GMM Quick-Hit-a-Thon

In the countdown to the World Fantasy Awards being announced at the end of the October and with Halloween/Monster month about to begin, I'm embarking on a mini social media "quick-hit-a-thon" mentioning the authors and mythological creatures from Stone Skin Press' Gods, Memes and Monsters: A 21st Century Bestiary anthology, edited by yours truly.

As the book is an alphabetical bestiary, the first creature in GMM is the "Agave" by the wonderful Arinn Dembo of Vancouver, BC. The entry opens with: "She comes down just once a year from the dry hills of Los Altos..."

More recognition for Gods, Memes and Monsters

As editor of Gods, Memes and Monsters, I'm delighted to congratulate Arinn Dembo, Dave Gross, Jonathan L. Howard and Malcolm Devlin - their GMM stories all made Ellen Datlow's best horror of the year long list!

Part 1 of the long list is here, Part 2 is here, Part 3 is here.

In her Best Horror of the Year Volume 8, Ellen Datlow called the GMM anthology "an entertaining mix".

I also want to congratulate Sandra Kasturi who was nominated for an Aurora Award for her GMM poem “Typhon & Echidna: A Love Story” earlier this year.

Kudos and congrats all round!

World Fantasy Award Nomination!

Much to my complete shock and surprise, I am greatly honoured to have been nominated for a 2016 World Fantasy Award in the Special Professional category for my work on Gods, Memes and Monsters: A 21st Century Bestiary. I am some very stellar company!

As anthologist, I am deeply aware that an anthology is a joint effort involving all of the contributors, the proofreaders the copyeditors, the publisher and all of the publishing staff. I thank Cat and Simon and everyone else at Stone Skin Press for making the anthology happen, and I especially thank Robin D. Laws for bringing me on board the project in the first place.

Most of all, I owe a debt of gratitude to all of the authors in the anthology for their amazing work. They are:
Arinn Dembo, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Greg Stafford, Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer, Rupert Booth, Sam Agro, Steve Berman, Marie Davis & Margaret Hultz, Laura Lush, Patrick O’Duffy, Dennis Detwiller, Jerry Schaefer, Chris Lackey, Ed Greenwood, James Ashton, Sandra Kasturi, Peter Birch (Aishling Morgan), Molly Tanzer, Monica Valentinelli, Peter Dube, Peter M. Ball, Carrianne Leung, Dennis E. Bolen, Gareth Ryder-Hanrahan, Isabel Matwawana, Peter Chiykowski, Jacqueline Valencia, Kyla Lee Ward, Jim Webster, Jean-Francois Chenier, Kenneth Hite, Jonathan Blum, James Wallis, Helen Marshall, Charlene Challenger, Bill Zaget, Myna Wallin, Robin Laws, Julia Bond Ellingboe, Jonathan L. Howard, Kurt Zubatiuk, Emily Care Boss, Ann Ewan, David Barnes, Malcolm Devlin, Greg Stolze, Andrew J. Borkowski, John Scott Tynes, Richard Dansky, Kate Story, Ekaterina Sedia, Kate Harrad, Nancy Kilpatrick, Dave Gross, Lilly O’Gorman, Nick Mamatas, JM Frey.

Toronto Launch of Gods, Memes and Monsters

Join me (the anthology's editor) and over a dozen local contributors for the Toronto launch of the international anthology, Gods, Memes and Monsters: A 21st Century Bestiary (Stone Skin Press, UK). Readers include Robin D. Laws, Jacqueline Valencia, Laura Lush, Myna Wallin, Peter Chiykowski, Sam Agro, Isabel Matwawana, Jerry Schaefer, Kate Story, Kurt Zubatiuk, Andrew Borkowski. So make your way to the Victory Cafe (581 Markham Street, Toronto) on Sunday, June 26, 7pm, for an awesome night of "genre meets literary fiction" and stories about the beasts that lurk about in our modern age.

Featuring more than 60 authors, GMM brings a fresh take on the bestiary, the dictionary of mythological creatures, by imagining how beasts such as gorgons, minotaurs, and mantichores would cope in the modern age. From the casino where the griffin has taken up residence, to the gorgon’s new occupation and love interest, to the now happy sphinx who has moved to Manhattan, this bestiary is a unique and contemporary twist on the creatures that have captivated the human imagination since ancient times.

Authors for Indies Day

April 30 is Authors for Indies Day! I'll be at Book City In the Beach hand selling books from 11:30 am to 12:30 pm. Come by 1950 Queen Street East to say hello! Sarah Elton, Tanis Rideout, Joyce Grant, Angela Misri, Jason Ramsay-Brown, Ann Elizabeth Carson, Lisa de Nikolits, Nettie Cronish, Lesley Livingston, Ken McGoogan, Zoë S. Roy are the other fabulous authors at the store that day.

My publisher has my books on holiday sale!

My two books, Roll With It, and Fortune Cookie are currently on "festival sale" from Tightrope Books, so here comes the shameless self-promotion: one or both books might make for great holiday gifts!

Charlene Challenger, author of the Aurora nominated The Voices in Between, says she re-reads Fortune Cookie every year—“Heather J Wood’s Fortune Cookie is my annual end-of-the-year read—as classic a tale for me on December 31st as Dickens’ A Christmas Carol is on December 24th.”

In the interest of peace, love and understanding

With our news feeds now being bombarded with hatred, war and violence, I thought I'd post my short story, "Women's Only Hour," as my little nod to the possibilities of different people coming together and getting along. A slightly different version of the story was first published in 2005 on the now defunct site, Artistry of Life, and then in my 2007 PressOn! chapbook Barbies, Breasts and Bathing Suits.

WOMEN’S ONLY HOUR (THE BLUE NUN)

“Gentlemen, please clear the training centre,” the attendant announces. “It’s time for women’s only hour.”

     After the last man reluctantly leaves the University of Toronto’s weight room, I watch her perform her customary ritual. Carefully, she removes her head scarf and long navy robe to reveal the modest track suit underneath. I don’t know what she calls the vestments now hanging over the handles of a stationary bike... burqua... chador... abayah... hijab.... We have never spoken. I don’t know her name. In my mind I dub her the Blue Nun, after the wine I drank a long time ago.

    

I frequent the women’s only hour because the room is quiet and there is plenty of space to move. There are no beefy jocks smirking while I lift my five pound weights. But, for the Blue Nun, this must be the only time of day she can exercise. Such restrictions seem like a waste of a gym membership, unless she also uses the pool. There’s an aquatic women’s only hour, too.

    Perhaps she does swim. I wouldn’t know; I don’t venture near pools anymore. Years ago, I was a lifeguard at the Women’s Y in Montreal. Women like the Blue Nun were under my supervision then. I hated guarding the lap lanes because of the skirmishes between slow and speedy swimmers, but I was grateful for the harmony of the whirlpool. Whether they followed Torahs, Testaments, Korans or Upanishads, women happily sat together in that hot, cramped basin. I used to think we’d achieve global peace if the wives of world leaders could gather in one giant tub of whirling water.

   The peace of the Y’s whirlpool was sometimes interrupted, not by conflicts or quarrels, but by the arrival of men. No matter how many times they were warned, janitors showed up unannounced to test the water or check the pipes. Muslims and Hasidic Jews ran for the cover of towels, hiding their heads and bodies as quickly as they could. I’d blow my whistle and yell “don’t run”, but it never made any difference. The dictates of theology came first.

    The other lifeguards often complained about the Hasidic women. In addition to breaking the “no running” rule, they had trouble complying with other pool regulations. “It’s an hour of freedom,” I explained to my colleagues. “They have to follow rules every other hour of the day.”

    I liked the wig-wearing Hasidic ladies myself. One of them was a queen-sized goddess of a grandmother named Malka. She called me shaineh maidel. She brought me honey cake and deemed me thin. No one else said that about my then generous curves.

     Malka was in the whirlpool one afternoon when it was filled to capacity with matrons who spoke Yiddish, Arabic, Farsi and Urdu. They frequently broke into cackles, telling jokes in a broken English I could barely understand. My shift was nearly over when a maintenance man waltzed onto the pool deck. In a flash, all of the women scurried away. All of them except for Malka. “Aren’t you supposed to get out, too?” I asked her.

    “Too old for dis nonsense,” she replied with a wink. Then she stretched out her ample figure and luxuriated in the empty tub.

    “It’ll be our secret,” I said, smiling.

    I smile now watching the Blue Nun. She reminds me of Malka, although she is no more than twenty. I wonder why she is committed to her exercises. The purpose of my devotion to sweaty contortions is, of course, to pound my body into submission. I do everything I can to stay slim and encourage admiring looks from men. But if I were the Blue Nun, I would slacken and fatten up under those blue robes. Why bother with the training if no one can see the results?

    Five minutes before the end of the hour, the Blue Nun returns to the stationary bicycle and begins putting on her scarf and robe. I wander over to her. “Did you have a good workout?”

    “I did,” she says sweetly. “I like to feel my heart pumping. It makes me feel truly alive.”

    “Yes… yes,” I say, hopping on a bike. For once, my body feels comfortable on it.

    It’s the end of the hour. The Blue Nun waves goodbye and walks away. I wish I knew her name.