Hugo Winner Reviews

I'm following an internet thread created by http://io9.com/tag/foundation-week.  Basically, Josh Wimmer, with the occasional guest, critiques the Huga winners over the years.  I'm in the 80's now, but there are connections in each article to take you to earlier or later winners.

Friday Snippet - Sir Smiles a Lot

Friday comes with regularity.  If only other things in my life would be that predictable.

First draft & subject to change.  Please don't quote or re-post.
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Anabelle Sturgis, sitting down to a well-earned supper, looked around in annoyance when Clare appeared in the dining room doorway and announced visitors.

.

“Who is it?” Anabelle grumbled.

“The king, madam,” Clare said in a deadpan voice. When Anabelle continued to stare at her with unabated annoyance, she added, “And Sir Samuel Webasto.”

“Of course the king is not here,” Anabelle said.  “It’ll be Sam having fun at our expense.  Though that’s not his usual style, and where he found someone to go along with his nonsense…..”

“He didn’t introduce him as the king, madam.  He introduced him as Sir Smiles-a-lot.  But the king is who he is, nonetheless.”

“Oh, my God,” Anabelle said.  “Are they in the parlor?  I’ll go directly there.”

“Begging your pardon, madam, but when I told them you were at supper, they asked to come in here.  They’re waiting in the hall.”

“The devil they are!” Anabelle said inelegantly.  She eyed her supper of cold ham, bread, and roasted vegetables.  “Bring them in.  Have Molly make more of the same.  Two settings.  Bring an extra bottle of wine.”

Clare, used to her mistress, didn’t bat an eye at the outburst and the thought of sitting the king down to a cold supper fit more for a merchant’s table than the king’s Special Examiner.

Anabelle gave her a meaningful look.  “And, Clare?  Bring it by your own hand.”

Galaxy Note 4

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away --- ok, I'm done with the jokes.

I just got a Galaxy Note 4.  My last phone was a Galaxy 3.  When I got the 3, what I really wanted was Note 2, which was current at that time.  But I couldn't justify the expense.

If you don't know, Kansas City is the home of Sprint.  Right now, they are offering cutthroat deals here to try and improve both their customer base and their image.  I'm benefiting.   At last, the Note 4 is within my financial reach.

So far, I really love this new phone.  The calendar leaves a little to be desired, but I suspect I just haven't caught on to all the nuances of it yet.

Hugo Winners

If you've ever wanted to read a review of the Hugo winners over the years and wondered why they won, or shouldn't have won, this is the thread for you.  http://io9.com/5503441/with-this-immortal-roger-zelazny-brings-the-gods-down-to-earth

(The link starts around 1966, but you can find links to the previous winners on the website itself.)

Friday Snippet - The Wisdom of an Old Priest

Rain. Sigh.  More rain.  Deeper sigh.  We're so saturated, even a small rain sits on top of the earth.

This snippet is a conversation between Anabelle and a wise old priest.  They are discussing why the archbishop replaced him with a younger man.  First draft, please don't quote or re-post.


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“Father Ollister!” Anabelle said, and crossed to the old priest’s side, hands outstretched.

“My dear Anabelle, it is very good to see you!  Are you feeling better since the last time we spoke?”

Father Ollister, tall and thin, back stooped with age but grip still firm and powerful, looked at her with a gentle but penetrating gaze.

Anabelle’s own gaze wavered and fell before his.

“I see,” Father Ollister said.  “Please, my dear, come into my office and we will talk over old times, shall we?”

Anabelle let the priest lead her into the warren of offices in back of the main sanctuary.  She noted that Barrington watched them leave.  The office Father Ollister led her to was not the one to which she had so often been.  This office, much smaller and crammed with the old priest’s belongings, did not seem to fit him.  Anabelle paused in dismay.

“This is rather outrageous, Father,” she said impulsively.  “The least he could have done was left you your office.”

Father Ollister moved some books from off a chair and motioned her to be seated.

“It is his right to have the office.  Archbishop Leydon appointed him as my successor.”

The old priest lowered himself into his desk chair, nearly upsetting a stack of what looked like liturgical pamphlets.

“But you’re hardly old enough to retire, Father!”

Father Ollister smiled at her.  “And you are a wonderful girl for saying so, but I am getting older.  The archbishop felt that this parish needed a younger man.  I am –semi-retired, shall we say?”

“Is this because you are an Earthwitcher?” Anabelle said.  “If it is, please say so.  We have representation before the king now, you know.   Sir Samuel Webasto.  Intolerance of any kind towards the Witchers is frowned upon.”

Father Ollister shook his head at her.  “While it is a pleasure to have a forward-thinking king, being an Earthwitcher has neither hurt nor helped my career as a priest.  If the archbishop had been intolerant, I would never have been appointed to this parish in the first place.  No, my dear, if the archbishop sees fit to replace me, it is only for the reason he states.”

“Then why not leave,” she said   “As an Earthwitcher, you would be welcomed and treated with respect at many establishments that have need of your talent.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair until it creaked alarmingly.  “I love being a priest.  I love being an Earthwitcher.  I love being a priest more.  As pleasant as it is to encourage life to grow from the ground, being an Earthwitcher cannot save my soul, Anabelle, nor help save the souls of others.”

And he could not have said anything more unanswerable.

Friday Snippet

Here's a snippet from the same novelette I've been working on. 

First draft - please don't quote or re-post.

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“Reliable sources tell us that smuggled goods are pouring into Westcairn, and also out into neighboring counties,” Samuel took up the dropped conversational thread.  “Liquor, clothing, even foodstuff.  The effect on the economy is being felt even here in Derrytown.”

Anabelle frowned.  “But how is it getting in?  There are no ports in Westcairn.”

“Has to be coming up Black River.  But every time we sent someone to find out, they found nothing, even though they watched for days.   Or worse, they did find something and didn’t come back at all,” the king said.

A little silence fell while Anabelle absorbed the implication.

“That’s where you come in,” Samuel said in a quiet voice.  “You’re a native of Westcairn; no one is going to think twice about you being there, especially when you’re investigating a death.”

“What is it, exactly, you want me to do?” Anabelle asked.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” the king said promptly.  “That’s all.  Don’t try to approach these people on your own.  They’ve proven themselves extremely dangerous.”

“If you do hear or see anything, you have only to call Ethereal,” Samuel said.  “He will be listening for you and will convey to me whatever you wish to say.”

As if hearing his name conjured the air elemental out of –well, out of thin air, a brisk breeze tugged at Anabelle’s hair and clothing.  She laughed as Ethereal patted her cheeks with soft puffs of air,  She could barely see the air elemental as an amorphous shape in the air, ever twisting and changing, hardly in one place for more than a second.   He played with her hair, unpinning it until it floated away from her head in a blond aureole.  She grabbed at her hair, trying to force it back into some sort of order.

“He’s always been fascinated by you,” Samuel said.  “You can see him.”

The candle nearest Anabelle flared, and shot sparks.  She reached over and extinguished a spark that had caught fire on the tablecloth.  She could see the fire elemental dancing inside the candle flame.

Samuel laughed.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the estimable Flicker is jealous.”

Friday Snippet -- What's a woman to do with a logical man?

This is a snippet from the novelette I'm finishing up. Look for it on Amazon & Smashwords soon.

First draft only. Please don't quote or re-post.

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“You do realize he didn’t kill Minna Gorham, right?”

Jonathon looked up and over his glasses, his pen lifting from his paperwork.  In a patient voice, as if recounting to someone who persisted in misunderstanding him, he laid out his reasoning

“Item one:  he can’t account for his whereabouts that night.  Item two:  he was seen more than once talking to Minna Gorham when it seemed to have nothing to do with his duties as groom.  Item three:  he ran.  Item four:  I don’t like his looks.  Item five:  he ran.”

“It’s all circumstantial, Sheriff,” she protested.

“Of course it is, Special Examiner.  But it allows me to question him.  And he is involved in some way, make no mistake about that.  He ran for a reason.”

He looked back to his paperwork.  Anabelle stared at him for a moment.

“Since when do you need glasses?”

“Since always,” he replied evenly without looking up.  “I guess there’s a thing or two you don’t know about me.”

She silently acknowledged the hit.  Despite four years of marriage, at least one of those which she’d spent in Derrytown, Anabelle realized she didn’t know her husband as well as she had imagined.

A flashing memory of the last time they’d spent the night together in the same bed  had her lips curving in a small, secret smile.  And some things about Jonathon she knew very well indeed.  Her smile faded.  Their strained relationship had ended those episodes.  She hadn’t realized until now just how much she missed them – how much she missed him.