Flooding in Northern Philippines and armed skirmishes from a separatist group in Southern Philippines (the hellish south, Mindanao, is where my I am). Anyway, let's move on to the fancy and lighter side of things: that is, publishing news.
Lauriat: A Filipino-Chinese Speculative Fiction Anthology
Charles Tan's brainchild, Lauriat: A Filipino-Chinese Speculative Fiction Anthology, was lovingly reviewed in many places and was even mentioned in io9. I'm so happy to have a story included in this anthology.
We Bury the Landscape
We Bury the Landscape is reviewed by Laura McDonald over at Neon Magazine.
A poem, "Exit Interview," is published in the second issue of Waterhouse Review. The quirky mix of stories and poems can be read here.
Also enjoyed the conversation with Meg Tuite at Her Kind, blog of VIDA: Women in Literary Arts. Big thanks to Rosebud Ben-Oni, who gave Meg and I the opportunity.
I created a new Press page earlier and saw this comment on an old interview. Interesting and very perceptive. I'm not part of the Manila-based writing community. That doubles the insulation. The racism part -- it's not a factor in publishing and never will be. I find Western writers/editors/readers to be much more aware of cultural barriers, more respectful, more objective. They do not care if my last name is Muslim. It is not the same in my country, where my last name matters, loaded with stereotypical connotations and all. There's always that customary follow-up question, that thinly veiled insult "so, you're a Muslim?" It even happened in a job interview. I went to college in Manila and worked there for a year. By virtue of my notorious last name, two of my coworkers told me pointedly that I looked "dumb." Dumb, because I don't talk much and don't socialize. Dumb, because my last name is Muslim and they expect me to brandish an AK-47 while wailing Allahu Akbar. They addressed me in the derogatory way as "Muslim," not Kristine. Some of the Metro Manila folks I've worked with were mean, hulking big-city mean fueled by materialism. The moral of my little flashback: things happen.
Meditations of a Beast
Age of Blight
A Roomful of Machines
We Bury the Landscape