James Van Pelt's Blog

On Tuesday I will give a talk at the GJ Art Center from 6:00-7:30 on conventions, conferences and critique groups for the Western Colorado Writers Forum, so I’ve been giving some thought about what I’d like to say.

I can see structuring the presentation as more of a kaffeeklatsch than a speech: lots of room for audience-generated questions and comments.

While searching for what I’ve already written about the topic, I came upon this. In 2021, The Daily Sentinel interviewed me about our local comicon. Here’s my response. It became self-revelatory in a hurry.

A local journalist sent me some questions for an article they’re working on about our upcoming comicon. I’m not much of a comic book fan, but comicons are about more than comics. Here’s the questions and my answers.

I have a tendency to over answer things like this.

What sparked your interest in ComiCon?

I didn’t go to conventions of any kind until I was in my early 40s. I talked to the editor of a fiction review magazine in 1996, and he asked me if I was going to the World Science Fiction Convention in Anaheim in a couple weeks. I laughed and said, “Science fiction conventions? Isn’t that where geeky people dress up like Klingons?” He said, “Oh, no, no . . . well, yes, but it’s also where a writer can meet other writers, editors, publishers and fans. It’s a way for you to network and be more involved.” So I went. Sure enough, there were Klingons, but also it was the first time I was able to be in a community of people who knew things about science fiction, fantasy and horror literature, films and gaming (and cosplay and filking and numerous other fannish pursuits). I didn’t even know I missed a sense of community! I remember walking from one of the convention buildings to another in the middle of a really hot day. I stopped at a park bench in the shade under a tree. A really convincing looking Klingon was sitting there too, smoking a cigarette. He said, “Nice day, isn’t it?” And I thought, “I’m home!”

Is there a particular character you resonate with?

My relationship with conventions is mostly from the literature end. When I was a kid, I liked the Daredevil quite a bit, but I wasn’t fanatic about reading comics. I idolized authors, like Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein, Zenna Henderson (and Edgar Allan Poe, H.G. Wells, Edgar Rice Burroughs, etc.). I also am a science fiction and fantasy film buff.

Did you collect comics back in the day? Still today?

I did not. Comicon is bigger than comics, fortunately. The World Fantasy Convention or World Science Fiction Convention, are more literary, but there’s a huge component interested in film, graphic novels and gaming. The comic universe, particularly DC and Marvel exert a large influence, even in the literary conventions. At a Comicon, the emphasis is more to the comics side, although in my experience I think that films still generate more interest. At a major comicon, like the Denver one, a ton of comics illustrators are in attendance, and each has their fan base. The illustrators for the major comics are superstars, but the smaller “indie” comic books and their writers and artists catch a lot of love from the fans. Also, budding comic book creators go to meet their idols, make connections and to learn from people farther along in their careers. The fans, of course, benefit from all of this. So a comicon will serve multiple interests too. Someone who likes to cosplay will go in costume to show off and to admire other costumes. Maybe they are deeply investing in the character they are dressed as. Someone else might go, though, because they love a particular comic or a film franchise or graphic novels. The game fans are well serviced too. A good comicon for one person might involve a completely different set of activities and attractions than someone else experienced.

If you attend in costume, what’s your character?

I’ve never gone in costume. It hasn’t been an interest of mine, although if I did, I’d probably go full steampunk. I love that 19th century, alternate universe aesthetic. Most comicons will feature a costume contest that I’ll always attend. The world of costume design and costume performances at comicons and other conventions is surprisingly deep. There are levels of expertise in costuming just for the competitions, from amateur to masterclass. Some people spend hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars on their costumes. Throwing on a Halloween Batman costume would show very poorly at a comicon (although little kids attend dressed that way—they’re way cute).

Your SF is along the lines of Bradbury (whom I adore!) and have comics also influenced your writing?

Of the comics that influenced me most, I’d say TALES FROM THE CRYPT got to me most often. They were horror stories, and for kids of a certain age (my age at the time) they were scary and entertaining. I remember one that has influenced me to this day. In it a jazz saxophone player was obsessed with playing the perfect riff. He was convinced that if he could, the heavens would open and he would ascend to the level of a god. So, one night in the rain he managed to do it. He played the perfect riff. The heavens opened, but it wasn’t angels or God looking down on him. It was some sort of Chuthlu elder god monstrosity, and it plucked him off the Earth. I’ve felt since that I’m the writerly equivalent of that guy. I’m always trying to write the perfect sentence or paragraph or story. I certainly don’t want the heavens to open if I do it, but I understand his goal. There’s something compelling about the pursuit of perfection.

Favorite comic/character of all time?

I mentioned Daredevil earlier. I liked that he wasn’t supernatural or had super powers. He was just a blind guy who developed his other senses.

What do you admire most about comic writers and/or illustrators?

I love the idea that there are people in the world who can make a living entertaining other people with their creative visions. All the creative types (artists, poets, potters, dancers, singers, film makers, etc.) who spend a part of their lives making art are admirable as far as I’m concerned. Not everyone can make money doing it. In fact, most creators don’t make their living with their art, but the impulse to create is a powerful one. I’m glad they pursued their passions.

Anything else you’d like our readers to know about ComiCon or your writing?

I go to comicon because I like to be in the presence of science fiction, fantasy and horror fans. We speak much the same language. I don’t mind that people will buy my books when I’m there, or come to panels that I speak on, but mostly what I love about comicon is it feeds my inner, imaginative self. Frankly, much of the world can be deadening, depressing or frightening—watching too much of the news can do that to a person—while a comicon is a celebration of imaginative play.

I love that comicons exist. They can be an antidote for that which ails us.

Conventions, Conferences and Critique Groups: How to Get the Most from Them with James Van Pelt

I reported a couple days ago that Asimov’s bought a story from me. If I count an early story in Analog that was reprinted in the Greek edition of Asimov’s (and I do), that’s my 20th appearance in the magazine since 1997.

I tried a different technique in composing the story. I knew my characters, and I knew what the conflict was, but I had no plot in mind. I focussed on writing fully fleshed out scenes in their lives. They’re childhood friends, so each scene is a key moment, but I didn’t have a plan where I was going.

However, I have an idea about constructing stories that I call the “ascending pearls theory.”

Because of how we read, the first scene starts the reader from scratch: all info is new. The next scene, even though it presents additional information, carries with it the info from the first scene. The knowledge accretes for the reader, just like a pearl that starts with a grain of sand and then coats it over and over until a pearl is built from the layers.

Knowing that as I write is a powerful tool. Each new scene pulls on that background to create increasing complexity and nuance. The weight of the story is carried in the accumulated mass of story material.

So I don’t have to have a plot in mind, necessarily. The information is making connections and building a path organically. Eventually a culmination of the combined dynamic of knowing what the characters want, the actions that they take or the world takes that impact their progress toward their goal, and the tension that creates, take me to a final moment.

After that, a story is like that old model of how the world balances on the back of a turtle. “Yeah, but what’s under that turtle?” a skeptical audience member asks. “It’s turtles all the way down,” is the answer.

The climax rests on the back of the second to last scene. What’s under that? It’s scenes all the way down. The advantage of writing this way for this story is I really worked on making each scene a whole and interesting moment. I didn’t have any skip-through-this-because-I-want-to-get-to-the-end writing.

The disadvantage was that I slowed down. I couldn’t write the story this way by sketching my way to an end. There were days in between scenes while I decided what would be most interesting to tackle next. Despite the slow progress, I’m very happy with the result.

I have a rough draft of a writing book I started for Fairwood Press from years ago that is tentatively titled, PLOT AS METAPHOR. You can see I’ve used some metaphors here. It’s the only way I have for talking about the inexplicable workings of creating a story for me. I suspect other teachers/writers face the same challenge when describing how story happens.

I’ve always liked this quote from Joseph Conrad. I think he was talking about writing. It’s from HEART OF DARKNESS:

“No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence–that which makes its truth, its meaning–its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream–alone.”

The ordinary caveat: Every writer’s process is different, so attending a session such as this is not about finding “the answer” to the question of how to write short stories. It’s about being exposed to another writer’s approaches, and even for that writer, those approaches can vary from day to day.Writing a short story is like creek fishing. Sometimes you do everything right: you have the proper equipment, it’s the right time of the day, you’ve approached the creek with the wiliness of a fishing veteran, your technique is perfect, you’re persistent, but at the end of the day you’ve caught nothing. Not even a strike. You might have seen a fish dash under the bank. That’s the closest you had to success that day.The next day you a bent paperclip through a piece of week-old sausage that has been sitting on the table in your kitchen, tie it to an eight-foot long piece of twine, toss it into an irrigation ditch where no one has ever caught a fish, and you walk away with a trophy.You just don’t know.So, keeping that in mind, here we go.I’m a pantser, generally. So beginning a short story is hardly ever about having the whole story in my head. I begin with an interesting image, action, character, mood, situation or just a fun first line. Everything boils down to language eventually (or immediately) so for me, putting down the first sentence is my springboard into the story.Remember, all decisions when writing are fungible. That first sentence can change later to set up the ending better, but I’m surprised how often my choice of the language to begin remains.Here’s three of my first sentences. Each came with no story attached. I barely had a whisper of where I was going afterwards:I’d assembled my time travel device of circuits, microchips and clever wiring, but the gods or magic or fate controlled it. Willard was day dreaming about Elsa when the shark caught Benford, the new mail boy, directly in front of Willard’s desk.The women I’ve loved are all decades dead.Look for beginning sentences. Read a bunch in a row. I like opening an anthology so I can see a bunch of them at once. I also, when I’m in a bookstore, open a dozen books in a row to read their first sentence.The important tip is to begin. A first sentence is like the first step when you start a hike. You have to take the first step to get to the last one. As reluctant or nervous or insecure as you might be about that first step, the resistance to begin can only be overcome by taking it. The second step in a hike is almost never as difficult to take as the first one. A first step gives you momentum. Write a first sentence.By the way, this is the exact advice to write a novel.Also, by the way, if you’re sitting at a computer right now, or you have a notebook you’re writing in, you could begin a new short story in the next thirty seconds. All you have to do is write your first sentence. It could be anywhere from two words to dozens, but that’s all you have to do. Starting a story is always a first sentence away. Easiest thing in the world.Remember that the first sentence and the sentences that follow are a move, like in chess. They’re the opening gambit. Also, remember that the beginning is the setup for your ending. Whatever you begin with leads to the ending. Often the ending echoes something from your beginning. Keep that in mind.You have choices that generally fall into these categories:Begin with setting. Here’s a good setting beginning:“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.” The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson.A setting beginning tells the reader that the setting is important to the story. The setting can immediately establish mood. Imagine you wanted to write a story that takes place here at the K Diamond K ranch. Go outside and wander around a bit with your senses open. Surely you can see (and feel, smell, hear, taste) the story potential in this place.Writer Brenda Cooper encouraged me to go outside last night and look into the moonless sky. The milky way stretched above us, a lazy river of stars. You don’t get that view in the city! Settings can be powerful!Begin with a character description:“MR. UTTERSON, THE LAWYER, was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable.” From Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Lewis Stevenson.A character introduction starts the process of getting the readers to sympathize with a person in the story. The best stories often contain sympathetic characters. A sympathetic character doesn’t necessarily have to be one we like. To be “sympathetic” in this context means that we understand why the character is the way they are. If we care about the characters, we’re likely to be involved in the story and wonder what will happen to them next. It’s a weird way to think about it, but characterization is a writerly trick to keep the readers involved.Eventually every single problem in writing a story is a technical one. How do we get the readers to care? How do we get the readers to forget they’re reading? How do we create language that is memorable? How do we fulfill the promise to the reader that if they’ll give us their attention, that we will reward them with an experience that is worth their time?Begin with action:“I was surprised to see a white man walk into Joppy’s bar.” Walter Mosley, Devil in a Blue DressAn action beginning is sometimes called in media res, which means in the middle of the action. This is the most often recommended beginning. People are naturally drawn to movement, to action, to something happening. I grew up in a home with a party line—that’s how old I am! When we picked up out phone, we might hear the conversation a neighbor was having. Etiquette of the time was to hang up quietly, then make our call later when the line was open. But you know how people can be—how tempting it might be to cover the microphone part of the phone and listen. Here’s what’s interesting about that once you get past the creepiness factor: you have stepped into the middle of a conversation. The neighbors don’t know you are present. They don’t stop to give you any background information, but you can inevitably figure out what it going on in a minute or so. Starting in media res can be like that. Your reader will figure out pretty quickly from the action everything you might be tempted to tell them as a writer. Figuring things out is half the fun of reading.A hallmark of an inexperienced writer is a tendency to stop the story to tell the readers facts the author is sure readers need to know to understand what’s going on. Try to resist doing that.Begin with a distinctive, interesting voice:You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. Huckleberry Finn, Mark TwainYou better not never tell nobody but God. It’d kill your mammy. DEAR GOD, I am fourteen years old. I am I have always been a good girl. Maybe you can give me a sign letting me know what is happening to me. The Color Purple, Alice WalkerFirst person narrated stories are always, inevitably about the narrator, no matter what else they might look like. The Great Gatsby, for example, looks like it must be about Gatsby, and it is, but Gatsby dies well before the end of the book (sorry, plot spoiler). The last chapters are about how Nick Carraway, the narrator deals with this death, and the end is about how watching Gatsby and what happened to him changed Nick.There are other ways to begin, like with an odd statement the reader wants clarified, like “Once a guy stood all day shaking bugs from his hair” which is from Philp K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly.You could start with dialogue (that’s a variation of in media res) like when Charles Wallace says, “There are dragons in the twins’ vegetable garden” to start Madeleine L’Engle’s, A Wind in the Door.The point is that multiple kinds of writing exist, and you can begin with anyone of them. Think of the types of writing that go into a story: setting, character, dialogue, description, action, flashbacks, exposition, etc. Anyone of them is potentially an opening move.Remember, when readers pick up your story, they want you to succeed. They want to be entertained or informed or moved. They’ll cut you some slack, but you can’t waste their time. Give them interesting stuff at the beginning. Throw your heart into it and give them your best.This chat is about beginnings and ends, but I also said I’d offer “tips and tricks.” For me the middle of the story has three requirements:Very early on I need to establish the conflict. Conflict is a character wants something, something stands in the way, and something of value is at stake. Once I know those three things, I can progress. What does my character do to get what they want? How does the result of their action change the situation (most of the time what they do makes things worse)? I keep writing my character trying until they do or don’t get what they want, and that’s the ending.Remember in the middle that your character isn’t alone. Sometimes other characters do things that change the direction of the story. Sometimes there’s bad weather. Sometimes there are accidents. Sometimes a messenger doesn’t get Romeo’s letter with his plan to save his love by faking his death to Juliet in time, and Romeo and Juliet turns into a tragedy instead of a comedy.I compose a story almost entirely of scenes or episodes (if you prefer). A very short story might only have one scene. A longer one could have a bunch. A novel has a bunch of bunch more. (these are very technical writing terms).So, oh my gosh, my time is more than half gone and I haven’t talked about how to end stories yet. But as you can see, you can’t talk about a single element in writing short stories without eventually talking about the rest of them. A story is a combination of all the parts.Sheesh.To talk about the end I have to talk about the author’s intent. Why do we tell stories in real life? You’ll notice often when friends get together, they often tell little stories. Maybe somebody had an uncomfortable experience at the dentist office. Someone else had an amusing encounter at the farmer’s market. A third received a troubling phone call from a distant relative. The thing about these stories is that you hardly ever think when they’re done talking, “Why did that tell me that? What’s the point?”There’s always a point unless you have a friend who does tell you pointless stories, but they’re almost always damaged in an unidentifiable way, and you are kind enough to not tell them so. The point might be “dentist appointments can be scary,” or “people in farmer’s markets can be ridiculous,” or “I’m lucky my life isn’t like my distant relative’s life.”The stories you tell have to end in such a way that their point is revealed. I have to use an English-teacher word here—I apologize—but the point of a story are its themes.I told you at the beginning that I’m a pantser. I often don’t know why I started or where I’m going, but sometime in the process of writing the piece I ask myself, “Why does this story matter to me?” “Why am I attracted to the material?” Until I answer that question, the writing will slow down. I need to think about “what is the point?”The conflict of what my character wants, what stands in the way, and why is it important ends at the climax. My character has won or lost or some weirdly appropriate alternative occurs that isn’t a win or loss but is satisfying has occurred, but that’s hardly ever where the story ends.The end is sometimes called the denouement. It basically means in French, “the action of untying.” It’s the walking away from the climax. It’s what your characters are left with when it’s all over. The climax of Star Wars: a New Hope is the explosion of the death star, but the denouement is the awards ceremony where Han and Luke get medals. The point is something like “the brave and bold are rewarded at the end,” or “a good cause prevails,” or “white guys get medals, not wookies.” Sorry, couldn’t resist that last one.The end of John Steinbeck’s The Pearl ends with the peasant throwing an invaluable pearl back into the ocean. The point might be something like “greed and great wealth can destroy our lives.” Of Mice and Men ends with a farmhand commenting, “Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin’ them two guys?” as George and Slim walk away. The farmhand might not know, but we know George had to execute his friend and ward, Lennie, to save him from a lynching. We know the grim point of the story, even if we can’t say it, that maybe life is too cruel for our hopes to come true, at least for some people, or that the American dream isn’t for everyone, or you don’t know anyone until you have walked in their shoes.Stories have points, so your ending should give the reader a chance to see your point. You don’t need to spell your point out, unless you are writing fairy tales for children that end with “the moral of the story is . . .” But the story needs to take the readers to the place where they can see a point, and where they see the point is in what you tell them of the character’s reactions or fate after the climax.You have tons of choices in your ending, just as you did your beginning. Here are some options:Significant or meaningful dialogueA symbolic actionA repetition of the beginning which will read completely differently now that the story has endedA symbolic scenic descriptionA narrative reaction like the conclusion of Wuthering Heights that ends with “I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.”Or the end of Huckleberry Finn when Huck says, “Tom’s most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain’t nothing more to write about, and I am rotten glad of it, because if I’d a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn’t a tackled it, and ain’t a-going to no more. But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can’t stand it. I been there before. THE END. YOURS TRULY, HUCK FINN.”For me, I think endings can be tough. They’re delicate constructions because they carry the weight of the story on their back. I’ll tinker with the ending more than any other part.An ending is like a poem where the impact has to be greater than the sum of its parts. I’m looking for resonance at the endFinal thoughts,You have multiple options to begin a story.The beginning sets up the end. One of your first editing tasks should be to read your beginning and then your end to make sure it’s clear that they’re part of the same story, and the beginning knew were you were going to end up.In general, stories are told in scenes with action, appeals to the senses, and time passing. Essays give a lot of information, but they’re hardly ever stories. Write a story, not an essay.Revise the story with the point of your ending in mind. Reinforce the thematic points. Remember, when you’re writing you’re the writer. You may not know where you’re going. Writing is often an act of discovery, even if you are a planner instead of a pantser. When you’re revising, you’re transforming yourself from the writer to the storyteller. The story teller knows the middle and the ending and everything else. The storyteller knows where the story is going. Everything points to the end. Everything is a strategy or technical decision or a “move” you make on the page.Oh, and when you’re writing your first draft, don’t worry about much of this talk. Write to a conclusion. Finish the darned thing. You can’t make the decisions I’ve talked about here until you’ve really reached the end and go back to work your changes.Start as the writer and end as the storyteller.

STORY SALE!

I offer this as a tale of perseverance.

Neil Clarke at Clarkesworld has accepted a story from me, which is my first original sale to them. They previously reprinted a piece that Gardner Dozois chose when he was working as their reprint editor (it was a story Gardner also included in his YEAR’S BEST anthology in 2010).

They have been using an online submission system since at least 2010 where I can view my submissions. I see that the story Neil is taking now is the 55th piece I’ve submitted to them. Many pieces made it to “round two” before being bounced.

I like to think of the submissions process as being a kind of pen pal arrangement. I’ve sent Neil 55 long, self-revelatory letters in the last 13 years. While his responses have been somewhat shorter, and a little repetitive , I have enjoyed our continued correspondence.

Almost all the other bounced stories found homes in other magazines. My submissions records at the major magazines who have taken pieces from me also contain WAY more “no” than “yes” replies.

That’s the case for most authors . . . except the late Mike Resnick who claimed during a panel at a WorldCon that he didn’t know what a rejection from ASIMOV’S looked like, so he couldn’t comment on its tone when asked.

This is my 190th short story sale since 1989.

Mike Glyer’s File 770 mentioned my birthday thusly:

“Born June 26, 1954 — James Van Pelt, 69. Here for the phenomenal number of nominations that he has had though no Awards have accrued. I count 26 nominations so far including a Sturgeon, a Nebula and, perhaps the longest named Award in existence, John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer / Astounding Award for the Best New Science Fiction Writer. He has but two novels to date, Summer of the Apocalypse and Pandora’s Gun, but a really lot of short fiction, I think over a hundred pieces, and two poems.”

To be fair, I have won SOME things: my collection, THE RADIO MAGICIAN AND OTHER STORIES won the Colorado Book Award.

My first collection, STRANGERS AND BEGGARS was recognized as a “Best Book for Young Adults” by the American Library Association.

My short story, “Minerva Girls,” won the Anlab Readers’ Choice Award from ANALOG for best novella in the magazine for the year.

And, personally, I count every short story that is reprinted in a “years’ best” anthology to be a winner. That’s happened 11 times.

Oh, and it’s five poems, thank you very much.

I have stories in the July/August Asimov’s and the August issue of Lightspeed. The titles are “Have You Seen Bitsy” and “The United Systems Goodwill Concert Series and the Greatest Performance of All Time” respectively.

If you’re interested in a larger dose of my fiction, my collections and novels are available in paperback and e-format at Amazon James Van Pelt author page and Fairwood Press James Van Pelt Collection page.

Publishers Weekly said in their starred review of my latest collection, The Best of James Van Pelt, “​​Van Pelt showcases his mastery of short-form fiction in these 62 stories, all published between 1993 and 2018 and ranging from apocalyptic fiction to subtle daylight horror, Lovecraftian riffs, and speculation about future social policy initiatives. . . .Van Pelt’s superior combination of imaginative concepts with recognizable human emotions makes him a talent deserving of a wide readership.”

The January/February Analog contains my short story, “Party On.” Check the table of contents for the other stories and authors. This will be my 19th appearance in the magazine since 1997. I think I received my Analog MAFIA pin after my second story, which didn’t really seem “frequent” to me, but Making Appearances Frequently in Analog felt awesome. Analog was the first magazine I read regularly, starting in junior high.

I post online constantly, but I keep doing it on FaceBook, which is dumb since I pay for the existence of jamesvanpelt.com.

Sheesh! Here’s what’s been going on lately:

I attended World Fantasy in New Orleans in early November. World Fantasy is my favorite major convention. Huge number of pros to talk to, and New Orleans is a great place to visit.I attended MileHiCon in Denver in October. This is my local convention. I have so many friends that I only see there.I’ve sold 8 stories this year, including ones to Asimov’s and Lightspeed.The paperback edition of The Best of James Van Pelt has been released. It’s also available as a Kindle book.The Western Colorado Writers’ Forum interviewed me and broke the long talk into two separate episodes. I find it interesting to chat into a microphone.

It’s Christmas, almost! What better gift can you give them a book. If you are interested in mine, you can find them here, complete with extra info and reviews.

Happy holidays, all.

The paperback and e-book version of THE BEST OF JAMES VAN PELT are available now.

Many thanks to those who bought the hardbound, signed and numbered limited edition. If you are interested in that version of the book, a few are still available through Fairwood Press.

If you were waiting for the less-expensive release, now is your chance. The $5.99 Kindle book I think is a real bargain: 300,000 words contained in 63 of my best stories from 30 years (so far) of publishing. The paperback features the same glorious cover art as the collector’s edition.

Remember that reviews matter. If you leave a review at Amazon, or mention the book on social media, that’s how other possibly interested readers will discover the book.

MORE INFORMATION AND ORDERING OF THE BEST OF JAMES VAN PELT

Fairly frequently someone will ask where I get my ideas, and like most authors I am at a bit of a loss for a good answer. However, a couple days ago, an FB writer friend asked for reasons a teenager might be laid up for weeks but not cause long term damage.

Their question question made me think this at first:”Not totally related, but an anecdote about how medical research can be fraught. For story purposes, I wanted to know if a teenager with bone cancer might have to have both legs amputated. I called my doctor, and he immediately went into a diagnostic mode. “What symptoms do you have? When did you start experiencing discomfort? How long have you been ignoring this condition?” It took quite a bit of talking to convince him that I wasn’t sick myself. I’m pretty sure he worried about me for years after.”

I added, “I have written three stories with bed-ridden young people: “The Radio Magician,” about a boy with polio in the 30s, also the story about a boy who had his legs amputated because of bone cancer, “Roller Derby Dan'” and the piece I’m working on now with a boy in the 60s who has both legs in external fixators after surgery to correct severe bow leggedness. I think the antecedent to my interest in this trope is Ray Bradbury’s “The Emissary” from THE OCTOBER COUNTRY.”

The FB friend asked why that situation interested me, and I realized I had a partial answer to where I get ideas, at least this idea.”Besides the awesomeness of the Bradbury story, a friend of mine when I was 12 had both legs broken to correct for extreme pigeon toed alignment of his feet. His legs were casted from ankle to hip. He was miserable but suffered gamely. We pushed him in his wheelchair everywhere we went that summer. I’ve often thought since what his experience must have been like. Also, of interest in this situation, H.G. Wells broke his leg when he was eight. He was bedridden while it healed (they were much less into getting patients on their feet at that time). He spent his convalescence reading. He said that’s what made him H.G. Wells. He became devoted to books and writing.”

That’s where the idea came from.