Skip to content

Category Archives: Fiction

I took the bladders of blood to the blood bank. The teller was a young woman in a smart black suit with big lapels that looked like they had coathanger wire inside them to keep the points pointy. Her face was as blank and innocent as a head of lettuce, like all the rest of them.

Hey everybody, the Strange Horizons 2010 readers poll closes tomorrow. I have a short story (“Sundowning“) and a poem (“Improving on Nature“) up for it. Also I thought Meghan McCarron’s short “We Heart Vampires” and Peg Duthie’s poem “By Way of Sorrow” were stand-outs. Vote here: ETA: Results here.

steered by a virgin

My short, short, short story “The unicorn pulls…” (originally called “Work Requirements”) was reprinted today at Trapeze Magazine.

The first word we lost was the name of that thing with the buttons, the one you speak into to talk to someone who is far away or at least not in the same room. The thing you call people with. We woke up one day and the word was just gone, no one anywhere could remember it. It even vanished from dictionaries, as far as we knew, though in all fairness no one could recall how to spell it to look it up.

Read “The Way We Speak Now” by Angi Becker Stevens. Also, further to my last: HarperCollins, OverDrive Respond as 26 Loan Cap on Ebook Debate Heats Up.

“Facial Deficits”

My news! Let me tell you it! PANK just accepted my facial allotransplantation short story. THAT’S RIGHT I’M AWESOME.

My youngest kid hits Jane’s kid on the head using a bright green dragon puppet. The dragon is on my kid’s hand, so the line between hitting her kid with a toy and hitting her kid with his fist is thin.

Read “Truths about Suicidal Women” by Jenniey Tallman.

The couch caught a number of Estelle Markowitz’s tears, just as earlier in the day it had absorbed Jack Green’s, and the day before, Roger Barber’s. Over two decades so many tears had landed on the couch, the cushion was shot through with salt. In the summer, patients experienced a mysterious burning sensation on the backs of their exposed legs, but they never bothered to mention it. At $180 an hour, it didn’t seem worth mentioning.

Read “Couch” by Rachel Maizes.

I have a lot of things to say…

…mainly about epidemiology and Bobby Rogers (who I saw read on Thursday; short version = he’s great) and more on gender parity, but it all has to wait because I’m in the middle of an epic submission spree (yes, because of the gender parity discussion), but I had to let you all know: Trapeze just […]

There is something wonderfully sweet about a woman touching your hand across a table and telling you about love.

Read “The Boy and the Palm Reader” by Nick Kocz and Jenniey Tallman.

The unicorn pulls…

Trapeze has accepted two of my microfiction pieces for reprint, which originally appeared in Tweet the Meat and PicFic (that second one is also in On a Narrow Windowsill: Fiction and Poetry Folded onto Twitter), to appear in February and March respectively.

I wonder if the uncle thought no one could see him (no one seemed to notice), I wonder if he thought I would just let him do it (I didn’t say anything), I wonder if he thought I would take him up on some offer (the adult in me now yells angry insults, as if the one adult in the green-white-brown shadows of that room to stand up and protest, ‘What kind of asshole is this guy!?’).

Read “Still Life with Nixon on the Beach” by Elissa Field.