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A blog about books and other things speculative

Interview with Gabe Hudson, author of Gork, The Teenage Dragon

Please welcome Gabe Hudson to The Qwillery as part of the of the 2017 Debut Author Challenge Interviews. Gork, The Teenage Dragon was published on July 11th by Knopf.

Interview with Gabe Hudson, author of Gork, The Teenage Dragon

TQWelcome to The Qwillery. When and why did you start writing?

Gabe:  Thanks so much for having me on The Qwillery! As a kid, I read a ton of Tolkien and Ursula K. Le Guin and Douglas Adams. And to me, it just seemed like the greatest thing in the world, to be able to write those books. And so somewhere along the way, I started telling everyone that when I grew up I was going to be a writer. Though the truth is back then I hadn’t really written anything. When I listened to that Beatles song Paperback Writer I could sort of feel myself becoming a writer, but I never told anyone about that because I wasn’t sure they’d understand. Somehow with all that telling I think I sort of just talked myself into being a writer. By the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late to turn back.

TQAre you a plotter, a pantser or a hybrid?

Gabe:  The truth is I have no idea what I am, or how I write what I write—it’s as if when I’m writing or thinking intensely about the writing, I leap into a different dimension, or dream state. But then when I’m done, I wake up and can’t recall the details of my time in that other dimension. The best part about this is that when I go back to the text, I can really see it with fresh eyes, which enables me to make strong edits.

I do know that while I write there’s a tremendous amount of logic involved and bizarre forms of rapid computation are always taking place, but I can’t consciously point at them and name them. Because they would disappear. IMHO, the best assets available to a writer don’t exist in the known world. In that writing dimension, things move too fast for me to compute or process or articulate. I think coming to terms with this, being comfortable with not-knowing, that was such an important part of my evolution as a writer. The mind is shockingly resistant to such a stance.

TQWhat is the most challenging thing for you about writing?

Gabe:  For me as a writer, the most challenging thing is also the most rewarding. To write with extreme imaginative force and comic speed—as a means of accessing the most big-hearted and tender aspects of the narrative. It’s a counterintuitive or possibly illogical strategy. I mean, if your goal is to enter a castle, you probably wouldn’t run away from it.

But that seems to be my way.

Running away from the castle as a means of entering the castle. This means I have to be very present, so that I can pivot repeatedly throughout the act of composition. On a good writing day, I’m sprinting away from and entering the castle so many times that they become one single act.

TQWhat has influenced / influences your writing?


1. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
If someone was going to create a new universe, I would highly recommend using this book as the original Big Bang materials. Which is what happened to me as a kid when I read this book, a Big Bang inside my head. I doubt very seriously I ever would’ve written Gork, the Teenage Dragon if I hadn’t read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. And if you cracked open my head today, I’m sure you’d find a whole galaxyful of planets populated with white rabbits and giant lizards named Bill.
2. The Hobbit
In some ways, Middle-Earth seems to me more true as a historical place than anything I ever learned in a classroom. The beautiful and terrifying Odyssey of Bilbo and and Gandalf and the dwarves permanently altered the lens through which I experienced life. Fired up my capacity for empathetic and imaginative prowess like nothing else, made the metaphor-making muscle in my brain gigantic and hulking. Plus this is where I encountered Smaug the Magnificent. Probably where I first felt the full force of dragon lore. And it was Tolkien’s Smaug that I used as a counterpoint for my dragon, Gork The Terrible. Gork even calls out Tolkien in the first couple pages of my novel, accuses him of gross and irresponsible misrepresentation of dragons And so it is Tolkien’s The Hobbit that motivates Gork to come forth and tell his tale. To set the record straight about his species.

TQDescribe Gork, the Teenage Dragon in 140 characters or less.

Gabe:  Big-hearted sixteen year old dragon goes on epic quest for true love. Plus robots.

TQTell us something about Gork, the Teenage Dragon that is not found in the book description.

Gabe:  Gork is an orphan, and for the first three years of his life, he was raised by a sentient spaceship.

Also, on Gork’s home planet Blegwethia, saying thank you is considered extremely rude.

TQWhat inspired you to write Gork, the Teenage Dragon? What appealed to you about writing about dragons?

Gabe:  Honestly it was Gork. His voice came to me fully-formed, out of the blue. It felt like a dragon came storming into my life and took over. Later, I realized, it seemed to me there were way too many narratives out there casting dragons as monsters. To the point where it seemed almost a form of bigotry, this mass of anti-dragon narratives. I mean, I thought, let’s hear from the dragons themselves. Wouldn’t that be a more democratic and judicious approach, instead of just accepting the stories told and written by people who might, for all I know, just be very prejudice when it comes to dragons. Let a dragon tell their side of the story, for once. Why in the history of our literature, are we allowing just one side of the story to be the entire story?

TQWhat sort of research did you do for Gork, the Teenage Dragon?

Gabe:  Well I read a bunch of books about dragons and reptiles. Also, I managed to stay alive while writing this book, which always strikes me as a form of research. Making sure not to die. Carl Sagan has this cool book full of scientific speculation, called Dragons in the Garden of Eden. In the book, Sagan suggests that for humankind’s early ancestors, dreams and nightmares may have emerged as a necessary tool for evolution. A nightmare would cause you to wake up, and give you the split second you needed to escape from the giant lizard that was about to eat you. Another theory Sagan suggests is that humans have systematically eradicated any species or member of a species that displayed intelligence. That humans are biologically hardwired to perceive intelligence as the greatest possible threat.

TQPlease tell us about the cover for Gork, the Teenage Dragon.

Gabe:  The cover was designed by the brilliant and supercool Peter Mendelsund. In the novel, Gork has two-inch horns. He gets bullied and ridiculed for his small horns. So you can see on the cover, Gork is using his talons to make the “throwing the horns” gesture. Which is a human gesture. It also suggests that despite the small horns on his head, Gork is giving himself horns through this human gesture. Interesting side note: Buddha was the first person known to use the “throwing the horns” hand gesture, which he did to ward off evil spirits.

TQIn Gork, the Teenage Dragon who was the easiest character to write and why? The hardest and why?

Gabe:  The easiest was the silver cyborg dragon Fribby, who is Gork’s best friend. I could relate to her, and I rooted for her. She’s fierce and a badass, despite the fact that in dragon society, she is treated like a second-class citizen because she’s a machine. She’s obsessed with death, kind of Goth, and she likes Gork precisely because he has a big heart, and he’s different from all the other dragons at their high school.

Possibly the hardest character to write was Gork’s grandfather, Dr. Terrible. The narcissistic mad-scientist dragon. Dr. Terrible desperately wants Gork to change, to become a dominant and ruthless alpha dragon. And to stop hanging out with Fribby, because Dr. Terrible thinks robot dragons should be kept in their place, and shouldn’t be granted equal rights to “normal” dragons. But the truth is Dr. Terrible wasn’t that hard to write. Growing up, I had some overbearing, narcissistic male authority figures in my life. And so the narcissist is a fairly well-known species to me.

TQWhich question about Gork, the Teenage Dragon do you wish someone would ask? Ask it and answer it!


Q: Is this the first novel ever to be narrated in the first-person by a teenage space dragon?
A: I don’t know.

TQGive us one or two of your favorite non-spoilery quotes from Gork, the Teenage Dragon.

My name is Gork The Terrible, and I’m a dragon.
        And here begins the story of how I went searching for my true love and then made her my Queen. And I should warn you that when it comes to dragon love stories, well mine is the most terrifying tale of them all. But also the most romantic. For inside my scaly green chest, there beats a grotesquely large and sensitive heart.

TQWhat's next?

Gabe:  Right now I’m primarily focused on my book tour, and by focused I mean intent on staying alive. Not because it’s particularly perilous, but because it just seems like an especially ghastly thing to do, to die on your book store. So I am extra vigilant, ever mindful of potential assassins posing as birds in a nearby tree, and hungry crocodiles under my hotel bed. Staying on top of that stuff takes a lot of energy, so I don’t get to write as much as I normally do.

If it’s OK, I’m going to stick my tour dates right down there. And if any of your readers should see this and decide to come check out Gork at a reading, then they should mention they saw this interview on The Qwillery, and I’ll make sure they get the VIP treatment.

And if by chance I do happen to die while doing this tour, then we can just let the below graphic be my digital gravestone:

Interview with Gabe Hudson, author of Gork, The Teenage Dragon

TQThank you for joining us at The Qwillery.

Gabe:  Thanks so much for having me on The Qwillery! I love your website and blog. I think you’re doing heroic work, shining a light on debut novels. It’s been a pleasure.

Gork, the Teenage Dragon
Knopf, July 11, 2017
Hardcover and eBook, 400 pages

Interview with Gabe Hudson, author of Gork, The Teenage Dragon
A TODAY Show Summer Pick
An Amazon Summer Reading Pick

A Barnes & Noble Best New Fiction of the Month Pick

A wacky, exuberant, heartfelt debut novel: the unholy child of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Harry Potter, and Sixteen Candles—and this time with dragons.

“No good human won’t love this dragon named Gork.” —Dave Eggers

“A one-of-a-kind coming-of-age story.” —Tracy K. Smith, U.S. Poet Laureate

Gork isn’t like the other dragons at WarWings Military Academy. He has a gigantic heart, two-inch horns, and an occasional problem with fainting. His nickname is Weak Sauce and his Will to Power ranking is Snacklicious—the lowest in his class. But he is determined not to let any of this hold him back as he embarks on the most important mission of his life: tonight, on the eve of his high school graduation, he must ask a female dragon to be his queen. If she says yes, they’ll go off to conquer a foreign planet together. If she says no, Gork becomes a slave.

Vying with Jocks, Nerds, Mutants, and Multi-Dimensioners to find his mate, Gork encounters an unforgettable cast of friends and foes, including Dr. Terrible, the mad scientist; Fribby, a robot dragon obsessed with death; and Metheldra, a healer specializing in acupuncture with swords. But finally it is Gork’s biggest perceived weakness, his huge heart, that will guide him through his epic quest and help him reach his ultimate destination: planet Earth.

A love story, a fantasy, and a coming-of-age story, Gork the Teenage Dragon is a wildly comic, beautifully imagined, and deeply heartfelt debut novel that shows us just how human a dragon can be.

About Gabe

Interview with Gabe Hudson, author of Gork, The Teenage Dragon
Photo: © Laura Peters
GABE HUDSON is the author of Dear Mr. President, a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award and winner of the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Hudson was named one of Granta‘s 20 Best of Young American Novelists and was a recipient of the Hodder Fellowship from Princeton University, the John Hawkes Prize in Fiction from Brown University, and the Adele Steiner Burleson Award in Fiction from the University of Texas at Austin. His writing has appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times Magazine, The Village Voice, McSweeney’s, Black Book, and Granta. For many years, he was Editor-at-Large for McSweeney’s. He lives in Brooklyn.

Website  ~  Twitter @gabehudson  ~  Facebook

Excerpt from The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

The Qwillery is thrilled to share with you an excerpt from the 2nd Edition of The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi.

Excerpt from The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

The Windup Girl
Paolo Bacigalupi
Night Shade Books
May 2015


         “No! I don’t want the mangosteen.” Anderson Lake leans forward, pointing. “I want that one, there. Kaw pollamai nee khap. The one with the red skin and the green hairs.”
         The peasant woman smiles, showing teeth blackened from chewingbetel nut, and points to a pyramid of fruits stacked beside her. “Un nee chai mai kha?”
         “Right. Those. Khap.” Anderson nods and makes himself smile. “What are they called?”
         “Ngaw.” She pronounces the word carefully for his foreign ear, and hands across a sample.
         Anderson takes the fruit, frowning. “It’s new?”
         “Kha.” She nods an affirmative.
         Anderson turns the fruit in his hand, studying it. It’s more like a gaudy sea anemone or a furry puffer fish than a fruit. Coarse green tendrils protrude from all sides, tickling his palm. The skin has the rust-red tinge of blister rust, but when he sniffs he doesn’t get any stink of decay. It seems perfectly healthy, despite its appearance.
         “Ngaw,” the peasant woman says again, and then, as if reading his mind, “New. No blister rust.”
         Anderson nods absently. Around him, the market soi bustles with Bangkok’s morning shoppers. Mounds of durians fill the alley in reeking piles and water tubs splash with snakehead fish and red-fin plaa. Overhead, palm-oil polymer tarps sag under the blast furnace heat of the tropic sun, shading the market with hand-painted images of clipper ship trading companies and the face of the revered Child Queen. A man jostles past, holding vermilion-combed chickens high as they flap and squawk outrage on their way to slaughter, and women in brightly colored pha sin bargain and smile with the vendors, driving down the price of pirated U-Tex rice and new-variant tomatoes.
         None of it touches Anderson.
         “Ngaw,” the woman says again, seeking connection.
         The fruit’s long hairs tickle his palm, challenging him to recognize its origin. Another Thai genehacking success, just like the tomatoes and eggplants and chiles that abound in the neighboring stalls. It’s as if the Grahamite Bible’s prophecies are coming to pass. As if Saint Francis himself stirs in his grave, restless, preparing to stride forth onto the land, bearing with him the bounty of history’s lost calories.
         “And he shall come with trumpets, and Eden shall return . . .”
         Anderson turns the strange hairy fruit in his hand. It carries no stink of cibiscosis. No scab of blister rust. No graffiti of genehack weevil engraves its skin. The world’s flowers and vegetables and trees and fruits make up the geography of Anderson Lake’s mind, and yet nowhere does he find a helpful signpost that leads him to identification.
         Ngaw. A mystery.
         He mimes that he would like to taste and the peasant woman takes back the fruit. Her brown thumb easily tears away the hairy rind, revealing a pale core. Translucent and veinous, it resembles nothing so much as the pickled onions served in martinis at research clubs in Des Moines.
         She hands back the fruit. Anderson sniffs tentatively. Inhales floral syrup. Ngaw. It shouldn’t exist. Yesterday, it didn’t. Yesterday, not a single stall in Bangkok sold these fruits, and yet now they sit in pyramids, piled all around this grimy woman where she squats on the ground under the partial shading of her tarp. From around her neck, a gold glinting amulet of the martyr Phra Seub winks at him, a talisman of protection against the agricultural plagues of the calorie companies.
         Anderson wishes he could observe the fruit in its natural habitat, hanging from a tree or lurking under the leaves of some bush. With more information, he might guess genus and family, might divine some whisper of the genetic past that the Thai Kingdom is trying to excavate, but there are no more clues. He slips the ngaw’s slick translucent ball into his mouth.
         A fist of flavor, ripe with sugar and fecundity. The sticky flower bomb coats his tongue. It’s as though he’s back in the HiGro fields of Iowa, offered his first tiny block of hard candy by a Midwest Compact agronomist when he was nothing but a farmer’s boy, barefoot amid the corn stalks. The shell-shocked moment of flavor—real flavor—after a lifetime devoid of it.
         Sun pours down. Shoppers jostle and bargain, but nothing touches him. He rolls the ngaw around in his mouth, eyes closed, tasting the past, savoring the time when this fruit must once have flourished, before cibiscosis and Nippon genehack weevil and blister rust and scabis mold razed the landscape.
         Under the hammer heat of tropic sun, surrounded by the groan of water buffalo and the cry of dying chickens, he is one with paradise. If he were a Grahamite, he would fall to his knees and give ecstatic thanks for the flavor of Eden’s return.
         Anderson spits the black pit into his hand, smiling. He has read travelogues of history’s botanists and explorers, the men and women who pierced the deepest jungle wildernesses of the earth in search of new species—and yet their discoveries cannot compare to this single fruit.
         Those people all sought discoveries. He has found a resurrection.
         The peasant woman beams, sure of a sale. “Ao gee kilo kha?” How much?
         “Are they safe?” he asks.
         She points at the Environment Ministry certificates laid on the cobbles beside her, underlining the dates of inspection with a finger. “Latest variation,” she says. “Top grade.”
         Anderson studies the glinting seals. Most likely, she bribed the white shirts for stamps rather than going through the full inspection process that would have guaranteed immunity to eighth-generation blister rust along with resistance to cibiscosis 111.mt7 and mt8. The cynical part of him supposes that it hardly matters. The intricate stamps that glitter in the sun are more talismanic than functional, something to make people feel secure in a dangerous world. In truth, if cibiscosis breaks out again, these certificates will do nothing. It will be a new variation, and all the old tests will be useless, and then people will pray to their Phra Seub amulets and King Rama XII images and make offerings at the City Pillar Shrine, and they will all cough up the meat of their lungs no matter how many Environment Ministry stamps adorn their produce.
         Anderson pockets the ngaw’s pit. “I’ll take a kilo. No. Two. Song.
         He hands over a hemp sack without bothering to bargain. Whatever she asks, it will be too little. Miracles are worth the world. A unique gene that resists a calorie plague or utilizes nitrogen more efficiently sends profits skyrocketing. If he looks around the market right now, that truth is everywhere displayed. The alley bustles with Thais purchasing everything from generipped versions of U-Tex rice to vermilion-variant poultry. But all of those things are old advances, based on previous genehack work done by AgriGen and PurCal and Total Nutrient Holdings. The fruits of old science, manufactured in the bowels of the Midwest Compact’s research labs.
         The ngaw is different. The ngaw doesn’t come from the Midwest. The Thai Kingdom is clever where others are not. It thrives while countries like India and Burma and Vietnam all fall like dominoes, starving and begging for the scientific advances of the calorie monopolies.
         A few people stop to examine Anderson’s purchase, but even if Anderson thinks the price is low, they apparently find it too expensive and pass on.
         The woman hands across the ngaw, and Anderson almost laughs with pleasure. Not a single one of these furry fruits should exist; he might as well be hefting a sack of trilobites. If his guess about the ngaw’s origin is correct, it represents a return from extinction as shocking as if a Tyrannosaurus were stalking down Thanon Sukhumvit. But then, the same is true of the potatoes and tomatoes and chiles that fill the market, all piled in such splendid abundance, an array of fecund nightshades that no one has seen in generations. In this drowning city, all things seem possible. Fruits and vegetables return from the grave, extinct flowers blossom on the avenues, and behind it all, the Environment Ministry works magic with the genetic material of generations lost.
         Carrying his sacked fruit, Anderson squeezes back down the soi to the avenue beyond. A seethe of traffic greets him, morning commuters clogging Thanon Rama IX like the Mekong in flood. Bicycles and cycle rickshaws, blue-black water buffaloes and great shambling megodonts.
         At Anderson’s arrival, Lao Gu emerges from the shade of a crumbling office tower, carefully pinching off the burning tip of a cigarette. Nightshades again. They’re everywhere. Nowhere else in the world, but here they riot in abundance. Lao Gu tucks the remainder of the tobacco into a ragged shirt pocket as he trots ahead of Anderson to their cycle rickshaw.
         The old Chinese man is nothing but a scarecrow, dressed in rags, but still, he is lucky. Alive, when most of his people are dead. Employed, while his fellow Malayan refugees are packed like slaughter chickens into sweltering Expansion towers. Lao Gu has stringy muscle on his bones and enough money to indulge in Singha cigarettes. To the rest of the yellow card refugees he is as lucky as a king.
         Lao Gu straddles the cycle’s saddle and waits patiently as Anderson clambers into the passenger seat behind. “Office,” Anderson says. “Bai khap.” Then switches to Chinese. “Zou ba.”
        The old man stands on his pedals and they merge into traffic. Around them, bicycle bells ring like cibiscosis chimes, irritated at their obstruction. Lao Gu ignores them and weaves deeper into the traffic flow.
         Anderson reaches for another ngaw, then restrains himself. He should save them. They’re too valuable to gobble like a greedy child. The Thais have found some new way to disinter the past, and all he wants to do is feast on the evidence. He drums his fingers on the bagged fruit, fighting for self-control.
         To distract himself, he fishes for his pack of cigarettes and lights one. He draws on the tobacco, savoring the burn, remembering his surprise when he first discovered how successful the Thai Kingdom had become, how widely spread the nightshades. And as he smokes, he thinks of Yates. Remembers the man’s disappointment as they sat across from one another with resurrected history smoldering between them.

The Windup Girl
Night Shade Book, May 5, 2015 (2nd Edition)
Trade Paperback and eBook, 480 pages

Excerpt from The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi
Winner of the Hugo and Nebula awards for best novel, a new edition of the breakout science fiction debut featuring additional stories and an exclusive Q&A with the author.

Anderson Lake is AgriGen’s Calorie Man, sent to work undercover as a factory manager in Thailand while combing Bangkok’s street markets in search of foodstuffs thought to be extinct, hoping to reap the bounty of history’s lost calories.

Emiko is the Windup Girl, a strange and beautiful creature. Emiko is not human; she is an engineered being, grown and programmed to satisfy the decadent whims of a Kyoto businessman, but now abandoned to the streets of Bangkok. Regarded as soulless beings by some, devils by others, New People are slaves, soldiers, and toys of the rich in this chilling near future in which calorie companies rule the world, the oil age has passed, and the side effects of bioengineered plagues run rampant across the globe.

What happens when calories become currency? What happens when bioterrorism becomes a tool for corporate profits and forces mankind to the cusp of post-human evolution? Bacigalupi delivers one of the most highly acclaimed science fiction novels of the twenty-first century.

In this brand-new edition celebrating the book’s reception into the canon of modern science fiction, accompanying the text are two novelettes exploring the dystopian world of The Windup Girl, the Theodore Sturgeon Award–winning “The Calorie Man” and “Yellow Card Man,” and an exclusive Q&A with the author describing his writing process, the political climate into which his debut novel was published, and the future of science fiction.

Paolo Bacigalupi On Tour

5/26/15: Denver, CO - Tattered Cover, reading, Q&A, and signing

5/27/15: Boulder, CO - Boulder Bookstore, reading, Q&A, and signing

5/29/15: New York, NY - BEA

5/30/15: Boston, MA - Brookline Booksmith, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/2/15: Chicago, IL - Anderson’s Bookshop, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/3/15: Salt Lake City, UT - The King’s English, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/4/15: Phoenix, AR - Changing Hands Bookstore, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/6-6/7/15: San Francisco, CA - Bay Area Literary Festival

6/6-6/7/15: San Francisco, CA - Borderlands, signing

6/8/15: San Diego, CA - Mysterious Galaxy, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/9/15: Los Angeles, CA - Vroman’s, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/10/15: Portland, OR - Powell’s Bookstore, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/11/15: Seattle, WA - University Book Store, reading, Q&A, and signing

6/18/15: Crested Butte, CO - Rumors Coffee and Tea House, reading, Q&A, and signing

You may find times and addresses at the Author's website here


The Water Knife
Knopf, May 26, 2015
Hardcover and eBook, 384 pages

Excerpt from The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

Paolo Bacigalupi, New York Times best-selling author of The Windup Girl and National Book Award finalist, delivers a near-future thriller that casts new light on how we live today—and what may be in store for us tomorrow.

The American Southwest has been decimated by drought. Nevada and Arizona skirmish over dwindling shares of the Colorado River, while California watches, deciding if it should just take the whole river all for itself. Into the fray steps Las Vegas water knife Angel Velasquez. Detective, assassin, and spy, Angel “cuts” water for the Southern Nevada Water Authority and its boss, Catherine Case, ensuring that her lush, luxurious arcology developments can bloom in the desert and that anyone who challenges her is left in the gutted-suburban dust.

When rumors of a game-changing water source surface in Phoenix, Angel is sent to investigate. With a wallet full of identities and a tricked-out Tesla, Angel arrows south, hunting for answers that seem to evaporate as the heat index soars and the landscape becomes more and more oppressive. There, Angel encounters Lucy Monroe, a hardened journalist, who knows far more about Phoenix’s water secrets than she admits, and Maria Villarosa, a young Texas migrant, who dreams of escaping north to those places where water still falls from the sky.

As bodies begin to pile up and bullets start flying, the three find themselves pawns in a game far bigger, more corrupt, and dirtier than any of them could have imagined. With Phoenix teetering on the verge of collapse and time running out for Angel, Lucy, and Maria, their only hope for survival rests in one another’s hands.  But when water is more valuable than gold, alliances shift like sand, and the only truth in the desert is that someone will have to bleed if anyone hopes to drink.

About Paolo

Excerpt from The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi
Photo by JT Thomas Photography.
Paolo Bacigalupi’s writing has appeared in WIRED Magazine, High Country News,, OnEarth Magazine, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine. His short fiction been anthologized in various “Year’s Best” collections of short science fiction and fantasy, nominated for three Nebula Awards, four Hugo Awards, and won the Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award for best science fiction short story of the year. His short story collection PUMP SIX AND OTHER STORIES was a 2008 Locus Award winner for Best Collection and also named a Best Book of the Year by Publishers Weekly

His debut novel THE WINDUP GIRL was named by TIME Magazine as one of the ten best novels of 2009, and also won the Hugo, Nebula, Locus, Compton Crook, and John W. Campbell Memorial Awards. Internationally, it has won the Seiun Award (Japan), The Ignotus Award (Spain), The Kurd-Laßwitz-Preis (Germany), and the Prix Planète-SF des Blogueurs (France).

His debut young adult novel, SHIP BREAKER, was a Micheal L. Printz Award Winner, and a National Book Award Finalist, and its sequel, THE DROWNED CITIES, was a 2012 Kirkus Reviews Best of YA Book, A 2012 VOYA Perfect Ten Book, and 2012 Los Angeles Times Book Prize Finalist.

He has also written ZOMBIE BASEBALL BEATDOWN for middle-grade children, about zombies, baseball, and, of all things, meatpacking plants. Another novel for teens, THE DOUBT FACTORY, a contemporary thriller about public relations and the product defense industry was a both an Edgar Award and Locus Award Finalist.

His latest novel for adults THE WATER KNIFE, a near-future thriller about climate change and drought in the southwestern United States.

He currently lives in Western Colorado with his wife and son, where he is working on a new novel.

Website  ~  Facebook  ~  Twitter @paolobacigalupi  ~  Google+

Interview with Gabe Hudson, author of Gork, The Teenage DragonExcerpt from The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

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