Catherine Asaro's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"
Aly Parsons, 1952-2020
In memory of Aly Parsons
A pillar of the science fiction and fantasy community.
I always knew Susan by the name Aly, which was how she introduced herself when we first met. It took years before I realized many people called her Susan. By either name, she will always hold a special place in my heart. We met so long ago, I’m not sure of the exact date, though I think it happened in 1997. She invited me to her writers’ group or perhaps I asked to join; after more than two decades, I no longer remember which of us approached the other. This much I know; that day began an immensely rewarding friendship that lasted decades, as we bonded over our shared love of science fiction and fantasy. Aly’s workshop became a staple in my life, its members some of my most valued friends in our writing community. Over the decades, several times I had to leave the group, unable to manage the format and schedule with my own work. But Aly always left the option open for me to return, and so, every time, I found my way home.
Aly created an atmosphere in our group that felt friendly, relaxed, and valuable. She somehow managed to keep a group of professional writers on track and coming back each month for years, a feat akin to herding cats. At first we met at the house she shared with her husband Paul, and then later, after his passing, we met more and more often at the Weidler home of her family. Over the years, I had the pleasure of meeting her father, her sister Wendy, her brother-in-law Carl, and the rest of her extended family. Although our group rotated among the homes of other members, the place where Aly lived served as our main location. Her family was good-natured with our monthly trek to their home and always made us feel welcome. Although I’ve been fortunate to join a number of excellent writing groups, I’ve never found another like the one Aly put together. It is a testament to her people skills, her ability to organize, and her good nature that she achieved such success with the group. It has lasted decades, included so many accomplished writers, and offered such great benefits.
Aly also places among the best critiquers I ever hired for my writing. She worked as an editor for me almost up to the end, reading my work even in those last few months. She read more—and let me get away with less—than any other reader. She understood my way with words; the writing awards I’ve won owe a debt to her editing. She had a gift for seeing what I wanted to do, showing me where I failed to achieve it, and helping me find the way to my goals. I will sorely miss her wisdom and insight, and also her kindness.
I have fond memories of visiting with Aly outside of the workshop. We often worked on her novels or talked more generally about writing. After her sight began to fail, I’d read passages to her from books she liked or from her own work. We talked about everything from the nitty-gritty of rewrites to world-building to her wide-ranging dreams for her fiction. Sometimes we went for jaunts, to see a movie or have lunch together, trying out different cafes. One of the last times we met for a meal, she showed me a wonderful Asian restaurant tucked away in a lot, hidden behind buildings that faced on the street. It didn’t look like much on the outside, but going inside was like being transported to a different place, with excellent food, service, and company, and a wonderful meal all around.
The last time we hoped to meet for lunch, I received an invitation to read my work that day at an event sponsored by Galactic Philadelphia. I asked Aly if she’d like to come. I feared she might have to say no, since she was on dialysis then, but to my delight, she said yes. So she, my daughter, and I hopped in the car (well, okay, maybe we slid sedately onto the seats) and set off for our adventure in Philadelphia. We had quite the time, driving around the city looking for a place to eat. We finally found a Greek café, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the places we’d tried in Maryland. Then we went to the Philadelphia Free Library for the reading, where they treated us wonderfully. By the time we returned to Maryland, it was late, so we said goodnight and talked about arranging for another lunch some time in the future.
We never had that next lunch date. The trip to Philadelphia was the last time I saw Aly. Although I moved not long after to New York, I’d intended to come back to visit. But it wasn’t to be. So I will always especially treasure our last outing.
The final time I spoke to Aly came just before she went to her rest. She asked if I was still willing to finish her books, as we had discussed long ago. I had offered to complete her work if she ever needed the help, but I never expected—or hoped I’d never need to expect—that a day would come when she asked me to carry through on my promise. She honored me by trusting me to complete her work. And so I inherited her brilliant, wonderful novels, the first two of which she had almost finished and the last which exists in her notes and our final discussion. That final conversation offered a fitting tribute to how our friendship began: with our writing and our dreams for our books.
Aly, I miss you. I wish we’d had more time. If somewhere your spirit is watching, please know that you live on in the enduring impact you made on all of us who were fortunate enough to join your writers’ group. I promise I will do my utmost to finish your books and see them through to publication. Your spirit will live on in the genius of your imagination and your gifts as a storyteller.
-- Catherine Asaro
A pillar of the science fiction and fantasy community.
I always knew Susan by the name Aly, which was how she introduced herself when we first met. It took years before I realized many people called her Susan. By either name, she will always hold a special place in my heart. We met so long ago, I’m not sure of the exact date, though I think it happened in 1997. She invited me to her writers’ group or perhaps I asked to join; after more than two decades, I no longer remember which of us approached the other. This much I know; that day began an immensely rewarding friendship that lasted decades, as we bonded over our shared love of science fiction and fantasy. Aly’s workshop became a staple in my life, its members some of my most valued friends in our writing community. Over the decades, several times I had to leave the group, unable to manage the format and schedule with my own work. But Aly always left the option open for me to return, and so, every time, I found my way home.
Aly created an atmosphere in our group that felt friendly, relaxed, and valuable. She somehow managed to keep a group of professional writers on track and coming back each month for years, a feat akin to herding cats. At first we met at the house she shared with her husband Paul, and then later, after his passing, we met more and more often at the Weidler home of her family. Over the years, I had the pleasure of meeting her father, her sister Wendy, her brother-in-law Carl, and the rest of her extended family. Although our group rotated among the homes of other members, the place where Aly lived served as our main location. Her family was good-natured with our monthly trek to their home and always made us feel welcome. Although I’ve been fortunate to join a number of excellent writing groups, I’ve never found another like the one Aly put together. It is a testament to her people skills, her ability to organize, and her good nature that she achieved such success with the group. It has lasted decades, included so many accomplished writers, and offered such great benefits.
Aly also places among the best critiquers I ever hired for my writing. She worked as an editor for me almost up to the end, reading my work even in those last few months. She read more—and let me get away with less—than any other reader. She understood my way with words; the writing awards I’ve won owe a debt to her editing. She had a gift for seeing what I wanted to do, showing me where I failed to achieve it, and helping me find the way to my goals. I will sorely miss her wisdom and insight, and also her kindness.
I have fond memories of visiting with Aly outside of the workshop. We often worked on her novels or talked more generally about writing. After her sight began to fail, I’d read passages to her from books she liked or from her own work. We talked about everything from the nitty-gritty of rewrites to world-building to her wide-ranging dreams for her fiction. Sometimes we went for jaunts, to see a movie or have lunch together, trying out different cafes. One of the last times we met for a meal, she showed me a wonderful Asian restaurant tucked away in a lot, hidden behind buildings that faced on the street. It didn’t look like much on the outside, but going inside was like being transported to a different place, with excellent food, service, and company, and a wonderful meal all around.
The last time we hoped to meet for lunch, I received an invitation to read my work that day at an event sponsored by Galactic Philadelphia. I asked Aly if she’d like to come. I feared she might have to say no, since she was on dialysis then, but to my delight, she said yes. So she, my daughter, and I hopped in the car (well, okay, maybe we slid sedately onto the seats) and set off for our adventure in Philadelphia. We had quite the time, driving around the city looking for a place to eat. We finally found a Greek café, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the places we’d tried in Maryland. Then we went to the Philadelphia Free Library for the reading, where they treated us wonderfully. By the time we returned to Maryland, it was late, so we said goodnight and talked about arranging for another lunch some time in the future.
We never had that next lunch date. The trip to Philadelphia was the last time I saw Aly. Although I moved not long after to New York, I’d intended to come back to visit. But it wasn’t to be. So I will always especially treasure our last outing.
The final time I spoke to Aly came just before she went to her rest. She asked if I was still willing to finish her books, as we had discussed long ago. I had offered to complete her work if she ever needed the help, but I never expected—or hoped I’d never need to expect—that a day would come when she asked me to carry through on my promise. She honored me by trusting me to complete her work. And so I inherited her brilliant, wonderful novels, the first two of which she had almost finished and the last which exists in her notes and our final discussion. That final conversation offered a fitting tribute to how our friendship began: with our writing and our dreams for our books.
Aly, I miss you. I wish we’d had more time. If somewhere your spirit is watching, please know that you live on in the enduring impact you made on all of us who were fortunate enough to join your writers’ group. I promise I will do my utmost to finish your books and see them through to publication. Your spirit will live on in the genius of your imagination and your gifts as a storyteller.
-- Catherine Asaro
Writer's workshop for Science Fiction
Hello, all. In a couple of hours, I'm doing a talk on how non-scientists can put science in their SF. You don't need a degree in science! I'll go over various approaches you can use to base ideas in your work on science even if you know nothing about the scientific topic. Come on over!
This is short notice, but if you register for the conference (it's free), they will have videos of all the sessions that you can watch at your leisure.
Here is the link:
prowritingaid.com/sci-fi-week/sign-up
This is short notice, but if you register for the conference (it's free), they will have videos of all the sessions that you can watch at your leisure.
Here is the link:
prowritingaid.com/sci-fi-week/sign-up
