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Adventures in SF Parenting: The Wild, Wild Web

It may be reasonably obvious at this point that I am somewhat of a free-range parent.  Sure, I have my lines, my boundaries, my helicopter moments, but for the large part I firmly believe that staying a bit hands off produces more self-reliant, independent, and creative children.  Lenore Skenazy has a great way of pointing out that there is a difference between RISK and RISKY.  Risk is a natural part of life after all, there is a 1 in 700,000 chance each year that I will get struck by lighting if I go outside (Risk), but that chance goes up dramatically if I hike to the top of a hill in an empty field while carrying a metal rod in the middle of a lightning storm (RISKY).  I’d like you to keep all that in mind as I continue.

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My Superpower: Michael Panush

My Superpower is a regular guest column on the Skiffy and Fanty blog where authors and creators tell us about one weird skill, neat trick, highly specialized cybernetic upgrade, or other superpower they have, and how it helped (or hindered!) their creative process as they built their project. Today we welcome Michael Panush to talk about how the power of dinosaurs relates to Dinosaur Dust. Hello there, my name is Michael Panush and my superpower — though this may seem odd — is dinosaurs. That doesn’t exactly make sense at first glance does it? Well, the great Jack Kirby created comic book lizard king Devil Dinosaur in 1978 and he’s been rampaging around the Marvel Universe ever since, so I’ll say that it counts. What exactly does my superpower entail? Well, I don’t have scales (or feathers), sharp teeth or hilariously tiny arms. What I do have is a deep and abiding love and fascination with dinosaurs, which led me to create the Jurassic Club series and its latest entry, Dinosaur Dust. I’ve had this fascination with me since I was a little hatchling. Most kids are into dinos and I was no exception. I memorized their complicated names and looking back at home videos of my four-year-old self revealed me singing songs about triceratops to the camera. As I grew older, my love of dinosaurs waned, but never faded entirely. I took a class on basic paleontology in college, but the academic side of dinosaurs never really appealed to me. I’m not an expert in dinosaurs and I won’t pretend to be. Instead, I devoured dinos in popular culture, especially when they inhabited mysterious lost worlds. I started studying the Lost World genre, from the Pellucidar tales of Edgar Rice Burroughs to King Kong’s Skull Island and the first Lost World created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the novel of the same name. Naturally, this led to some interesting ideas. What if a Lost World had actually been discovered in the Victorian Era, as is the case in these pulp stories? Most of them end with the heroes leaving the world in the Hollow Earth or the mysterious island and returning to civilization, but what if they stayed and settled? How would the civilized world of the past, with its imperialist ways, react to living dinosaurs? To answer that question, I created the Jurassic Club series. It’s an attempt to bring a modern perspective to these Lost World narratives and show how the racism, imperialism and cruelty of the past would affect a newly discovered prehistoric land. That land is Acheron Island, a place with dinosaurs, mysterious ruins and pre-human natives called the Ape Men. The first novel, Dinosaur Jazz, explored the 1920s and told the story of Sir Edwin Crowe — a dinosaur hunter who must protect Acheron Island from a cruel warlord and a ruthless tycoon. Dinosaur Dust features the 1930s, the Great Depression and the rising conflict of WWII. Its hero is Norris Hall, a bank robber and Mob enforcer, who is dispatched on a mission: find a kidnapped movie star raptor stolen from Hollywood glamour by unknown thieves. Hall’s search of the dinosaur actor will send him to Los Angeles and then to Acheron Island itself, where he is pitted against Nazi agents for the future of the world. The Jurassic Club gives me a chance to examine the world’s fascination with dinosaurs — and my own. I still can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think the fascination stems from the fact that these creatures have all the bizarre qualities of beasts out of fantasy — and yet they actually existed. Furthermore, dinosaurs have kooky appearances that no human mind could conjure up. Take a look at the therizinosaur, with its oversized claws, pot-belly and snaky neck, if you think I’m kidding. These beasts can inspire awe, fear and even laughter and that’s something I always try to reveal when they show up in my stories. I do hope you give Dinosaur Dust a try. I’ve got big plans for the Jurassic Club and I look forward to putting my fascination with dinosaurs to use in several subsequent volumes that follow the history of Acheron Island down the decades. Check it out and enjoy the prehistoric thrills. _______________________ Twenty-Three years old, Michael Panush has distinguished himself as one of Sacramento’s most promising young writers. Michael has published numerous short stories in a variety of e-zines including: AuroraWolf, Demon Minds, Fantastic Horror, Dark Fire Fiction, Aphelion, Horrorbound, Fantasy Gazetteer, Demonic Tome, Tiny Globule, and Defenestration. His books with Curiosity Quills include The Stein and Candle Detective Agency, Volume 1: American Nightmares, Volume 2: Cold Wars, and Volume 3: Red Reunion, all featuring a pair of occult detectives in the 1950s, Dinosaur Jazz– where The Great Gatsby meets Jurassic Park — a story about a Lost World battling against the forces of modernization; and El Mosaico, Volume 1: Scarred Souls and Volume 2: The Road to Hellfire, a Western about a bounty hunter whose body was assembled from the remains of dead Civil War soldiers and brought to life by mad science. For more about him, you can check out his author page, read his blog, or follow him on Twitter.

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LitBits: The Politics of Author/Work Separation

I’ve been thinking about this problem a lot recently, firstly for some obvious reasons (a certain movie) and secondly because of some of the things I’ve been discussing with my students in my American Literature course.  And one of the questions that keeps coming up for me is this:  how do we know when we have crossed the line by holding a writer accountable for the controversial things they write? As an example, I am currently teaching Lois-Ann Yamanaka’s Wild Meat and Bully Burgers.  This particular novel is not all that controversial, though it certainly has its issues, but her later book, Blu’s Hanging, was the cause of much controversy in 1997/1998.  The Asian American Studies National Book Award she received was later annulled after public outcry; many critics and academics have written about the incident since.[1]  One of the problems Asian American (and other) critics had with the book was its representation of Filipinos in Hawai’i (they are dirty, morally questionable, violent, and/or pedophiles) and the complete absence of indigenous Hawaiians in the novel.  Effectively, critics charged Yamanaka with failing to self-censor herself in a stereotypical context; in

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Out-Brutalling the Last Guy: “Grim and gritty, yes … but make sure it’s doing some honest work” by K.V. Johansen

I’ve written some reasonably grim stuff. The hero of Blackdog does tend to go for the throat on the battlefield and the assassin hero in my forthcoming series, Marakand, has a past that is decidedly Not Nice (his present just gets worse). Violence, horror, fear, pain, death — these are all part of epic fantasy, which almost by definition is going to deal with war at some point along the way and will certainly throw its characters into nasty situations, both as active doers of deeds and as suffering victims. Sometimes detailed physical description is what you need to do what the story needs done. Sometimes it isn’t. When it is, the detailed physical description alone shouldn’t be the point of the exercise. I was talking about this just last night with the Spouse, and then, while procrastinating on Twitter this morning, I wandered into a conversation with Juliet E. McKenna and Tom Lloyd that touched on the same ideas. This led me to wonder if, as we see the increased brutality inflicted in books praised as some kind of standard that is supposed to be achieved, we fantasy writers don’t sometimes get the feeling that we’d

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Movie Review: Mama (2013)

One of the things I enjoy about horror is its connection with fairy tales. Anyone who has actually read Grimm’s Fairy Tales is aware of this association. It’s one of the reasons why Andrés Muschietti’s 2013 film, Mama, attracted me. The story has a mundane, if tragic start fed to the audience in the form of a car radio news story — a dramatic stock market downturn results in the suicides of several members of a prominent investment firm. The abandoned car is parked in front of a beautiful house and there is a gunshot. The camera pans closer and the next scene is of a little girl named Victoria dressed for school. Her one-year-old sister is in her crib nearby. Their father arrives. His clothing is speckled with blood. Victoria asks, as all Fairy Tale heroines do, all the right questions, but her father, who is insane with grief, brushes her questions aside. He collects the girls and drives off into the wilderness with them. The car wrecks in the snow and they end up in an abandoned cabin, which is, naturally, haunted. Their

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