Chicanonautica is about my character Paco Cohen, Mariachi of Mars, over at La Bloga.
So here's some of my favorite songs:
My dad had a Charro Avitia album that he played a lot:
Then Dr. Doctor Demento introduced me to Lalo Guerrero:
And Flaco Jimenez:
These days I listen to Cancion Mexicana on KUVO.org on Sunday mornings. They play this a lot:
In case you haven’t been paying attention the last few months, I have a new story out, called “Doula” in Sound Systems: The Future of the Orchestra. Yippie!
I think that everything I write is going to rock the world. It feels great when I publish something. Then . . . well, reality tends to be different. Turns out most people just don’t give a damn about short stories.
And if I don't get any feedback, I get nervous. Did anybody read it? Was all my hard work for nothing?
I’ve found that besides going on and writing something else, the best thing to do is self-promotion.
Like this post.
“Doula” is different from most of my other stories. It was written for the Center for Science and the Imagination. First there was an event at ASU where some science fiction writers were each teamed with three people who had insider’s knowledge about the subject.
I was teamed with Paul D. Miller (aka DJ Spooky), experimental/hiphop composer, multimedia artist and writer; Garrett McQueen, bassoonist, radio host, an activist working to decolonize classical music; and Ashley Lauren Firth, violist, songwriter, educator, activist, and death doula (yeah, that’s where I got the word). This was the first time I was the whitest person in a group.
They had amazing experiences, opinions, and ideas. I put away the stuff I had prepared and took a lot of notes on the fantastic conversations we had over the next two days. This story was going to be about what they had to say, rather than my usual obsessions. I found myself committing an act of Afrofuturism, rather than my usual Raza-centric, Xicanxfuturist view.
It was refreshing and invigorating.
There is one Chicano, or rather Chicana character, but this is me assembling something out of the material I was provided. Being a hired gun, so to speak.
Did I mention that it also paid well?
In “Doula” a wood from Tanzania used to make a musical instrument, with the help of fungus, and plugged into the network that is used for a world-wide concert, becomes intelligent, and wreaks havoc on corporate civilization, changing the world as well as some character’s lives. These things are always so hard to capsulize, and I really don’t want to get lost in a labyrinthian synopsis.
Better I should give you a taste. Here’s the beginning:
*****
The file opens with static, 03380, head hidden behind a huge mask and distorted video filters, twitched.
“It’s happening again.”
The voice was also distorted into an electronic growl.
“I’m trying to work! Leave me alone!”
Then 03380 laughed, and the head shook.
“As if you’d listen to me, whoever you are. You’re probably trying to prevent me from doing this job.”
Jump cut.
“I was going to cut that out, but you need to see that. Just an example of how difficult this job is and why it’s been taking so long. This . . . I don’t know what to call it. Like the incident, event, whatever . . . Maybe I should start at the beginning . . .”
*****
A classic sci-fi encounter with the unknown–a different kind of alien intelligence!
Not only that, be there are essays from my three collaborators, who I am indebted to for triggering this creation.
And there are three other stories created in this manner with essays from the rest of the teams. Warning: The way you think about music may be altered!
It’s available free in e-versions,or bought as a print-on-demand paperback! Order now!
I'd still like to see a short story go viral and take the world by storm, changing the world, or maybe even saving it.
It's a dream, but ain’t dreaming what science fiction is all about?
Meanwhile, a certain creature has plans for Greenland . . .
That are getting sci-fi . . .
And getting ugly . . .
Dammit, 2026! You take
M. Christian on your first day!
For those of you who don’t know, M. Christian was a prolific, bestselling, award-winning author. I hate using the word was . . . They died January 1, 2026 of heart failure.
I’m reminded of what my high school health teacher liked to say: “For a lot of people, their first indication of heart disease is their death.”
What cruel universe!
After some correspondence, Cortez on Jupiter, High Aztech, Smoking Mirror Blues, and eventually, Guerrilla Mural of a Siren’s Song: 15 Gonzo Science Fiction Stories became available in professional-looking e- and trade paperback editions from Strange Particle Press. Meanwhile, La Bloga found me and I became known as the Father of Chicano Science Fiction. Some say I created a genre, but I was just trying to carve out a niche for myself, and I turned out to be the tip of the iceberg, and what was perceived as a ghetto was actually a galaxy.
But enough about me, M. Christian has written a lot of books; their Book Notification list is blurred out with a note:
THIS AUTHOR'S WORKS CONTAIN EXPLICIT ADULT MATERIAL.
PLEASE REGISTER OR LOGIN TO CONFIRM YOU'RE 18+
Ah yes, the sort of folks that publish me . . .
They've written science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, and nonfiction (they were a Senior Columnist for The Future of Sex)
They also are responsible for a number of anthologies. In the Science Fiction by the Numbers series, I was allowed to indulge in extreme abuses of the genre: Seven to the Stars, has my Victor Theremin story “Radiation is Groovy, Kill the Pigs,” a light-hearted romp about the dangers of radioactive marijuana. Five to the Future has “Uno! Dos! One-Two! Tres! Cuatro!” inspired by the creature currently infesting the White House. Nine to Eternity includes “The Great Mars-A-Go-Go Mexican Standoff,” a perverse take on Mars colonization. There are also excellent stories by M. Christian, my wife Emily Devenport, and several other authors of note.
I also recommend their gay erotic thriller Finger’s Breath–one of the most outrageous novels I’ve ever read–their collections, Love without Gun Control and Hard Drive: The Best Sci-Fi Erotica of M. Christian.
At least we still have these, and their many other books. I need to do some re-reading, and buying . . .
Did I mention that it really pisses me off the way writers tend to be forgotten soon after they die? Especially when they are friends of mine.
Meanwhile, the world-wide dystopia gets more apocalyptic every day without any new M. Christian books or stories . . .
It's Chicanonautica vs. 2026 over at La Bloga.
Is the world ready for it?
And then there's the writer's life . . .
Is the publishing industry doomed?
And what about Xicanxfuturism?
