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September 21, 2007

FAQ 2.0

K.A. Bedford FAQ (updated September 2007)

Since I've got a bunch of free time on my hands at the moment, I thought I would start refreshing my FAQ file. You may have seen my FAQ before, at this address. This version is based on that, but with many questions cut entirely, and others substantially altered in light of more recent developments. Please let me know what you think, and if there's anything you think I should add. Thanks!

1. How did a guy from the suburbs of Perth, Western Australia come to get a book deal with these guys in Calgary, Canada?

It came about because I hang out on the Internet on a mailing list for writers, and have done for many years now. One day one of the other listfolk, Pam, in Texas, came across a flyer announcing that a brand new small-press catering to science fiction and fantasy had started up. They were based in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Was I interested? Actually, I was. I had two books finished at that point, but I wanted to know something more about these guys. As it happens, my friend Robyn Herrington, another sf/fantasy writer, lived in Calgary. I emailed her and asked if she knew these people with the new publishing company. She did know them, had recently had dinner with them, and pronounced them good eggs. With that endorsement, I emailed the editor, Lynn Jennyc, and pitched my two books. She liked the sound of both, and asked to see them. In the end, she rejected the fantasy title, but accepted the science fiction one, which was ORBITAL BURN.

2. I've heard these weird rumours that you've got all these strange "food issues". Is that right? Surely it can't be right!

This, unfortunately, is a difficult and embarrassing area for me. I include it here because I get tired of having to explain to people the strange peculiarities of my eating habits.

Rather than listing the kinds of things I like to eat, I should perhaps start by listing the kinds of things I absolutely will not eat, which I consider non-food.

(a) Anything that lives in water, including all seafood, seaweed, or anything at all that even faintly reeks of fishiness.

(b) Just about no "ethnic" cuisines, except Italian. To take one example, I can't stand anything in Asian cuisine, and by Asian I'm including everything from Indian to Japanese to Chinese to Thai, to you name it. I don't care how fabulous you think these things are. I don't care how wrong you think I am. My reaction is based on hard, gagging, nauseating, retching experience. There have been times when I have been forced, out of politeness, to go to restaurants offering these things, and I have only barely been able to keep from the horrors of the full Technicolor Yawn. The smell gets to me. If I can't hack the smell of whatever it is, I'm not going to even think about trying to eat it, not even a bit, not even one bite, not even just for you, not even in the course of earning some nebulous reward, not on a bet or a dare, and not because everyone else is having some so why aren't you--er, I. I'm not kidding about this. I'm old enough now that I think I know what things I like, and what things I really don't like, and sometimes more than the vile "food" itself what I hate is the insistent, annoying "oh go on, just have a bite", "it's really good, try some", "I've gone to all this trouble to fix you something", and so forth. No. I don't care. I'll have a glass of water. Or a cup of coffee.

(c) All birds (particularly including chicken and turkey, and anything at all that has wings, vestigial or not, and thus including Australian native fauna like emus, which I'm told some people think is fabulous--gasp!). Thus I'm not a natural candidate to invite to mass-catered luncheons, or to American Thanksgiving dinners. I do hear that mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving is traditional. I'll try some of those, thanks.

(d) Rice. Yes, rice. I know, it's bland, it's harmless, it's eaten by billions of people, etc etc. I know all this. I know there are different kinds, and I know that they're all somewhat different in various ways. But I still won't eat it. It reeks of some vile odour. When my wife cooks it, and she does this often, it's all I can do just to stay in the room—and she's a superb cook. It's just ghastly nasty stuff.

(e) Mushrooms. Yes, I know. You just do them like so, and they're wonderful, or like that, or like this, and there's so many ways to cook them, or even eat them raw, and it's all the food of the gods. Yes, I've heard. But no thanks. They're fungus. That's all I can think when faced with them. Fungus. Ugh. Plus, again, they reek very strongly, and they're just disgusting in every way.

(f) Lamb, veal, venison, assorted "game" animal meat. I don't approve of hunting, though I know it's a deeply traditional thing that some people feel is extremely important to them and their whole way of life. I know. I get it. But please, none for me, thanks. Lamb and veal, though, are a different matter: they're basically animal children. They haven't had even the meagre life experience farm animals normally have. It just bothers me philosophically.

(g) Organs, offal, guts of any kind, and yes, I will know if it's dressed up as "lamb's fry" or whatever the hell you might want to call it. Likewise the testicles of farm animals. Good grief. And yes, I know, steak and kidney pie is just divine particularly when done just so, and if you just tried some, etc etc. I know. But, again, no thanks. Gack. You do realise what kidneys are for, right?

(h) Certain vegetables, notably cabbage and cauliflower. (Good God!) Not that recently I discovered that broccoli is actually edible, to my complete surprise.

(i) Dairy products made with anything other than regular cow's milk.

(j) Noodles (see earlier comments about anything even remotely suggestive of Asian cuisine).

(k) And probably a great deal more besides.

I reserve the right to also be utterly horrified and disgusted by a wide range of other things that do not immediately spring to mind. Yes, I do realise this makes me sound like the biggest freak you've ever heard of. This is my burden. I'll be a food freak so you don't have to. Yes, there are some things I will eat, and it's not just white toast. Sadly, some of these things are indeed the kind of junk or fast food you suspect. Though even when it comes to junk food, there are things I can't abide, notably anything from McDonalds. I don't want to do anything to prop up that company.

The determined reader, no doubt baffled about the issue of "well, what do you eat?" will be relieved to hear that I'm very keen on burgers, pizza (no mushrooms, no chilis, anchovies, etc), sandwiches, various modes of pasta, pea soup, tomato soup, minestrone, beef broth, and similar; breakfast cereal, bacon/eggs/toast/etc; sausages; roast beef; potatoes; peas; fresh white bread (various kinds); pancakes (mmmmm, pancakes); various kinds of fruit; many vegetables are at least edible; chocolate (though not the vile American form, which is a hollow mockery of chocolate—if you want the real thing, you go either to Europe, or you turn to the Australian Cadbury company); and loads of other stuff, again subject to my poor memory. If you should ever want to know what to get me, just ask. Don't just grab something you like and assume I'll like it too, because, hey, who doesn't like X? A little consideration goes a long way. (This really applies to Chinese food. Not everybody loves it.)

A little insight: I was brought up in a house where the typical food on offer was often the "meat and two veg" kind of thing that was popular before food got all "nouvelle" and folks started using the word "cuisine" in meaningful ways. My favourite meal in the universe, believe it or not, is some regular beef sausages, fried up well, a heap of mashed potatoes, some peas, a bit of gravy over the whole thing, and I'm the happiest guy you ever saw. It's not fancy, but God it's yummy. My mother despaired of me when I was growing up. She said I was terribly fussy about food--and guess what? I still am! I blame everything on my sense of smell, which appears to be too acute for its own good. Hence my revulsion even over something as dull as rice. If it smells like non-food, I'm not touching it, and I apologise here for all the inconvenience and difficulty this is sure to cause everyone else in later times.

On the other hand, I love coffee. This is a new thing with me. For years I've had a kind of love/hate thing with instant coffee, which was okay, and certainly helped me through several books, but some years back my wife and I discovered real coffee. We now have an espresso machine. Ooooooooooh. We are learning to be coffee geeks. One of these fine days I wouldn't be at all surprised to walk in the door and find myself roasting my own beans in a frying pan on the stove. :) Hot chocolate is also good (but leave out the icky marshmallows, please!)

Oh one last thing: I'm not keen on alcohol, not even on special occasions. Not even a bit. At our wedding we drank mineral water. Get the picture? Back at university I sometimes partook of a wee bit of the absolutely vile suitable-only-for-cleaning-drains muck that came in very cheap boxes or very large glass bottles that sold for about $2.50. It pretty well cured me of an interest in alcohol. So even though I know very well that if you pay a bit of money you can get some absolutely lovely drops, I'm still not interested. I take various kinds of medication, btw, and alcohol really doesn't go well with them, as I have learned to my horror. I would much rather have, say, a coffee (see above), a chocolate milkshake, some orange juice, or, shock horror, iced water.

Yes, all these weird restrictions do make things difficult when Michelle and I want to go out for dinner. Frequently Michelle, who works in a pathology lab, and who really has a much more interesting job than I do, and should have her own website, gets invited out to dinner functions with other people from the lab. The invitation usually includes one's partner or spouse, etc. I ask, "where are they going?" and she tells me, "the Mongolian place." Or something similar. Michelle has very adventurous tastes. At which point my interest wanes. "Not the Italian place?" I ask, all hopeful and shining-eyed, and she says, "No, 'fraid not." So I stay home; she goes out and has a great time. I order pizza, or get some grilled cheese going. "What would you do if there was no cheese?" Michelle asks. "You'd have to invent it, wouldn't you?" I'm afraid she's right.

Please don't give me a hard time about all this nonsense. I can't help it. It's exceedingly embarrassing, to be honest, and I've wound up in some excruciating circumstances where, because of politeness and not wanting to offend one's host, I have put up with all kinds of things that, to me, were more or less equivalent to eating lumps of coal in fish spit and vinegar. It baffles me how regular people can eat some of the things they do eat. I just get the creeping horrors every time I see people hopping into some hapless sea creature, for example. My paternal grandfather was mad keen on eating crabs. I still remember the smell, which was such that the rest of us would have to leave the room while he devoured the poor thing. I would much rather watch live crabs going about their scuttling business on reefs and in rock pools; I think they're fascinating creatures.

3. How come you're so fat?

What? I'm fat? Oh my god! I had no idea! What?

Yes, I'm fat. I'm huge. I'm humongous! It's true. I've always been a fat kid. Fat baby, too, for that matter. Part of it is probably not so great eating habits, part would be lack of exercise (which I'm planning to do something about, now I'm approaching middle-age), and part would be...I don't
really know. Who knows? It might be genetic. It might be that I "caught it" from a friend or something when I was really little.

Like I say, I've always been fat to some degree. It is difficult, and inconvenient, and I do sweat easily, etc. However, I should also mention that it's now nearly 15 years since I stopped weighing myself. I used to weigh myself every day, obsessively, and every day it was the same
depressing story. Sometimes the thing would go up and up and up, and I had no idea why. I mean, I was doing all the right things, but the weight kept piling on. What was with that? Then I realised that the daily weigh-in wasn't helping; it was just upsetting. Who needs that? So I stopped. And, even
though I'm still as big as a bus, I'm a lot happier as a person than I ever was before. I've more or less accepted myself like this. I tell people my role model is the Michelin Man. However, in the last year or so I've developed a blood pressure problem, so I have to take certain precautions. I'm not stupid; I know how old I am. I don't believe in miracle diets, and I have no tips on how to accept yourself in all your roly-poly glory. You either do or you don't. You'll be happier if you do.

4. Is it true that you're colour-blind? Wow, that must be odd. What colour is the sky?

Yes, I'm colour-blind. Or, more precisely, I have problems with certain colours, notably shades of red and green. This has meant that I could never become a pilot, as I had wanted, when I was little.

For the most part, the world looks to me much as it does to you, but not quite the same. I would rather not go into details. All my life people, on finding out about this, have then followed up with, "so what colour is the sky?" and similar. Good grief.

5. What's your starsign?

I was definitely born under the Sign of the Boofhead. I tend not to believe in the claims of astrology. I say "tend" rather than "absolutely do not believe" because I don't know if the book is completely closed on that area. If chaos theory is correct, and that it is possible for exceedingly minute
events in one place inadvertently to cause large-scale changes elsewhere (ie, that whole butterfly over Beijing thing), then it seems remotely possible that the movements of planets might have some faint and astronomically unlikely effect on particular people on another planet. Please do not take this
as an endorsement of astrology, a vindication that I believe in the supernatural and think the occult is deeply cool. I don't, I absolutely do not, but I also know that deep certainty is a scary thing in itself, and it would be unwise to claim that astrology is absolutely wrong. I would, though, be extraordinarily surprised if it turned out to be true.

6. What does the K.A. bit stand for?

A friend, Russell Farr, once suggested it stands for "Kick Arse", which I quite liked, while finding it hilariously inapt. The K is because I share my father's first name, which is Kenneth, and I'm very happy about that. I'm generally known by my middle name, Adrian. This was to prevent confusion with my dad when I was growing up. It's also meant a lifetime of other confusion among various parts of officialdom who persist in thinking that my given name is Kenneth, and call me that. Every year of school, during the initial roll-call, I would have to interrupt the teacher and explain that, no, my name is Adrian. My parents, when I turned 18, offered to let me change it around, to A.K., by deed-poll. Which would have been tempting, had I not by this time already formed an embryonic identity as a writer, and I quite liked the initials. It is a conceit, I'm well aware, just as it's a conceit on my part to have a beard in order to cover my rippling multiple chins. Plus, of course, I'm a lazy, sad git, and never liked shaving.

7. So you somehow defied the odds and got published by an actual for-real publisher! What's the secret to beating the Evil Publishing Company Conspiracy to keep the "little guy" (particularly the ones with the "Unique Artistic Vision) out of publishing?

Well, the key secret to getting published, above and beyond all others, is this: you have to write a good book. That's the whole thing, right there, in a nutshell.

The other key things are these: you have to work hard, really, really hard. You have to finish your book. You also have to really BELIEVE in your book, so you don't get discouraged when it gets rejected umpteen times in a row. (And it will likely get rejected many times before you find it a good home.) You do not necessarily need an agent. An agent can certainly help. There are publishers which will take unagented submissions. My publisher, EDGE Science Fiction and Fantasy Publishing, the largest genre publisher in Canada, accepts unagented manuscripts. I hear TOR does as well (though the slushpile wait is up to about two years now, from what I hear). I'm sure there are others. Consider going with a small press.

Some excellent websites are out there with tons of excellent advice, such as:

Miss Snark, the literary agent (now no longer posting, but her archives are pure gold);

Making Light (run by the Nielsen Haydens, who are connected with TOR, and which features all kinds of brilliant advice and guidance for struggling writers. Look for a post called "Slushkiller", and read the epic comment thread that goes with it;

Learn Writing with Uncle Jim (that is, James D. Macdonald, prolific genre novelist, a fixture at Making Light, and who set up this extended and free seminar in writing novels at Absolute Write. It's one of the single best things I've ever come across about writing novel-length genre fiction. I recommend it very highly indeed, especially the suggestion of learning about chess. Seriously.

8. But I'm just starting out as a writer. What should I do?

When I was about 19, I wrote what was then my only fan letter to a writer to William Goldman, the American novelist and screenwriter. I'm a big fan of his work. I asked him this same question. He told me to go away into a room by myself and "write a million words." When you reach the end of
your million words, he said, you'll be a writer. This works out to about ten average novels, or hundreds of short stories/essays/etc.

You probably don't want to think about the number of poems you might have to produce to meet the million words, but then poetry is a very special kind of writing, where things are so much more concentrated. Hard to say. But as for writing novels and short stories, I can't think of better advice. It's the start of a writerly apprenticeship, I believe. At the end of the million words, there's no guarantee that you'll be much of anything, but you'll have learned a lot of craft, gotten over many bad writing habits, been through loads of rejection (and survived), and probably will have gotten an awful lot of bad story ideas out of your system and you'll be ready for something a bit more interesting.

Other sound advice: read, read like a fiend. Everything, but most particularly the sorts of things you most want to write. Study them like your life depended on it. Also: read classic literature as well as the genre stuff; it's got tons to offer, and it's always in print for a good reason: it's brilliant! (Yes, I know it's also cheap to print, being all public domain and all, but still.)

9. Would you mind looking over my manuscript, and maybe give me some pointers?

Yes, I do mind. Sorry. I'm busy working on my own stuff. There is no shortage of critique groups both in real life and online who might be able to help you out.

10. So how come you never finished either of those university degrees you started?

The first time, when I was at Curtin University in the mid-80s, I made some very poor choices in my personal life, the consequences of which led to huge burn-out. By the time I left in 1985, I was crippled with depression and nervous stress—and yet was producing very good academic work. Weird. It took me a long time to recover from all of that.

The second time, at Murdoch University, when I was studying Philosophy and Writing by correspondence; I managed to reach second-year and was at the end of the first semester when I heard that EDGE SF/F Publishing wanted to buy ORBITAL BURN. I decided to quit on the spot and become a full-time writer. This was 10 years ago. I've filled my time since mainly by writing more books. Like Lou in ORBITAL BURN, I also found out that I was attracted more to the idea of being a student than I was to actually studying.

I feel bad that I never finished either of those degrees, and fantasise about returning to school one day. Unfortunately, this is unlikely, considering what it costs these days to get a tertiary education in this country.

11. What's it like seeing your book in print? Must be awesome!

It is! The first time I saw ORBITAL BURN as a physical, finished object, at Torcon 3 (the 2003 Worldcon), I was also fried out of my mind with epic jetlag and fatigue and, it also being my first overseas trip, and my first Worldcon, crazy nervous energy. This is perhaps not the optimum state in which to encounter something as gobsmacking as your first published novel.

All the same, once the fatigue and stress and nervous energy subsided, I started to appreciate the significance of the whole thing rather more. For several years the book was a MS Word 97 file on my computer. I was used to seeing it as a little computer icon. Or, perhaps, as a black floppy
disk on my desk. It took so long for the long and very slow process of publication to happen that often I despaired of ever seeing the book in print.

So, now that I can pick it up, smell the paper, feel the weight of the thing, and read these words that I can't believe I once sat down for months on end to actually write, it's an awe-inspiring thing. I remember getting some of the key points in the story while grocery shopping with Michelle, for
instance. I remember how one of my best friends died not long before I started writing. I remember having absolutely no idea how the story would end, even as I was about three-quarters of the way through. For so long the story was "just" a story in my head, an entirely non-physical thing. The
transition from "story in your head" to "story contained in book and available for sale" is shocking. It's like it's just condensed out of the very air.

And yet, as gobsmacking (astonishing) as it is to see that book in the flesh after so long, it's also not the be-all and end-all you might think, and you shouldn't think it will be. As well, life goes on. Stuff still happens in your private life. For example, my wife had a serious medical problem for three years that ultimately led to major surgery shortly after we got back from Torcon. As exciting as the book was, I was much more concerned about Michelle. Our life together is much more important to me than being an author.

Having a book published doesn't "fix" anything in your life. During the long years in which you struggle to get a book published, you imagine that having your book published will change everything. Life will be better. Your problems will be over. This is not so. What happens is you change problems. You have to worry about marketing, and contracts, and money, and publicity, and whether or not you need an agent, or whether or not you should join professional bodies, and taxation. And, in my case, you have to worry about international air travel, which is expensive and exhausting and very daunting.

Not, of course, that you'd change a thing. Hearing, for example, from your legally-blind and historical-romance-reading mother that she's struggled through your book and read the whole thing and enjoyed it, is wonderful. Seeing the looks on strangers' faces at the convention, at seeing how happy they are that the author of the book is signing it for them, is also wonderful. Seeing someone go from no interest at all in the book to a decision to buy it is amazing! Having a book out might not fix anything, and it might bring you a whole new load of problems, but there are compensations. There are moments of genuine, surprising bliss.

12. Why haven't you made (some of) your work available as free downloads, the way, say, Charles Stross and Cory Doctorow, have done?

Personally, I'd like to try this sometime. My publisher does not. There are contracts involved. I think those guys are brilliant authors, btw. I can only dream of being as good as they are.

13. Why did you decide to become a writer?

I didn't. At least not in the sense of sitting down with a guidance counsellor in high school and deciding, based on my academic results and personal inclination that a career in science fiction writing was the logical choice for me. Becoming a writer was never anything as rational as a logical choice.

I think I made the decision when I was 14, and set out to write my first serious short story. Prior to that I'd been very interested in stories, and reading books, and so forth. I was probably destined to become at the very least a very bookish young man. My mother will tell you with great pride that I was writing bad plays and such from an early age, and I was. It never occurred to me as I produced these staggering works of genius that this could be a serious, professional pursuit that people actually chose to do. Even though I was reading books that people had written, it didn't occur to me that someone like me could become one of them. Until, as I say, I was 14.

This was a very bad move. It was entirely impractical. My dad wanted me to join the Army. My mum wanted me to look into more serious career choices. Maybe get a trade or an apprenticeship. At various points I was thinking vaguely about becoming a teacher, or even a nurse. And, when I was 19, for no good reason I can determine even now, I tried to join the Royal Australian Navy. They said "no, thanks!" and I agreed. All the while, though, including during the long years of unemployment following high school, I was thinking in terms of having some kind of regular day job, while pursuing the writing caper on the side.

In my heart of hearts, what I wanted all this time, regardless of the choices I made in my search for a job or a career that would get everyone off my back, and maybe a few dollars coming my way, was to be a writer. It was a crazy idea, and it remains a crazy idea, even though I've actually succeeded in getting books published.

During the preparation for the trip to Toronto for Torcon, and during the trip itself, I sometimes had to fill in forms which asked about my profession. I realised, with some shock, that I could actually write, "AUTHOR" in that box on the form. When customs people asked why we had come to that country, I could say, in all seriousness, that I was there "on business", to launch and promote a book. This was stunning. Years later, with three books out and another on the way next year, it's still utterly mindboggling. You never think your writing will amount to much, let alone take you around the world.

14. Why can't I find your books in Australian bookshops?
My publisher doesn't have a distribution deal for Australian shops, yet. This is a vexing issue. You can buy my books through specialist genre stores here, though, such as Fantastic Planet here in Perth, Pulp Fiction in Brisbane (Shop 28 Anzac Square Arcade, 267 Edward St; Phone: 3236 2750), Galaxy in Sydney, and others in other states. Of course you can also get them through Amazon, and from the publisher.

PS:
You can also find me on Facebook, as "Adrian Bedford".

Posted by adrian at September 21, 2007 08:06 PM

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