The Sockdolager

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Stories appearing in Summer 2015


It was nearing the days of misrule, which were part of neither the year in place nor the year to come, when the lord came to Band's owner, looking to have a play copied and bound.

Hadley Full of Hate

Lo, the humans heard the sharp shriek of a Harrower from the cold wood and cowered in their cots, all but one.


She had a proper name once. Now she was Zofta, for the colour of her skin.

Sigrid Under the Mountain

After Esja produced sour milk three days in a row, Sigrid knew she had a problem.

Alligators by Twitter

5:00 PM (one day ago) New house, new phone. Twitter, give me something better to do than #PutRobotsInEveryMovie until the sister gets here.

The Road to Babel

I liked to spend at least ten minutes out on the balcony overlooking the market square; I would observe the rug merchants rolling their carpets, or the spice trader carefully putting his numerous jars into a large trunk, or street fakirs breathing the last spurts of flame before sunset.

A Fistful of Forever

The fabric of space hiccoughed, gasped, choked, twisted, tore, and spat out a cloud, which split apart into two clouds, of not so much matter or energy, though they contained those too, but anti-entropy. Consciousness.