Tag: Patti 209

Reading at Seattle WorldCon

You can hear me read “Wishbone,” from my new collection Patti 209, at 3 p.m. Saturday (August 16) in Room 428 of the Summit building at the Seattle Convention Center (WorldCon membership required).

I could freak out about the fact that my reading is in competition with readings by two of the biggest names in science fiction (Brandon Sanderson and Mary Robinette Kowal) or I could breath a sigh of relief that I didn’t get relegated to a late-afternoon reading on the final day of the convention or an early-morning reading on the opening weekday. I’ll go for the sigh of relief. It’s better for starting a reading. BTW, I’ll be followed by Matt Youngmark, who writes delightfully zany and beautifully illustrated children’s books.

Copies of Patti 209 will be for sale in the Dealers Room at the LimFic and Fairwood Press tables.

If you’re in the publishing field, you know all too well how hard it is these days for authors to get any sort of traction for their new publications. I won’t add to the laments; I’ll just refer you to this excellent and dispassionate explanation by Cherie Priest, author of the brilliant new novel It Was Her House First.

“Unwanted Visitors” (a Seattle story)

In a week when the federal government ordered troops into Los Angeles and Seattle’s police chief said that he expects to be arrested for resisting federal bullies, I invite you to read an excerpt from “Unwanted Visitors.” Originally published by B Cubed Press, it’s one of the stories in my new collection Patti 209: Fifteen Tales of the Very Near Future.

“Routine check of the block.” The agent’s speech was devoid of inflection. He probably said that same phrase 50 times a day. Or, in the case of Federal Security, a night. They usually came at night.

His partner was already pawing through magazines on my coffee table, peering at books in my bookcases, and opening drawers in the table where I sort the mail. Marie had come out from the kitchen. Now she perched on the arm of a club chair, her open mouth proclaiming her disbelief.

I stood by the sofa, my eyes on anything but the agents. I always stood when Federal Security came.

The taller agent, the one who’d spoken, brushed past. I wrinkled my nose. His cloying body spray was an assault in and of itself. He jogged heavily upstairs to the bedrooms, squeezing his bulk through the narrow staircase. Meanwhile, in the dining room, his colleague stuck his hand in a vase.

I moved closer to Marie. “Security theater.” I kept my voice low. “Ever since the new administration declared Seattle a terrorist haven—” I rolled my eyes to indicate the absurdity of it, “the feds have been sending these rent-a-cops around to keep us on our toes, keep us frightened. They’ll check the computers, maybe ask to see my phone.”

“But that’s illegal!” Marie said, spluttering. “They need warrants! You should just tell them to leave.” 

I wished she’d keep her voice down. I kept my tone even. “Well, the feds have declared a state of emergency and they claim that means they don’t need warrants. Of course, people are filing lawsuits. But in the meantime, putting up with these visits is easier than being arrested.” I didn’t add that my next-door neighbor who’d resisted an inspection had disappeared the following day. His bungalow now sat empty, the front lawn overgrown. The couple across the street had adopted his dogs. Had he left town? Or was he in a detention camp? 

Imagine this: “Bad Memories, 2032”

In 2018, I made the rash claim that I could write a story that would make people feel sorry for the 45th president. This led to the short story “Bad Memories, 2032.” It appeared in After the Orange, edited by Manny Frishberg for B Cubed Press, and now appears in my new collection Patti 209: Fifteen Tales of the Very Near Future.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Mr. President, sir, your doctor is here.”

“Doctor? Another check-up? Sure, sure. Busy scheduling. Keeping busy. Keeping fit.”

“How are you sleeping, Mr. President?”

“Bad night last night, Doc. Couldn’t sleep at all. Phone wasn’t working. Couldn’t log on to that social media thing. I blame that dinner. Big state banquet. The biggest. Some terrible prime minister. Some awful guy from Teriyakistan. I let Ivanka handle him. Ivanka did great.”

“Just a few questions. Do you know who the president is?” 

“Do I know who’s the president? Hilarious. You’re some joker, Doc!”

“Do you know what year it is?”

“Do I know what year it is? Hah! Very funny! It’s, ah, 2028! And we’ve got an election to win. Bannon’s busy, you can bet on that. Man knows his job.”

“Yoga for Protesters”

The fury in me honors the fury in you. Oh, does it ever.

Originally published in The Protest Diaries from B Cubed Press, the short story “Yoga for Protesters: A Field Guide” appears in my new collection Patti 209: Fifteen Tales of the Very Near Future, available now.

“Yoga for Protesters” was inspired by my awesome yoga instructor, Susan Powter. Here’s one of the most challenging poses:

Pose to Protest Political Corruption

Place one mat in the hallway outside the politician’s office. Take turns with other constituents using the mat for regular yoga practices. It is fine to do any version of Hatha, Iyengar, Vinyasa, or Ashtanga. Be careful of the slippery environment. When the politician is under investigation or indictment, you can switch to Bikram (hot) yoga for the duration.

I’ll be demonstrating some yoga for protesters to kick off my June 6 reading at the Couth Buzzard bookstore in Seattle. Details here.

A big, beautiful bill and the “Wishbone”

The latest legislation have you in shock? Things could be worse, as it they are in this excerpt from the short story “Wishbone.”

Originally published by Third Flatiron Press, “Wishbone” appears in my new collection Patti 209: Fifteen Tales of the Very Near Future, available now:

“But don’t you have grandparents, Representative Podestra?” the talk show host leaned forward in an eager posture of faux concern. “How will you explain your proposed Age Equity Act to them?”

My grandson, Tory Podestra, decked out in a blue suit, crisp white shirt, and camera-friendly burgundy tie, didn’t even blink. He’d had media training.

“As a leader of the Third Parties Coalition, I’m committed to ensuring that everyone in the United States gets a fair share of our remaining resources,” he said. “There’s no question that the Olds have consumed far more than their share. The Age Equity Act actually benefits them, by ensuring that those of them who reach their 72nd year will enjoy discounted access to adequate housing, healthcare and other resources all the way through their 79th year. I think the AEA is extremely generous, when you consider how all the short-sighted Baby Boomers voted for the Trump administration in 2016 and 2024. They’re the ones responsible for everything that’s gone wrong. This great nation of ours can still recover—the Coalition is here to see to that—but not if young people like us have to pay endlessly to keep a bunch of old right wingers with dementia on life support. Frankly, I think the Olds should be grateful that they can at least contribute something to society by getting out of the way.”

I’d watched the clip of that interview over and over, first stunned, then regretting that I’d helped send that little prick to law school. Tory had been a pushy, grabby, unpleasant child and now he’d grown up to be a political nutcase. A few weeks later, at the dentist’s office, I’d actually denied that I was related to him. 

“Podestra is a very common name,” I told the receptionist.

“A Sign of the Times” (excerpt)

Here’s an excerpt from the short story “A Sign of the Times” from my new collection Patti 209: Fifteen Tales of the Very Near Future, available in ebook or print:

“…under the new Washington State statue, corporations are regarded by the law as individuals, and advocating any action to harm them is a hate crime. Joe, you’re going to be the test case.”

“Yeah. Got it. I mean, I’ll plead guilty. I’m ready to take my punishment.”

“No.” Kate snapped.. “Joe, if you’re convicted of advocating violence against the corporation, violence that clearly took place—”

“Prison?”

Kate looked right at me, for the first time, as if she thought I might be joking. One eyebrow went up. “Prison?” She gave a short, ugly laugh. “Under the new statute, the judge has no sentencing discretion. And law says the penalty for publicly proposing violence against a corporation is death.”

“A Sign of the Times” was written a few years back and published in Quaranzine. It seemed pure fantasy at the time I wrote it but with the former director of the FBI being “investigated by the Secret Service” over his use of a common slang phrase in a social media post, it’s now grimly appropriate.

Better off “Unnoticed”

For your weekend reading pleasure: Here’s an excerpt from the short story “Unnoticed” from my new collection Patti 209: Fifteen Tales of the Very Near Future, available in ebook or print:

“Your mother and I were ignorant,” he said. Wow. For once, Dad was actually admitting fault. He explained that, like most prospective parents, they’d met with a counselor and had their embryo’s genetic material improved using robust DNA selected from the databanks. “We thought we were making the best choice by giving you popular, well-tested genes. We wanted you to be healthy and happy. We just wanted you to fit in.”

I put my elbows on the table, and buried my face in my hands. “I can’t stand it. You made me nobody.”

“Cait, we were immigrants!” My mom leaned forward, elbows on the table, her dinner forgotten. “We’d been on a waiting list to get out of Mardour for years. We knew that if we were accepted for immigration to Savania we’d have only one child license. That meant only one child. So we wanted you to be perfect.”

“But not to stand out,” Dad cut in. He rationalized, “We made you pretty, and healthy, and smart.”

“But not so pretty, or healthy, or smart that the Savanians would be envious.” Mom’s voice rose, trembling. “We didn’t want…trouble.”