Back In Print After 30 Years from DPS: Feminist SciFi Legend Jody Scott's I, VAMPIRE!!

Digital Parchment Services and the estate Of Jody Scott are pleased to announce the re-publication of Jody Scott's sequel to her feminist, surreal SciFi classic, Passing For Human: 

I, Vampire

—with a special introduction by SciFi Legend Theodore Sturgeon!

Plus new estate-sponsored site dedicated to Jody's life and work by her partner, Mary Whealen!

#

"A rip-roaringly magnificent time ... quite unlike anything anyone else has ever done."
—Neil Gaiman

"I liked I, Vampire enough to check it off on the Nebula ballot."
—Pamela Sargent

Back in print after 30 years, I, Vampire is the sequel to Jody Scott's acclaimed SciFi classic, Passing For Human (and part two of the four-part Benaroya Chronicles), featuring the adventures of Jody's charming vampire Sterling O’Blivion:

After seven hundred years, glamorous vampire Sterling O’Blivion has begun to think the joy is going out of life. Then she meets Virginia Woolf in the ladies’ room of a dance studio in Chicago. But Woolf is really Benaroya, a dolphin-like alien anthropologist here to learn all there is to know about humanity and to fight the good fight against the evil, slave-trading Sajorians. Sterling falls madly in love with Benaroya. It’s just the sort of romp an aging vampire needs—but first, to defeat the Sajorians, they have to sell millions of Famous Men’s Sperm Kits to every woman on Earth.

"A lot of fun ... its real appeal is in Scott's stabs at the foibles and shortcomings of our society. Jody Scott sees things with a clear eye. You must read carefully, for she can point a caustic finger with a single throwaway line. And when she really winds up, everything is fair game: big business, the military, politics, religion and more. In addition to sharpness and criticism, there are wackiness, clever dialogue, action and lots of love. I enjoyed this one immensely and recommend it highly."
—The Seattle Times

"Exuberantly clever and wildly iconoclastic ... if you thirst for something really witty, quirky, with bags of brains [...] you'll do no better than this wonderful novel."
—For Books' Sake

"Those who seek to deride feminist SF often suggest that it is too serious and po-faced, but Jody Scott’s wild imagination, seemingly scattershot but tightly controlled, makes ... an absurdly comic romp of unexpected juxtapositions and witty asides."
—SF Mistressworks

Plus Jody's partner, and her Estate Manager, Mary Whealen has launched a band new site celebrating Jody's life, work, and her lasting influence on science fiction, feminism, and modern literature: http://www.jodyscott.info.

Born in 1923, Jody Scott, or Joann Margaret Huguelet as it says on her birth certificate - Mr. Scott came later closely followed by Mr. Wood, two characters out of P.G. Wodehouse (if Wodehouse had happened to marry Jean Genet) - was born in Chicago of an old-settler family of Fort Dearborn (as the toddlin' town was once called) with loose ties to the underworld.

Ms. Scott attended Daniel Boone grammar school, Senn High, North Park College, Northwestern U. and U.C. Berkeley before crying out in clear, ringing tones: "Enough of this crap. If you wanna be a writer never, NEVER go to college or you'll come out a brainwashed zombie who offends nobody but writes like everyone else or as Monty Python used to say: 'Dull, dull, dull!' - the L's sounding like W's."

Our subject then worked as a sardine packer, orthopedist's office assistant, Circle Magazine editor (knew Henry Miller and Anais Nin), artist's model at Art Institute Chicago, factory hand, cabbage puller ("in Texas where I was arrested with my buddy Don Scott for hitchhiking and slapped around then thrown in jail for eight days; how stupid can 'The Law' be? Its reasoning was: my gay friend {close pal of Leonard Bernstein and Tennessee Williams} had long hair, therefore we must be criminals"), blue movie maker, headline writer for the Monterey Herald ("that's where I got my spare, lean style"), bookstore/art gallery owner, vacation land salesman and at many other fascinating trades, spent six months in Guatemala (in Antigua enjoyed a night alone with Gore Vidal at his house both madly talking) and lived in Seattle in a falling-apart house choked with ivy and blackberry brambles a stone's throw from Puget Sound and was the winner of the 'America's Ugliest Couch' contest upon which she wrote every day from 9 AM to 2 PM Pacific time.

Jody died in 2007.

#

For review copies or information on the Jody Scott estate please contact the Publisher, M.Christian at m.christian@digitalparchmentservices.com

I, Vampire (The Benaroya Chronicles I)
By Jody Scott
ebook: http://amzn.com/B01BNVU9QY - $2.99 (free on Amazon Unlimited)
Trade paperback: coming soon!

Passing for Human (The Benaroya Chronicles II)
By Jody Scott
ebook: http://amzn.com/B0143K2LXG - $2.99 (free on Amazon Unlimited)
Trade paperback: http://amzn.com/1517285291 - $8.99

#

The Estate-Authorized Jody Scott site: http://www.jodyscott.info

The Digital Parchment Services Jody Scott site: http://www.authorjodyscott.com

Digital Parchment Services: http://digitalparchmentservices.com

For information please feel free to contact mchristian@digitalparchmentservices.com

Kicking And Screaming: A Previously Unseen Story By Jody Scott!

We are tremendously thankful to Mary Whealen for this very special treat: a previously unpublished story by Jody!

Kicking And Screaming

By Jody Scott

Naked we come into this world and handsomely outfitted in a new pinstripe from Big & Tall, complete with a foulard tie, we go out of it.

At any rate that’s what happened to Nettie Polotnik’s husband Phil who had been dead nine years to the very day when our story begins. Philip Hart Polotnik had never been neat while he was alive (Phil died at age fifty-six, his skull broken in a car crash); he drank like a fish, played poker all night long and smelled like the nasty brown cigars he smoked (and those cigars were what killed him, according to Nettie! If it hadn’t been that accident it would have been emphysema like the late Johnny Carson). Nettie herself was the neat one in the family. Their four children, Michael, Tim, Meredith and Polly, now grown-and-gone were about average on the neatness scale, with son Timmy (once a juvenile delinquent, today a world famous oncologist; can you believe such a turn of events?) being the sloppiest of the lot, Nettie was thinking as she hummed somewhat happily while cleaning out the fridge.

Funny how much junk gets collected when a person lives alone. Now why was there an open, moldy (covered with a crawling, green, slimy fuzz; ick! The smell of it—phew! Into the garbage it went)—can of tuna when the only person in this family who even liked tuna was daughter Meredith who lived in New Rochelle and had four children of her own? You’d think—but never mind what you’d think; Nettie didn’t want to dip into that old barrel of pain, regret and sorrow, why should she? She was alive, vibrant and happy, she liked living alone in peace and quiet and most of all you can’t change the past so why bother yourself with it?

“I don’t know about that,” Phil said. “Reality isn’t exactly what we always thought it was, honey.”

Her husband was sitting across the table in his new pinstripe suit, smoking a cigar and drinking coffee which was all wrong because he’d been dead for nearly a decade. . And yet—!

“I’m not going to argue with you so butt the hell out,” Nettie snapped. Feeling tired, she didn’t have time to argue the same foolish old arguments, she had a dental appointment in an hour and had to buy gas on the way (running out of gas was always so embarrassing) and then grocery-shop. But she felt strange, very strange indeed. And there certainly wasn’t any use in snapping at poor dead Phil about it because the poor guy wasn’t even alive for mercy sake!…

Something was happening to Nettie and she had no idea what, except that she was terribly dizzy and before you could say “Poof!” she was sprawled on the floor in her ratty old blue bathrobe that had come untied and was all rucked up under her. There wasn’t much pain, except for a clutching in the chest (it reminded her of Valentine’s Day in school when the kids all exchanged hearts, big shiny paper hearts that said “Be mine!” with a pretty lace banner across the front of them) but this was different, because—

Suddenly Nettie found herself up at the ceiling looking down at her body. She hadn’t realized how filthy it was up here—the entire ceiling could use a good scrubbing but most especially the overhead fixture; there were dead flies in the globe, quite disgusting but that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst of it was: leaving that funny-looking hunk of clay all sprawled out, its butt showing, right in the middle of her scrubbed kitchen floor for someone else to find which was awful but she couldn’t do anything about it, so—

“What were you saying dear?” she asked Phil but Phil was long gone, so Nettie hurried so she wouldn’t be late—very sorry about the mess on the floor but wasn’t that the way life always ended?—so no use worrying about it. Sad, but true; and with a sigh, Nettie herself was out of there.

Out Now After Almost 40 Years: 

The Surreal Feminist SF Classic, 

Passing For Human

By Jody Scott

Out Now on Kindle!