I have a new short story out from Apex Magazine, "DEMON FIGHTER SUCKS".
New short story: “DEMON FIGHTER SUCKS”
2020 Award Eligibility
Check out the stories I wrote this year that are eligible for the Hugo Award, Nebula Award, and any other award your heart sees fit to nominate them for.
New short story: “Sing in Me, Muse”
I have a new short story out, with a pile of extras thanks to the lovely Lightspeed Magazine. Enjoy "Sing in Me, Muse", out today, as well as a thoughtful "Author Spotlight" interview with me by Sandra Odell, and an absolutely gorgeous podcast reading by Gabrielle de Cuir.
New short story: “They’re Made Out of Corn”
I have a new short story out, the first since before some Big Life Shit that went down a few years ago. Enjoy "They're Made Out of Corn", out today from Daily Science Fiction, a continuation/pastiche of Terry Bisson's "They're Made Out of Meat."
Playing the ponies; or “I don’t want to be in marketing, but here I am anyway”
It's a rotten time to be a writer. Leaving aside the creativity-crushing effects of indoor monotony, the usual mechanics of the publishing business are showing their fault lines: authors can't go on book tours, covers can't catch consumers' eyes as they perambulate around shops, and while ebook and audio bundles could be a cool thing,... Continue Reading →
a little bit goes a long way
I'm in the middle of outlining a romance novel that has a lot of potential endings -- and several of those possible ending are polyamorous in nature. It's making me realize one of the weird ways fiction doesn't necessarily mirror reality.
the writing life (and the lies we wish were true)
I've recently joined one of those movie theatre loyalty programs, where you get to watch multiple movies over the course of a week for the cost of essentially two movies a month (which I would do anyway, so this works well for me). Because of it, I end up seeing a lot of films I... Continue Reading →
like fine print, so hard to read
Rian Corveau is fifteen years old. He lives about twenty minutes north of the border, speaks French better than he reads it (and he only does around his Quebecois family, anyway), loves hunting better than fishing, and has just had sex for the first time.
The Invasion
It began on a Tuesday. Aliens arrived, in swirling disco-ball orbs that were very shiny, and started laying waste to everything in sight and more than a few things in important bunkers. Munitions were destroyed; surrender was denied; the destruction of the world was both imminent and inevitable.
The Words Are the Breath
Sunday school was one of the things that Sam was supposed to pay attention to. His mama walked him to the door every time, which didn’t match what the other parents did; it bothered him. He dragged his feet, trying to get her to stop and go back to her pew, but she thought it was because he didn’t want to go, and just kept moving. It was backward. She was getting it wrong and he couldn’t tell her and she wouldn’t listen anyway.
Katherine Crighton 