Writer of science fiction and fantasy and other stuff
Goodness, I’ve neglected to keep up to date here. Partly because there have been a lot of trips out of London recently, and by the time I was back home I seemed to need ages to recover. Encroaching age!
My first ever Eastercon was a fascinating experience. Follycon took place in the very grand Majestic Hotel in Harrogate, on the kind of grey and rainy weekend that England has specialised in this winter (and spring).
The weather’s lousy, but spirits Chez Barnham are high as we prepare to set off for the trek north to Follycon, the 69th National British Science Fiction Convention, which this year is in Harrogate.
Having been a science fiction fan for longer than I can remember, I’m ashamed to admit this is my first EasterCon. But I hope to make up for lost time.
As well as meeting people and catching up with what’s going on, I am of course also taking a couple of boxes these beauties – the British paperback release of Fifty-One is here!
Come along to the Dealers’ Room and say hello.
All this self-promotion for Fifty-One, alongside grafting away at the current work in progress (more on that another time). Well, it gets tiring, and I need to recharge my batteries.
So, I’ll be offline for a few days, walking the latest instalment of England’s South West Coast Path: 630 miles of largely glorious (but often challenging) coastal trail.
I used to dream of doing the whole trail in one go, turning myself into some kind of salty, hermit for six weeks in the wilds. A couple of years ago I accepted that this was never going to happen, and I’ve since been tackling the walk in sections.
I started in Minehead, north Somerset, and headed west, with the sea on my right. Last October I reached St Ives in Cornwall (one of my favourite places in the world). Now, with winter over, I’m heading down to St Ives again to pick up the path and walk round Land’s End.
You can follow my progress on my alter ego’s blog here
When I get back, it’s off to FollyCon. Busy, busy, busy.
Of course, Fifty-One has been available on ebook for a few weeks now. And lucky folks in the USA have been able to buy the ravishing paperback.
But there’s nothing like having an actual physical book, available in your local bookshops. So, I’m just a tiny bit excited that the UK paperback is now at the printers, and should be available by Easter.
I certainly hope it is, because I’m planning to take a few boxes up to Harrogate, Yorkshire, for FollyCon – this year’s 69th national British Science Fiction Convention.
Really looking forward to it. If you’re there, come and say hello.
Buy a book!
It would be exciting enough that a book is coming out, containing the best British science fiction of last year.
But I confess I am beside myself that my story ‘When I Close My Eyes’ has somehow managed to sneak into the book. Where you will find it gazing around in awe at the illustrious company of fantastic writers like Adam Roberts, Eric Brown, Jaine Fenn and Ken MacLeod… and the list goes on.
The collection is edited again by the marvellous Donna Scott, and I can’t wait to get my hands on it. I loved the 2016 collection, and this one looks even better.
You can order it here, from New Con Press. Go on, you know you want to.
The story first appeared in Interzone #271 last summer. It was my ‘hardest’ SF story yet – with a bereaved astronaut trapped by a rockfall in a cave on Titan, encountering some fragile but peskily well-organised Titanian aliens. (He was however helped out by a ghost, so I guess it is not that hard SF!)
It only happens a day or two in every few years, but when it does it’s always glorious. The temperature drops and out of the dreary overcast of the normal British winter sky comes the snow.
In that magical way of fresh snow, for a day or two even the ugliest of districts is transformed into a marshmallow wonderland. The bare trees are lined with cotton wool and a white carpet lays a gentle hush over the inner city streets.
A benign hysteria grips the neighbourhood. Within hours, everyone has scoured their homes for the sledge that has been shoved into the cellar and neglected for a year. Failing a sledge, tin trays, the tops of wheelie bins, bits of plywood; anything that can slide down an icy hill is pressed quickly into service.
Aaaand….all at once, south east London is transformed into a Dickensian tableau.
Or maybe it’s Breugel. Anyway, I’m not writing. Gone sledging.