I recorded a podcast this morning for the Thunderbird Six show, a science-related podcast from Thunder Bay, Ontario. We covered the usual stuff — copyright, DRM, science fiction, EFF — they’re funny guys, too.
All About:
Podcast
My Podcast is a regular feed in which I read from one of my stories for a few minutes at least once a week, from whatever friend’s house, airport, hotel, conference, treaty negotiation or what-have-you that I’m currently at. Here’s the podcast feed.
Here’s part 7 — chapters 17-18 — of the reading of my novel Eastern Standard Tribe.
Here’s part 6 — chapters 14-16 — of the reading of my novel Eastern Standard Tribe.
NPR’s Rick Kleffel has just posted a long, in-depth interview he did with me last week in San Francisco, just before my signing at Borderlands Books.
Randall “Sorcerer Mickey” Cooper came to my book-launch at San Francisco’s Borderlands Books last night, and caught audio of me reading “Printcrime” and answering a wide-ranging series of questions. The audio and a report are on his LiveJournal.
Here’s part 5 — chapters 12 and 13 — of the reading of my novel Eastern Standard Tribe.
Here’s part 4 — chapter 11 — of the reading of my novel Eastern Standard Tribe.
Here’s part 3 — chapters 9-10 — of the reading of my novel Eastern Standard Tribe.
Here’s part 2 — chapters 5-8 — of the reading of my novel Eastern Standard Tribe.
Here’s the first installment of the podcast of my second novel Eastern Standard Tribe, a novel of political intrigue among high-tech, sleep-deprived management consultants. This is my most ambitious podcasting project to date — I figure it’ll take 4-6 months to complete.
I’ve found a half-brick that was being used to hold down the tar paper around an exhaust-chimney. I should’ve used that to hold the door open, but it’s way the hell the other side of the roof, and I’d been really pleased with my little pebbly doorstop. Besides, I’m starting to suspect that the doorjamb didn’t fail, that it was sabotaged by some malevolently playful goon from the sanatorium. An object lesson or something.
I heft the brick. I release the brick. It falls, and falls, and falls, and hits the little blue fartmobile square on the trunk, punching a hole through the cheap aluminum lid.
And the fartmobile explodes. First there is a geyser of blue flame as the tank’s puncture wound jets a stream of ignited assoline skyward, and then it blows back into the tank and boom, the fartmobile is in one billion shards, rising like a parachute in an updraft. I can feel the heat on my bare, sun-tender skin, even from this distance.
Explosions. Partial nudity. Somehow, though, I know that this isn’t the climax.
