Year’s Best SF (Gardner Dozois), honorable mentions for 2013
“The Artist, Deeply, Brushes” by Ken Altabef
“Luminous Fish Scanalyze My Name” by by Paul Di Filippo and Damien Broderick,
“The Shadow Artist” by Ruth Nestvold.
…’Childfinder’ asks us to remember the sacrifices required to break from established systems of power, yet also contributes a bleak perspective on how even a successfully disruptive political movement might regardless be doomed to inhabit only its own particular historical moment. As in many of Butler’s other stories, the long run of human time washes over all, leaving less in its wake than ever imagined. By Marisa Parham on Octavia Butler via findingestella (via rachelsedelman)
From the mouth of Octavia Butler:-
“First forget inspiration. Habit is more dependable. Habit will sustain you whether you’re inspired or not. Habit will help you finish and polish your stories. Inspiration won’t. Habit is persistence in practice.”
“There’s a tendency among white musicians and audiences to take retrospective solace in nostalgia, the halcyon days of rock and pop when they still held their innocent lustre and life was more swinging, sunny and simpler. There is a certain kind of white fan who prefers black music of a certain vintage and is uncomfortable with its present day mutations. For black musicians, black audiences, the past is not a halcyon place – it was a time of open racism, of civil rights struggles, of systematic disadvantage and everyday humiliation. Why hark back to that? The present’s not so hot either, come to think of it. The future is where it’s at, the future from which white audiences are often prone to flinch. Hence Stevie Wonder’s Arp and Moog adventures, George Clinton’s Brother From Another Planet schtick, Lee “Scratch” Perry, A Guy Called Gerald, Detroit Techno and the early embrace of Kraftwerk by African-Americans, and the whole, electric underground push of black music from Go-Go to house, hip-hop jungle to grime and footwork.
“[Sun] Ra’s teachings might lead nowhere but his musical example is practical, vital and of the utmost, enduring relevance. He is the Grandfather of Afro-Futurism.”
- David Stubbs, Yearning for Impossible Escape: Sun Ra, Afro-Futurist Godfather (The Quietus)
“The advent of electronic media and the information age has had a profound impact on social interaction and cultural identity. We have found our notions of consciousness, our perceptions of reality, and our daily lives altered and reconstituted by this technological change. Electronic technology, especially digital, seems to have pierced the protective bubble of fixed racial and ethnic identity by making it easy for us to create physically detached screen personas that transcend social realities. Yet in spite of the current cultural climate, which we like to believe has released us from the constraints of identity, the mechanisms of exclusion still persist.”
— Michelle-Lee White, Afrotech and Outer Spaces (via afrometaphysics)
CBC’s radio show The Current featured Keris Myrick in their Game Changer series in November 2011.
Keris Myrick is in Toronto Friday 13th June – one of six world renowned speakers at the conference: Psychosis 2.0.
For years, she was told to lower her expectations and focus on her condition. Keris Myrick has been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. She is also the CEO of Project Return Peer Support Network. She supervises more than a hundred people. She says the intense, high-profile nature of the work actually helps her manage the symptoms of her illness.
My Main character is a naughty creature. So is Deepon. But there are things out there Naughtier. Badder. More powerful. More resourceful. Here, they are being reminded of that.
Something tickled along my ivories. In a spectacularly bad way.
Then I realized what it was. It was the old woman’s singing.
I didn’t know quite what she was, but with the inflections of her humming, she was weaving. Weaving music magic.
Something about the way the old woman spinned her notes gave rise to the notion in my mind of someone walking over my grave.
I knew Deepon felt it too. It was all over her face.
Then her singing, humming, weaving, suddenly stopped. Her head snapped right round, and she stared at us. And we both knew. She was not there by accident. She was there for us. Like previous others who’d made their presence known, she was there to send us a message. We both knew what it was, and it’d been driven home harder than a nail under a hammer.
The old woman stared at us for a long while.
Deepon and I headed home.