year, the 75th con, is to be held in Helsinki in mid August.

A year or so ago I had hopes I would attend, particularly since I was now in the UK and so close. Alas it was not to be. Scheduling and other factors worked against me. So I'll be here in my cottage, sitting at the computer and watching with envy as my friends from around the world converge in Finland for fellowship, discussions, beer and more beer. Oh, and possibly even some networking and pitching of stories.

It's the fellowship I enjoy, the sitting, chatting and getting to know new friends.

I wish you all well as you start to pack.

The Good Ship, Fandom.

Continuum 13, an annual sci-fi convention, was held in Melbourne over the weekend. Obviously, having moved to the UK last year, I wasn't able to attend. It felt a little weird missing it as I have attended every year since Continuum 5.

From all accounts it was a great convention. Well organised and attended, with interesting panels and workshops. I'm really pleased by this, as I must confess that over the past few years I haven't gotten as much out of the convention as I would have liked. There has been a gradual shift in the focus from the science fiction I like towards pop culture, most of which I have little time for.

Now this is where I am in danger of being misread. I really need to emphasise I'm writing here about my tastes, my preferences, the things I enjoy. Give me old school sci-fi and fantasy any day. I'm not big into superheroes, anime or most other pop culture. I found fewer panels and sessions I was interested in attending each year. Fewer spaceships and robots, and more people with capes. Fewer discussions on classic books and more on TV shows and superhero films. And I'm just not interested in them. Honestly, I couldn't tell you your Magneto from your Brian Mannix.

Over the past few years there have been panels where I struggled to see any connection to SF, fantasy or horror at all. But that's fine. It doesn't matter. The convention isn't solely about me. It's about fandom, and what they want.

You see, if I had my way rock bands with guitars would rule the Top 40, science fiction films would be more like Arrival than X-Men, and reading would be compulsory for everyone. Conventions would have more panels on classic books alongside the newer ones.

But, as I said, it's not about me. There are lots of things that generally don't excite me at the moment. I've already mentioned superhero films. Let's add to that the current trend in retelling fairy tales, urban fantasy, and more vampires. Maybe I am getting older, but like the music I like, I know what types of fiction I like.

If we stick with the music comparison, you'll soon realise I don't have to like it. There are plenty of alternatives for me. And if I dig around I can find plenty of new bands I do like. I don't want to buy a Beyonce album. She doesn't speak to me, and the music leaves me cold. But there are plenty out there who love her music. Me, I'd rather buy the new Roger Waters album.

Yes, I do read new SF books. I have to be a little more discerning in my hunt for them as they're usually not the same books that appeal to my friends. I've tried many of those, and I often find them underwhelming. Taste, again, I suppose.

We all don't have to like everything. Or even the same things. There's room for us all in the good ship 'fandom.' But remember, I don't deserve name-calling or abuse because my interests and tastes lie elsewhere.

Having said that, I've been quite excited about the impending release of Wonder Woman. And I wasn't disappointed. I thought it was fantastic.

You never know. Maybe someday someone will play me a Beyonce track that I actually like.

My Kind Of SF Movies.

It's been a while since I've seen so many SF films that I've enjoyed. For a few years now I've been disappointed with the long breaks between quality SF film.  Sure, there's been a ton of superhero movies, and while many love them they are not my cup of tea.

In fact I was recently speaking to someone in the film industry, and they were lamenting the current domination of these films - Marvel in particular. So much Marvel product is being made that it's affecting investment and production in other, non superhero movies.

But I digress.

Don't get me wrong. There have been SF movies that I enjoyed, or even loved. Ender's Game, The Force Awakens, The Lobster and Ex Machina are films I adored. I might even be one of the few who will openly admit to quite liking Jupiter Ascending as well. But for every one of these there is a Prometheus.

Bleah!  (And please, remember this is only my opinion on these films. Like most art, taste plays a large part of what is considered quality.)

Interstellar needed work. It dragged on and then turned metaphysical with a 'happy ever after' ending. From all accounts Christopher Nolan ignored the original, darker ending and rewrote it. I think Nolan is over-rated as a writer and director. Most of his work needs clarity and focus, and a much gentler touch. Inception, for example, could have been so much better. I've also yet to love a movie by Neill Blomkamp. I've previously written of my disdain for District 9, a movie which most people seemed to rate highly. Elysium was even worse. It made little sense at all, and was full of plot holes Nolan could drive a starship through. Latest word is he may not be attached to the Alien sequel after all, which I consider good news. In addition to these, there were a lot of other so-so SF films during these years.

But in the past 15 months or so I've enjoyed the two Star Wars films, The Martian, and Arrival. Guardians of the Galaxy was a lot of fun, and even Passengers, which seemed to upset a lot of people, was nothing more than it pretended to be. And I quite enjoyed it. And there was a lot more. Ghost in the Shell, while not the deepest of films, was visually beautiful and better than I expected it to be. I must point out the setting reminded me of a cleaner, more prosperous Blade Runner world.

Speaking of which we have the new Blade Runner movie to look forward to - and if it's anywhere near the quality of director Denis Villeneuve's previous work, (Incendies, Sicaro, The Arrival) we should be in for a real treat.

Plus the new Star Wars movie in December.

Life is good.

He's So Low.

As a teenager I started to read Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles. I can remember thinking it was pretty weird, and I think I only got a few pages in.

I still have that book - I never got rid of it, but for some reason I never went back to it. Until now.

One thing that surprises me is how naive some of it is. For example, the idea that the first expeditions to Mars will be undertaken by undisciplined oafs who brawl at the drop of a hat, get drunk and throw their beer bottles in canals. They sound more like a pirate crew than our brightest and best.

Once the colonising ships arrive on Mars, they pretty much land anywhere and wander off claiming land. Even when these stories were written I find it hard to believe Bradbury thought colonisation wouldn't be controlled by authorities.

Then as soon as nuclear war erupts on Earth, everyone (and it literally is everyone apart from 2 or 3 people) board ships to desert Mars. I suspect if the story were real, it would be quite the opposite.

Many of the stories don't really fit with the others, there are inconsistencies with the world building, inconsistencies in Martian behaviours and history. Some of these stories were obviously placed on Mars simply to squeeze them into The Chronicles.

Not to say I didn't enjoy them, I absolutely loved them. Which says a lot about some of the ideas in there, but once again I am reminded that Science Fiction is not about the future, it's about us.

Oh, and the title? It's a reference to a Kenny Everett joke. "He's so low he could kick a Martian in the chronicles..."

Moogs, Tinfoil And Velour.

I'm listening to the 1973 BBC radio adaptation of Asimov's Foundation series on my daily commute. It's wonderful, a great radio play that is a lot of fun.

But in some ways it's so dated, and I wonder whether it was dated even then. Every device that is operated, every machine that is switched on, is portrayed by noisy synthesisers. Did the producers really think everything would make noise in the future?

A girl wears a chain around her waist, and with a flick of a switch she is cloaked in a nebulous, shifting cloak of light, and accompanied by a high pitched whine. Meanwhile, another character walks into a room with a portable force shield protecting him, and that is completely silent.

I know in a radio play you need sounds to convey actions that can't be seen. And I know synthesisers had only been commonly used for a few years at that time. It reminds me of all those 70s TV shows I love, the ones where people obviously thought that in the future we would all be wearing clothes made of velour and tinfoil.

They're nostalgic. They're a throwback to the age of SF I first started reading, the type of SF that made me fall in love with the genre. And I really enjoy them.

Continuum X.

Next weekend, Melbourne's Continuum will celebrate its 10th birthday. For those not familiar with it, "Continuum is an annual Melbourne speculative fiction and pop culture fan convention celebrating creativity across genre and media. From hard-edge science fiction to high-flown fantasy, comic books to film noir, high culture to sub-culture… we sink our teeth into it all!" This year the convention is also host to Natcon, the 53rd Australian National Science Fiction Convention.

I love Continuum - not only for the panels and spending time with interstate friends, but the whole atmosphere of being with like-minded people.

I'm really excited to be involved in the following panels:

Seminal British SF Friday 22:30-23:30 with: Cat Sparks, Rob Hood, Narrelle Harris, Steve Cameron

The Aliens Are Too Human! Sunday 10:00-11:00 with: Alan Baxter, Steve Cameron, Darren Sanderson, Bismuth Hoban, Stacey Larner

YA - Meet the Authors Sunday 14:00-15:00 Steve Cameron interviewing:
Jim C. Hines, Tracy Joyce, Mary Borsellino

Not doing anything next weekend? There's still time to join.