A quick, semi-annual update:
The next Gameplaywright Press book, The Bones, is delayed until after Gen Con. Sorry about that, but our authors are still toiling and we're choosing not to rush it.
Meanwhile, I'm in the midst of founding a new company to print various geeky things, from indie RPG materials to T-shirts and fiction. I'll tell you the name and the first product when the paperwork is all filed.
In other news, Jet Pack is go.
The majority of my time spent workshopping stories according to strict processes of prefab questions and rote exercises has not been real helpful. Mandatory, systematized criticism in a ring of folding chairs has always looked washed-out and florescent when compared to dog-earned notebook paper passed around a Dennys at midnight, the window lit by streetlights and neon.
But most of the writers I know dont live near me, so we needed another solution. Here it is: The Internet can be the new Dennys, and it is always midnight there.
So this isnt a magazine. This is the showroom of our writers workshop, the part with the big steel doors we open to the street so passersby can eyeball our wares. Its also the loft space where we sit around scratching in our notebooks, or typing on our notebooks, and plan a big reading party that never happens because people can come by and read us everyday. And also it is a midnight diner. Because this is the future and everything is more than one thing.
I just wanted a place where writers can be read, where readers can find a variety of short and crazy stories, where writers can workshop together instead of toiling alone, where feedback is quick and lively instead of nonexistent. I want to talk shop. I want to read what my comrades are cooking up in their insane skulls. I want to be a better writer by visiting a shamelessly Bohemian intelligentsia cafe with a wicked genre fetish, and Im willing to do it online in the absence of the real thing.
Think of Jet Pack as a writers gallery, where we hand out red pens at the door. Let us know what you think.
Thank you both.
The next Gameplaywright Press book, The Bones, is delayed until after Gen Con. Sorry about that, but our authors are still toiling and we're choosing not to rush it.
Meanwhile, I'm in the midst of founding a new company to print various geeky things, from indie RPG materials to T-shirts and fiction. I'll tell you the name and the first product when the paperwork is all filed.
In other news, Jet Pack is go.
The majority of my time spent workshopping stories according to strict processes of prefab questions and rote exercises has not been real helpful. Mandatory, systematized criticism in a ring of folding chairs has always looked washed-out and florescent when compared to dog-earned notebook paper passed around a Dennys at midnight, the window lit by streetlights and neon.
But most of the writers I know dont live near me, so we needed another solution. Here it is: The Internet can be the new Dennys, and it is always midnight there.
So this isnt a magazine. This is the showroom of our writers workshop, the part with the big steel doors we open to the street so passersby can eyeball our wares. Its also the loft space where we sit around scratching in our notebooks, or typing on our notebooks, and plan a big reading party that never happens because people can come by and read us everyday. And also it is a midnight diner. Because this is the future and everything is more than one thing.
I just wanted a place where writers can be read, where readers can find a variety of short and crazy stories, where writers can workshop together instead of toiling alone, where feedback is quick and lively instead of nonexistent. I want to talk shop. I want to read what my comrades are cooking up in their insane skulls. I want to be a better writer by visiting a shamelessly Bohemian intelligentsia cafe with a wicked genre fetish, and Im willing to do it online in the absence of the real thing.
Think of Jet Pack as a writers gallery, where we hand out red pens at the door. Let us know what you think.
Thank you both.
wilwheaton:
Yeah, we don't really tell him anything. 15 year-old Wil always hears about how all the hot girls on SG want to be my friend, though.
july:
Those are Trill spots! Glad to see you know your alien races... 