Supanova Gold Coast, 2018

Salvete, readers!

A couple of weeks ago I attended Supanova Comic Con and Gaming on the Gold Coast. This is one of the biggest pop culture events in Australia. My publisher, Odyssey Books, very kindly provided me with a ticket so that I could promote my upcoming novel The Way Home, the first instalment of the Ashes of Olympus trilogy. The novel will be available at all good online retailers on 31 July, 2018. Supanova GC was actually my very first convention, and I’ve been reflecting on it as a learning experience.

 

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At the Odyssey table

I have never really felt the urge to attend these events up until this point, for a few reasons. Besides the fact I have never really had that much in the way of disposable income, crowds aren’t really my thing. And yet it was more than that. Though I’ve always adored pretty much any story which featured spaceships or dragons or robots or magic swords, I’ve always shied away from the social aspects of pop culture. I was always happy to enjoy the genre stuff in the comfort of my armchair, perhaps quietly geeking out with a handful of friends online. Doing it face-to-face always felt weird. Besides the fact I tend to be an introvert, I always worried I was doing it wrong.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been surrounded by nerds berating me for not liking the right things, or liking the wrong things, or still being into the thing they’ve now decided was uncool. Or I quite like something but am a complete novice and therefore unworthy. So I guess I approached this event with a certain amount of trepidation—what if I was doing it wrong, not just with the stories I like, but with a story I had created?

Well, I had to get over it fast, because the doors were opening and literally thousands of people were pouring into the convention centre. The cosplay was amazing and colourful. I’m astounded and impressed by the effort people put into celebrating the things they love, but I must admit I felt a little surge of adrenaline as a legion of superheroes, anime characters, zombies, and Vikings came rushing in…

Well, the good news is that nobody told me I’m doing it wrong. In retrospect, I don’t think I needed to worry.

Lots of people stopped by the table for a chat. I swallowed my nervousness, pressed my promotional postcards into their hands and gave them my elevator pitch. To my amazement, most people seemed genuinely interested in the story and impressed by the artwork on the postcards. A lot of people said they’ll look out for the book when it’s available. Some wanted advice on how to start writing or get published, and I was more than happy to share my experiences. I got to share my enthusiasm about some of the books on the Odyssey table and managed to sell a few books by my friends—I love having the opportunity to help fellow authors out. I also went wandering and met some local indie authors, bought a few books, and had a merry chat about the industry and where it’s going. I even had the chance to meet Terry Brooks, creator of The Shannara Chronicles, and he gave me some awesome advice—but that story is probably worthy of its own blog post!

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Here’s a promotional postcard!

By the end of the day, I had found my tribe—the folks I met that day are genuine, friendly people who adore stories just as much as I do, and aren’t afraid to show it. Turns out I do have a place in this world, after all.

Of course, that was only the trial run. The real test will be at Supanova in Brisbane later in the year, when I’m promoting my actual book.

I hope I see you there!

Until next time,

Valete

P.S. Sign up to my free monthly newsletter for news and previews, as well as an exclusive prologue chapter to the Ashes of Olympus series!

Free short story: The Electric Touch

Salvete, readers!

I have been hard at work for a few weeks on a short story, a prequel to Ashes of Olympus, my historical fantasy novel which comes out in July. I finished the draft this very morning and will send it to my publisher soon. Working on the short story got me looking through my old files in which I dabbled with the genre, and I was startled to discover a YA science fiction story I had completely forgotten. I thought I would share it here. If you enjoy the work, please consider signing up to my newsletter. 

THE ELECTRIC TOUCH

You never forget your first love.

She was called Maya—naming your children after American provinces was fashionable, once upon a time. She had freckles on her nose, wore a beret sometimes, and would whistle a tune as we walked hand-in-hand. I suppose it’s Maya’s eyes I remember most. They would glow like St. Elmo’s fire when she smiled. They were meant to do that, of course. She’d designed them herself.

In my day, they still called people like Maya cyborgs. Such a cold, clinical name for something so beautiful! And people like me? My parents took me to a psychiatrist, and ze diagnosed me as a bionsexual. It’s strange to think the word doesn’t carry a stigma any more, but it had them worried. They weren’t the only ones. Somehow it was everyone’s business that the organic-looking kid wanted to be with the ‘borg. To most people, me and Maya were just a dirty pair of sparkers.

Maya didn’t care; her parents were OK with it. Mine weren’t.

Dad almost had a fit when I first brought Maya to our place for afternoon tea. He stormed out, gnashing his teeth. Tata, who was so much gentler, ran after him. That night, after Maya had gone home, I tried to talk about it with them.

‘Dad, it’s no different from when you met Tata—G’pa didn’t like that, either. But you showed him—you’re married now and everything!’

But that didn’t help. Dad didn’t much like talking about his father.

‘The Church forbids it, I tell you! The Imperatrix Sacra will never, ever forgive you!’ he said.

As I sobbed into my pillow, Tata stroked my hair.

‘Why is Dad so angry?’ I asked.

‘That girl has corrupted her flesh into the likeness of a man-made object,’ said Tata.

‘But Tata, I love her.’

‘I know you think you love her. And I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, underneath all the tech. But her very soul is corrupted, my honey. Your daddy’s right to be upset.’

‘But… I don’t see how someone like Maya—’

‘It’s complicated. You’ll understand when you’re older. Anyway, there’s still plenty of time for love. You’re barely seventeen after all. Don’t be so quick to decide. After all, this could just be a phase. A lot of kids go through a curious stage. You’ll grow out of this someday, you’ll see.’

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I wanted to be what my parents wanted me to be. It would have saved me a lot of mobbing on the cybernet. Great G’ma would just tut and tell me not to worry about ‘trolls,’ whatever that meant. But it’s hard not to worry when shimmering holographic avatars mob you as soon as you log into school.

‘Hey, lover-borg,’ they’d hoot as my avatar entered the library-space. Sometimes they’d scrawl the words ‘sparker slut’ on Maya’s Socialspace Wall when the administrative mainframe wasn’t looking. No-one was ever as brave as Maya.

To this day, I still don’t understand why they were so afraid of us: for some people like Dad and Tata, it was a religious thing. That, I could get, sort of. But the other kids? Maybe they were just repeating what their parents told them. Maybe they were just weirded out because a bionsexual connects to the conscience and not to the body. I dunno, I got my contracep on my eleventh birthday like everybody else: Dad and Tata said to go nuts. And I could have, I suppose. But I just sort of… forgot.

I wished I could like organics, wanted to be like everyone else. I didn’t have anything against organics and I still don’t. It’s not like I hate people or anything. Or at least, I hope not. When I was little, some of my best friends were organics. By the time I was a teenager, there was a kind of distance there, but I still cared for them. It was weird. I could love an organic like they were my own family but not in any other way. Even then, I could not deny the allure of the synthetic. I could not resist the electric touch of Maya’s hand stroking my face, or the way the sunlight would catch in the golden wire of her hair.

I decided I didn’t care what Dad or the Imperatrix Sacra said after we had interfaced for the first time. We made sure we had the house to ourselves. It was important that we were connected face-to-face. It wasn’t safe to interface over the cyberweb. You never knew what pervs were watching and recording: this way, our brainwaves were our own. We were careful, we were cautious. We used a firewall. At school they had warned us of spontaneous virus transfer.

She brushed her fingertips against my temples: a slight tingling. I stared deep into her eyes and our breathing synchronised. The world fell away in ripples of colour and light, and we let go of all but each other.

I could feel anxiety emanating from her like ink-drops in water. In her eyes I saw mine widen in surprise. I don’t know why, but I hadn’t realised this was her first time too. Breathe. Just breathe. The tendrils receded. Reach. Touch. Never moving, we caressed in the twilight. Slowly, hesitantly, our very selves merged. This was communication beyond words, beyond skin on skin. We walked together in a dream, flew together over the Advanced Nations and joined the stars. Our consciences crackled and then roared as euphoric fusion. I lost myself in her, and she in me.

And then the greatest shock of all: to see myself as she saw me. Not with her eyes, but with her heart. How could I be so lovable?

At last we withdrew back into ourselves. Maya wiped my eyes. The decoupling was gentle, but it almost seemed the connection was lost before I knew it. Holding her against me, I understood. I had Maya, and she had me.

The rest was up to God.

 

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