Today's guest update author is Rose Thurlbeck @PaulaRoseT
October? Already? Ah Autumn, season of mists and mellow Anthologists!
I hope you all had a lovely summer. We in the Anthology have been very busy.
On the web-site:
Have you seen our web-site recently? Go now and have a look at elite-anthology.co.uk - I'll still be here when you get back. That is seriously cool, isn't it? Thanks to Ramon Marett for the trailer, it really sets the mood nicely.
We have our first podcast available on a new section of our website - Darren Grey, Chris Booker and Tim Gayda chatting about Elite, the Anthology and storytelling. We're working on adding ourselves to the iTunes library in the very near future.
Elsewhere on the Internet:
Chris Booker was interviewed by Allen Stroud on Lave Radio.
Darren Grey is the first of the Anthology contributors to be interviewed at Hooked Gamers and yes, we will all be featured.
Don't forget, we are on Facebook, you can also follow us on Twitter, and if you want to keep up with what everyone is saying about Elite: Dangerous, there is the GNN (Galactic News Network) - every tweet mentioning #EliteDangerous in one place - you may recognise some of the names appearing there, including your own if you use that hashtag.
The Elite Anthology was represented at LaveCon in June, with Darren Grey and Ramon Marett both appearing on writers panels to discuss the official fiction of Elite: Dangerous, alongside Michael Brookes, Drew Wagar, Allen Stroud and others.
Another fan convention is upcoming - EliteMeet on the 2nd of November in Manchester. Darren Grey will be in attendance, giving out free handshakes and/or hugs to Anthology backers!
Now we're into October, that country - as Ray Bradbury wrote - 'where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay.' - There is still a lot more work to do.
We have 5 stories complete enough to be critiqued by other members of the Anthology Forum - with others reaching that stage very soon. Now our illustrators can start their work - we have our first artwork submission approved by Frontier, and the author is rather pleased as well.
I'm sorry we haven't updated you more often on our progress but as you can see, we have been very active, and we are writing some very cool stories.
So I'll leave you with a toast, and who better than that other master of the short story, Neil Gaiman, to provide it: 'To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.'
Prologue for "Cat's Cradle" by Rose Thurlbeck:
At first it was just another object heading towards the planet Ithaca from the outer edges of the Bevan’s Hope system.
Automatic processes tripped into action: Long-range scanners followed the course of the object and identified it. Records were created, updated, modified:
Ship Type Python.b, RegOwner Carlisle.Duncan, Designation 'Somebody Up There Likes Me', Cargo None,,,
The same long-range scans reported anomalies in the heat signature not consistent with battle damage, and that the shields were down. The first grainy pictures coming in to Dorling Highpoint flight control seemed to show a figurehead mounted on the nose of the incoming vehicle. It only needed a bored young intern with a romantic soul to be on duty. His imagination immediately transformed the Python into an ancient galleon beating into port before a westerly gale. For the news agencies, the story wrote itself.
There was no communication from the craft, so speculation grew during the hours of the ship's approach. Who outside the Empire could be behind such flamboyance?
As the quality of the pictures improved, people could see for themselves the figure affixed to the prow of the Python, its body swathed in canvas, arms pulled painfully backwards to follow the line of the hull. By now everyone was following the progress of the mysterious craft in fascination. But when the view changed to a profile of the 'Somebody...', the mood changed instantly. There was the crudely-painted mark - an underlined dollar-sign - of the Silver Locusts. A distant buzz as of a million insects began to be heard through speakers all over Highpoint.
Duncan Carlisle could only hear the sound of his own breathing as he slowly came back to consciousness. When he opened his eyes everything was still black except for the spinning, dancing lights he couldn't seem to focus on. He tried to move, but everything hurt too much, especially his head. He had a vague feeling he wanted to be sick. He hoped someone would be along soon to tell him what was happening. Warmth washed over him as another blue glow swept past.
When the effects of the drugs he had been injected with finally wore off, he realised the trouble he was in. Memories returned to him in shattered images: the attack, the aftermath. The laughter. How they casually broke his body, and stamped into his skull the wires that swept up and over his ship like metal antennae. How they made sure his survival suit was undamaged, riveted him to his ship and set him on his course.
Now he can see clearly - the dancing lights of other ships flying oh so close to those trigger wires, the soft glow of Ithaca and the growing bulk of Dorling Highpoint ahead of him.
While the bomb draws ever closer, screaming can be heard over the swarming, droning locusts.
~ Rose Thurlbeck (@PaulaRoseT)