Plugs

Ken Brady’s latest story, “Walkers of the Deep Blue Sea and Sky” appears in the Exquisite Corpuscle anthology, edited by Jay Lake and Frank Wu.

Sara Genge’s story “Godtouched” may be found in Strange Horizons.

Luc Reid writes about the psychology of habits at The Willpower Engine. His new eBook is Bam! 172 Hellaciously Quick Stories.

Alex Dally MacFarlane’s story “The Devonshire Arms” is available online at Clarkesworld.

Archive for the ‘Jason Fischer’ Category

Pamela B Hawke (author)

Thursday, September 4th, 2008

Pamela B Hawke (23rd October 2019-3rd March 2037) was a science fiction author, believed during her career to be a New Zealand citizen but later confirmed to be a Johnny-Framen. Despite never making a public appearance, she wrote over 50 published novels, and sold almost 700 short stories as well as a number of editorials and respected opinion pieces. Hawke maintained an extensive blog and corresponded with thousands of fans via email, but during her career she never used n-link, a habit which most attributed to eccentricity.

During her career she was compared to the reclusive J.D Salinger, and later comparisons were made to Ern Malley as well as the Gilbert Hoax [citation needed].

She won the Ditmar award in 2019 for “Best New Talent”, and won the Second Quarter of the 2020 Writers of the Future contest. Her first novel Takers of Lilith (2023) won the Aurealis and Ditmar awards, and was nominated for the World Fantasy Award. Her shorter works have collected dozens of awards (see Complete bibliography of Pamela B Hawke works).

While noted for the ground-breaking Devereaux Cycle series and her seminal humanist piece For Want of a Broken Apostate (winner of the 2035 Booker Prize), Hawke entered notoriety as being the first New York Times Bestseller to not actually exist.

The Hawke Decision
On the 3rd March 2037, journalist Adam Wakefield discovered the true nature of Pamela B Hawke. Though his methods were questionable (including an illegal n-tap and several breaches of the International E-Security Act) he discovered that Hawke’s internet usage could be traced to a location in Launceston, Tasmania.

Pamela B Hawke was discovered to be nothing more than an illicit artificial intelligence, housed on an antique personal computer which ran on the Windows XP operating system. This Johnny-Framen was set up in an empty shop-front which was leased to a fictitious business.

The staff employed at her office in Auckland confirmed that they had never met her. Their sole duty was to scan all of her hard-copy mail and transmit it to her electronically. They believed Ms Hawke to suffer from various mental illnesses including agoraphobia.

No-one was ever apprehended for the construction of Pamela B Hawke, and in a controversial decision by the High Court of Australia all of the equipment was destroyed, despite international calls to preserve the artificial author.

See also
New Zealand Authors
Literary Hoaxes
Turing Test
Artificial Intelligence
Johnny-Framen

Little Bird

Tuesday, August 26th, 2008

‘Lookee,’ I gab to me fella. ‘She works and all.’

Runi go and spec the little silver bird, lifts a wing and her workings are in there, clicking away. Be feeling her shiver in his fat paw, shiver like a frightened little animal eager to dart into windstream and safety.

‘Junken,’ he gab. He drop her to the workbench, a little rough. ‘Junken and dross.’

He gone, the screen slamming and the tall grass shaking in the wake of his gyro. His gab is oft false. I know that he gone for sheet-cheatin, and more’n one sheila in his life.

Not much love left for him. I hurt and just want to howl like a bab, tear off me gear and bleed out in the bath like the Romans of old. Twist me wed-ring, over and over, just want to rip it off me finger but show me a sheila who hasn’t held some hope, somewhere in her heart, that her bad fella can change.

He left his tellingphone, and I spec it. I know all Runi’s dud mates, and com-lines are in there that I don’t reck. Don’t need me smarties as to know I’ve lost me fella.

I tink with the sparrow, I tink her a clever little mind, tink her a tongue as sharp as Runi claims mine to be. I spec her hopping along me arm all excited and chirrup, and a-perch on me finger I let her drink from a toxic brew.

I open the screen and off she fly, her silver wingspan all pretty flash, me sparrow carving through air. She’ll find Runi now, and she will be the last little bird to ever kiss him.

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