Ramblings of Jeff Somers, author
Jeff Somers (www.jeffreysomers.com) was born in Jersey City, New Jersey and regrets nothing. He is the author of Lifers, the Avery Cates series published by Orbit Books, Chum from Tyrus Books, and We Are Not Good People from Pocket Books. He sold his first novel at age 16 to a tiny publisher in California which quickly went out of business and has spent the last two decades assuring potential publishers that this was a coincidence. Jeff publishes a zine called The Inner Swine and has also published a few dozen short stories; his story “Sift, Almost Invisible, Through” appeared in the anthology Crimes by Moonlight, published by Berkley Hardcover and edited by Charlaine Harris. His guitar playing is a plague upon his household and his lovely wife The Duchess is convinced he would wither and die if left to his own devices.
HOT DAMN: http://www.wired.com/geekdad/2011/07/cyber-noir-finale-with-the-final-evolution/
“I do want to say Thank You, Mr. Somers. I’ve read so many series where the conclusion was predictable even before the final book was out. And I’ve read a handful of series that just out-and-out disappointed, and I felt the authors themselves didn’t know how to wrap things up. Thankfully you delivered and didn’t disappoint. And now it’s over.”
I repeat: HOT. DAMN.
For those of you who are interested in my zine, The Inner Swine, and have Kindles, the Kindle Version of the new issue is available now, about 2-3 weeks before the print version. This is largely due to my incompetence. Heck, this issue was supposed to mail in June, and now won’t go out likely until August. But due to digital magicality, the Kindle version is ready now! WOOT.
Of course, the Kindle version is a little wonky. I had to include a few images this time, which made things more complex for me. But it’s only $0.99, it’s lendable, and it has all that good delicious Somers writing.
I noted on Twitter the other day that I’d updated the web site for The Inner Swine as well, so if you’re curious, check that out too!
Well, The Final Evolution has been out for a week or so, and we’re getting our first reviews in.
First, a five-star review from Jason Falter:
“Suffice it to say that this is the perfect ending to a thrilling series. You get an ending that fits the character completely and does not disappoint.”
Then, a nice write up from Life Is Short Read Fast:
“It’s the kind of ending that crawls into your head and leaves you questioning what just happened, like did you miss something, when you know full and well you didn’t. I love stories that don’t have that happy story ending, but instead stay true to the tale and the characters.”
You know what I say to those kinds of reviews: Huzzah!
You know, I try to be levelheaded and rational. Sure, there are crying jags for no reason. Drinking binges. Days when I build a fort out of my couch cushions here in the Fortress of Somers and refuse to emerge for days at a time, sulking. But, you know, rational. As they say in Singin’ in the Rain: “Dignity. Always dignity.”
In truth, though, I am riddled with horrifying superstitions. The problem is, writing is a semi-magical experience. I have no idea how this thing works. It’s like someone bequeathed me a speedboat in their will and had it delivered to my driveway. The controls are in Chinese and there does not appear to be an engine, yet every time I step inside I somehow get the thing started and magically end up coasting on the water. And, since I am burying myself in an awkward and unnecessary metaphor, let’s also say there is Unicorn on board who is my first mate and speaks English and who can make bottles of Scotch appear magically!
In other words, I have no idea how it works. As a result I live in constant fear it will just … go away.
Every artist in history has that moment, when you look back on their careers objectively, when they lose “it”. When their new work doesn’t have the spark of their earlier efforts. When they start to be boring, repetitive, uninteresting. No one sees it in themselves. There is no warning. It just happens.
This kind of complete lack of control over your own brain chemistry and the ongoing massacre of cell death in my brain makes me superstitious. I write in certain ways, at certain times, using certain materials not because of any real physical advantage, but because it’s how I’ve been doing it since I was 11, and if I change it up now, I might destroy this fragile mysterious thing that keeps giving me ideas.
I have made adjustments from time to time; I’m not completely insane. Just partially insane. I used to write all my long pieces on an old Remington manual typewriter that dated to the 1950s, but I haven’t used it at all in about 7 years, finally bowing to the modern world and using a word processor for longer pieces. I still write my short works longhand in a notebook, however. Although recently I did do the unthinkable and switch pens.
That’s right: I switched pens. And sweated the consequences.
For years, I used a Paper Mate blue pen. White body, blue cap. I bought them in packs of 10 and invariably the last two or three were more or less useless by the time I got to them I could only write my short stories using these pens. Why? Because those are the pens I chose in High School when I started writing short stories out longhand. For 25 years, I used those pens, despite the fact that, frankly, they suck. They dry out fast, are inconsistent regarding ink color and smoothness, and hurt my hand when writing. But the unseen and possibly imaginary gods of writing that I feel staring at the back of my neck required these pens, so I stuck with them … until about 6 months ago, when I switched to Bic Velocity Gels.
Still blue ink, of course.
You may laugh at me and wonder at a grown man who worries about such things, but frankly I was pretty sure the ideas would stop immediately, and I’d have to go into my plan B career: Rodeo Clown. I had the Clown College application filled out and everything. But so far, so good. Lord knows we won’t know if any of these stories are any good until someone else actually reads them, but I’ve written six of them so far with the new pens, and that’s something. Don’t mock me.
Yea, verily: A new Ask Jeff Anything video! It’s like some sort of national holiday!
This time around, I discuss whether The Final Evolution is really the end of Avery Cates and things, naturally, get ridiculous fast:
Well, lookie what the post brought:
The Crimes by Moonlight audio books (CDs and MP3s). Performed by Jeff Cummings and Natalie Ross, from Brilliance Audio. Neato! Here’s the first sentences of my story, sift, almost invisible, through. Check it out.
You know, you write books, you manage to sell them to a publisher, and then sometimes all you get back are reviews and royalty statements (and if you’re lucky, actual royalties). And then once in a blue moon a reader writes you a note that makes you tear up in a manly way. One such email came from James Mulholland today after he’d read The Final Evolution (which has been available in the UK for a few weeks now [minor spoilers here for those who have not read the book yet]:
“Dear magnificent bastard:
Thank you for the Avery Cates books. Sincerely.I read a lot of sci-fi from a variety of the popular authors of the day, nothing compares with the Avery Cates books in terms of sheer ease and joy of consumption. I do not mean ‘ease of consumption’ in a derogatory way at all, there are some complex themes and ideas in there. I mean it in terms of raw, “it’s 3am and I’ve been reading for how long!? Holy crap, I consumed it whole in two days!?!”, page-turnability. Yes, I’m inventing words now.
Rip-roaring, roller-coaster-ride, page-turnability.
That’s how I describe your work to those friends of mine I beat around the head to purchase your books.
I’ve been following Avery’s adventures since I stumbled upon a copy of The Electric Church not long after its UK publication on a windswept trip, to the windswept Scottish coast, in a windswept Scottish towns one small windswept Scottish bookshop (the scifi section consisted of a grand total of 2 shelves. Short on choice, high on quality it would seem!
Since then, the publication of a new Cates novel has gotten a spot on my calendar and a pre-order at the bookshop, without fail.
While I lament the loss of Mr Cates and his delightfully grizzled, hilarious and fatalistic ways (I suspect the narrative arc may have run its course with the final book, although I of course live in hope) I am grateful for having been along for one hell of a ride on the way.
So Mr Somers, I suppose that’s all I really have for you; thanks and unsolicited praise from a fan.
And while I lament that Avery Cates may not be back to shit-kick another day (or, for that matter, doom what’s left of his own species again) I am happy and excited to read any and all material you produce in the future; be they set in this universe or any other you chose to concoct.
Congratulations on creating a fantastic (and wonderfully bleak) universe, which contained compelling, relatable and intriguing characters and all took place across a fantastic story arc culminating in what I think is your best work to date.
I particularly liked your treatment of Wa Belling. After years of Avery stewing and plotting this once willy, powerful, master-manipulator and living-legend is finally brought low by simply running out of years (not to mention mutilation at the hands of his insane once-ally)… All of this is viewed and filtered through Cates’ increasingly tired and aging perspective.
I found that more poignant, satisfying and relevant to Cates’s character than any protracted (roon-based) gun battle or simple revenge fantasy could ever be.
To paraphrase, the “Fuck, well after all that, do I even want to kill this worn out geezer anymore…?” moment was just perfect.
P.S: First ever fictional character to inspire me to pause mid-read, fetch a glass of malt, and toast as a result of his inglorious demise: “Fuckin’ Grisha!” *Glug*”
Emails like that make my month. Thanks, James!
Selling Out, Then and Now
by Jeff Somers
IN thinking about this issue, whose vague theme is “the past”, I tried to think of things that really are different today. I mean, I’ve been sentient for several decades. I’ve lived through some shit. I lived through Vanilla Ice and I’ve lived through Space Shuttle Disasters. I should have some wisdom.
Wisdom’s a bitch, though.
Cultural changes are always nebulous and subtle. It’s one thing to take post 1950’s America and compare it to, say, pre-1850’s America and see the stark, obvious differences. Ladies voting, generation gaps, race-relations—they’re all strikingly different. Much more difficult to examine 1950s America and 1960’s America—the differences are a lot more subtle. Change is constant, and accrues slowly, over the course of years, and in the process a lot of it is forgotten.
Take blue jeans: Back in the 1950s, when kids started wearing jeans it was in imitation of workers and undesirable elements in society—it was rebellion. It was a fashion statement. Today, of course, jeans are standard wear for almost any occasion. I’ve seen people go to funerals in jeans. This kind of evolution took years, and now the origins of jeans’ “cool factor” are forgotten by most folks, and people like me only know about it from reading about it.
So thinking back over the last few decades and trying to pick out something cultural that’s changed isn’t as easy as it sounds. I mean, I could bloviate about cell phones and gadgets, but I’m not sure if they’ve really changed the world so much as simply augmented existing behaviors. Things like cell phones or iPads or Kindles are easy to talk about because they’re concrete, and come with definite dates to point to. We here at The Inner Swine never take the easy way out. We work, baby.
And then I saw a commercial.
It was Fergie, unfortunately, shilling for Dr. Pepper. Well, I know it was Fergie (of the Black Eyed Peas, the worst band ever in the history of ever) because a title on the commercial told me so. It doesn’t look anything like any human being I’ve ever seen, frankly:
Shudder.
Anyways, what occurs to me suddenly is that not so long ago, as in clearly within my limited memory, rock stars or actors who wished to be taken seriously never did commercials. Sometimes they would do commercials in Japan, with the expectation that no one in the US would ever see them. I can clearly remember, in college, being outraged whenever some singer or actor I thought had some integrity would show up in a commercial—they were dead to me. My friends and I would be amazed, and sad. It was the sign that your career was in the shitter, frankly.
Now, everything’s different. Somehow, in the course of a few decades, product placement and shilling for corporations has become cool. It has, in fact, become a way to become cool.
Over at Pat’s Fantasy Hotlist, you can read an entire chapter from the latest Avery Cates novel The Final Evolution:
“Mutterficker!” Kaufman yowled, eyes going wide. “We canna let you go!” His voice had taken on a pitiable quality I didn’t like. “We fuckin’ sold ya, and took the yen already.”
Check it out and let me know what you think! And then buy many, many copies of the book.
Over at the Orbit Books Blog, I’ve written a little post about 5 near-future SF movies I think are great. Check it out!
“You know, when the Telegraph called my Avery Cates novels “an action movie in print,” my immediate reaction was, of course, anger and suspicion. What kind of action movie did they mean? Jean-Claude Van Damme? Dolph Lundgren? Surely not . . . Steven Seagal?!?!? Bastards. I would have my revenge, I thought.”