The BSFA Awards are literary awards presented annually since 1970 by the British Science Fiction Association (BSFA) to honour works in the genre of science fiction. Nominees and winners are chosen based on a vote of BSFA members. More recently, members of the Eastercon convention have also been eligible to vote.
The award originally included only a category for novels. Categories for short works and artists were added in 1980. The artists category became artwork in 1995 and a category for related non-fiction was added in 2002. A media category was awarded from 1979 to 1992. The current standard award categories are:
Previous categories:
The British Science Fiction Association was founded in 1958 by a group of British science fiction fans, authors, publishers and booksellers, in order to encourage science fiction in every form. It is an open membership organisation costing £29 per year for UK residents and £20 for the unwaged. The first president of the BSFA was Brian Aldiss. Stephen Baxter is the current President. The BSFA currently publishes two magazines, sent to all members:
Matrix was the news magazine, but ceased publication.
The BSFA Awards are presented annually by the British Science Fiction Association, based on a vote of BSFA members and members of the British national SF convention (Eastercon). The BSFA also nominates two members to the panel of the Arthur C. Clarke Award.
Little green men coming out of paint cans,
Phosphate mines and Slaked Lime, 1966, he was sixteen,
it's Central Florida in the era of the dragline,
play it over the pit and dig up more of that green shit,
and trade it with the Russians, who are traditionally hated,
you can imagine that after a few years
that you'd run out of things to say,
and I'll be here every day.
Phospho~Gypsum, Radon-222,
the daughters watch over you,
on a transformer four stories high it walks like a cripple
and turns on its base,
diggin' up that Dicalcium Phosphate.
Travel the blacktop
and you won't have far to go to find an alien civilization,
a creature from a creation that's from outer space.
Sixty foot high for miles around;
one million tons of Phospho~Gypsum tailings rise to the sky.
Nearly half the world's fertilizer once lay beneath the overburden;
it got taken off this sandbar,
and now there's something that's left behind.
Hey, this place is a mess!
'what are you takin' about?
I'll clean it up later.
No, that's not the way it is at all, I'm not a miner I don't care,
man, that's pant of the system, I'm punk,
but who's gonna indict the Wall Street Journal, just me and Bob Ray,
it's just part of the system here on the surface of the planet
and the day has come when there's only work left
There's unlimited sunshine in a bottle of Tropicana,
with his friends and his 'Spooky Tooth' 8-track flipped upside down,
drivin' in his Mercury Monterey down to Lithia Springs,
saying that if we could take the tailings,
and build a building for the New York Stork Exchange,
then we could tell everyone about
how we live in a state that digs Radon by the ton
and you'll be loved by everyone,
and the government will give us a Superfund,