SHORT STORY: Into Next Week

Portrait by Paul Hanley, used with permission.

"Lady at the door for you, sir."

The Doctor looked up over the brims of his sunglasses. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Well?" The Doctor flourished a hand impatiently. "Just any lady, or does she have a name?"

Nardole looked over his shoulder. "It's. Er. The regular one."

"If she's the regular one, then let her in." The Doctor kicked his chair away from his desk, hopping to his feet. A quiet grumble from Nardole was followed by the light tapping of heeled shoes, heralding the arrival of a petite figure at the door.

"Still as cheery as ever, I see."

The Doctor's scowl lifted. "For you, Victoria, always."

The woman smiled. The years were obvious, but not unkind. Her smile still made her entire face glow; her eyes still shone like you and she shared a secret. Still, it always took the Doctor a moment to adjust to her obviously modern clothes. To him, she'd always be the "Victorian miss" -- even if she'd spent the majority of her life as a woman of the 20th and 21st centuries.

"Thank you," the Doctor said, skimming his hand over his desk. "Ah, for still coming this week. I know time was short."

"I made it work. And I don't mind at all." Victoria fixed him with a curious look. "Besides, you sounded so distressed when I mentioned wanting to skip a week, I couldn't. Was there something important happening today?"

The Doctor looked away. "No. No, not at all. I'm a creature of habit is all."

"That's the last thing you are, and you know it."

No answer.

"How is the work going, then?" Victoria took her usual seat opposite the Doctor's desk, lowering her handbag carefully to the floor.

"Ah, the usual. A lecture a day and all that." The Doctor sat down opposite her, propping his boots on top of a pile of term papers. "Found a potentially promising student, though. Well, not a student. Cafeteria worker. Could be a student."

"That's not the work I mean."

"Ahhh. Hum." The Doctor clasped his hands behind his head. "It goes."

Victoria leaned forward in her chair. "And you're still not going to tell me what it is, are you?"

"I've told you what it is. It's a promise."

"That's all very well. Sounds very noble. But nothing ties you to the Earth for long, Doctor. I'm very curious as to what can."

The Doctor stared at her thoughtfully from the corner of his eye. Her expression hadn't hardened or changed at all. A passerby might think she'd just asked him whether he'd like a cup of coffee.

Coffee.

"That's an excellent idea." The Doctor jumped to his feet, clapping his hands. "Come along."

"What's an excellent idea?"

"Coffee."

"I never said-"

He popped the TARDIS door open. "Come along, Victoria. Won't be a moment."

"No, indeed, you won't." Nardole's voice was unexpectedly close. "It's very pretty to talk about promises, but not if you don't keep them."

The Doctor groaned. "But Mum..."

Nardole pointed, his face set. "You wait here. I can bring you both coffee."

"Oh, that would be lovely." Victoria broke the tension with a smile. "Thank you very much indeed."

"Not a bother, miss." Nardole threw Victoria a shy grin, but it melted back into anger when he turned toward the Doctor again. "I'll be five minutes. If I find you've been away, I shall kick you into next week!"

The door slammed as Nardole made his exit.

"Victoria, what are you doing?"

Victoria paused mid-step. "Sitting down. Waiting for my coffee."

"Why?" The Doctor dashed over to her, taking away her chair and propping it under the handle of the office door. "He said he'd be five minutes. That's more than enough time. Come on."

"Where?"

The Doctor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. Then grinned. "Next week. Save him the trouble."

- - - - -

"She's being rather calm, isn't she?" Victoria sipped at her cappuccino. It had whipped cream and chocolate chips on top -- more like a hot chocolate to the observer than anything else.

The Doctor looked back at the TARDIS, parked behind a hedgerow, standing sentry like a patient chaperone. "I'd noticed. Usually about now she'd be trying to drag me around for a tussle with some Cybermen. She's restless."

Victoria smiled slightly over the brim of her mug. "Not that you've strayed from your office, of course."

"Of course." The Doctor glowered back.

"You made a promise, after all."

"I did."

"A promise that you've broken for me six weeks running."

The Doctor dumped another spoonful of sugar into his Americano. "But we never go far, do we?" He gestured behind him to the college a block away.

Victoria chuckled. "Into next week for a coffee. Onto the college roof for sandwiches. I don't think it's the TARDIS that's restless."

She took another sip of her sugary cappuccino. The Doctor smiled at her -- one of the thoughtful, helpless smiles that always felt a bit painful to him.

"Do you keep up with the others like this?"

The Doctor shook himself out of his smile, puffing out a breath. "Oh. I try. You know, where I can. Jo's always calling me up for environmental rallies or chaining myself to something." He wrinkled his nose. "The two aren't always at the same time, I've noticed."

"Just her?"

"Of course not. Some are just... harder to find." He looked aside for a quiet moment, then brightened. "Martha! Ah, Martha Jones. You never heard about her. I feel like I'm tripping over her half the time. Busy lady, always up to something. Ian and Barbara... they come to me. I think they're checking up on me more than anything."

Victoria licked a spot of whipped cream daintily from her finger. "That's quite a short list."

"Well. Ah. When you're on as short a leash as I am at the moment, there are some people you can't get to."

A silence, cut only by the shouts of students greeting each other.

Victoria raised her eyes from her cup. "Do you remember the day I died?"

The Doctor glared at Victoria sharply. "What? No. How could I?"

A smile. "You may be older and wiser now, Doctor, but you wear your hearts on your sleeve more than ever. You were afraid when I said I couldn't make it. Like you were about to lose something."

"I told you. Creature of habit."

"Mm."

The Doctor looked away, clearing his throat and taking a gulp of sugary coffee. "No. I don't remember. I don't know anything about it."

"Was it quiet?"

"I told you, I don't know-"

"Doctor."

"Let me have this!"

Despite the Doctor's tone, Victoria didn't pull away. She watched placidly.

The Doctor wiped a hand across his face. "I... just want... coffee with my friend. With my Victoria. That's all." He looked across the table at her; his face had contorted ever so slightly into a desperate smile, his eyes shining. "No adventures. No monsters. No danger. Just my friend."

Victoria wrapped her petite hand around his long fingers. "Of course. So do I." She squeezed his hand gently.

"Mind you," the Doctor said in a hushed tone after a few minutes' silence, "if something did come crashing out of the sky-"

"Hush."

- - - - -

Victoria stepped out of the TARDIS and into the Doctor's office. The front door was rattling, the chair under the handle threatening to give way.

"Ah... forgot about that." The Doctor swept the chair away. Nardole stumbled in, nearly dropping the tray and two travel cups he was carrying.

"You're late," the Doctor said imperiously.

Nardole huffed, adjusting his glasses. "You weren't off anywhere, were you?"

Victoria put a hand to her chest. "I was with the Doctor the whole time."

"Yuuuh..." Nardole squinted at her skeptically. "What about him?"

"He was with me."

"And here we are, five minutes later." The Doctor took one of the mugs from the tray, sipped from it, and winced. "Not enough sugar."

Victoria plucked the other coffee from the tray. "I had better get going, anyway," she said, tossing Nardole a smile. "Thank you again." Then, a look at the Doctor.

"Same time next week?"

The Doctor forced a smile. "Yeah. Same time next week."

- - - - -

When I first interviewed Deborah Watling at (Re)Generation Who 1, she said she'd love to have played Victoria opposite the 12th Doctor. I hoped that someday I'd be able to write that moment for her to perform, via Big Finish or some other outlet. Sadly, with her passing, I've lost that chance.

This is the closest I can get to a proper eulogy -- whom I didn't know as well as many, but who was very much a part of our con family and an important part of where we are and what we've become. Thank you for all you did, Debs. I wish I could give more.

BOOKS: Ride the Star Wind ~ It's getting weird in here.

Mmmmm. Elder gods.

The call for stories for Ride the Star Wind caught my eye fast: they wanted Lovecraft-inspired space operas. I'm not entirely sure why no one's ever gone that route before (save for a few anime series here and there, but you know what I mean). I couldn't help but throw my hat in the ring and, well, things happened and I made it in.

And it's wild.

Despite my love for Junji Ito and the fact that I co-created a book series about demigods, I've never really delved into writing eldritch horror. I love reading it, but I couldn't ever quite put it into words properly. I know what I like. And I know what scares me. But scaring someone else -- or at least unnerving them -- feels like a whole other ballgame.

I ended up writing "Canary Down," the story of two archaeology students on a fairly simple mission: go to a space dig for their final exam. They'd be equipped with all the usual tech, including a "canary" -- an artificial humanoid whose job it is to constantly read and analyze the safety of an area, making sure its owners are safe to proceed.

But what they find is not your typical dig site. And the information their Canary picks up is a bit more distressing than temperature and oxygen levels.

Ride the Star Wind comes out this summer from Broken Eye books, and contains TONS of awesome stories and illustrations. Yeah -- illustrations. So just in case your brain won't wrap itself around the deep space horrors described, one of their awesome artists can help. I just saw the one going with mine, and it's even creepier than I imagined when I was writing it.

You can preorder your copy in hardback, paperback, or ebook format. And if you do, please tell me what you think. Because I'm itching to write more weird. But I need to see if I'm good at it first.

BOOKS: Judgment Day ~ Spinning the Tarot

When I was in high school and college, I collected tarot decks. I didn't make use of them so much... it was more that I loved the stories of them, the different interpretations of each card, the way that even off-the-wall redrawings still somehow managed to bring the imagery home.

When I saw that NILVX was doing a tarot-based anthology, I definitely wanted to have a go. Their Tarot issue promised to cover The Fool, The Hanged Man, Judgment, and The World. I eventually settled on the third of those, and brought out a strange sci-fi quasi-spiritual piece that honestly surprised even me.

One of the interesting things about the tarot is that many major arcana cards -- Death, the Devil, Judgment, and the like -- that sound very ominous and definite and overbearing are actually to do with elements within ourselves. Death represents change. The Devil represents our own internal wrongdoing. Judgment, too, is internal.

My story, "Judgment Day," is one woman's story of her own judgment after a lifetime of judging others -- in this case, quite literally. The Judges work behind the scenes so you never see them... not until after your time has already passed. When you die, they are your final confessor, observing your secrets under their magnifying glass so you can decide for yourself what happens next. The problem comes when one Judge questions why they can do this.

This is definitely one that falls under my "grim" work. Science fantasy, maybe? That seems to be how my work skews. But it's one I'm unexpectedly proud of, and that I hope you'll all enjoy.

A Book of Magic I(II): Tarot Series I goes on sale this Friday. Check out the website for more info.

BOOKS: Owl's Flower 2 Is Freaking Here

I'm still getting used to the idea of having written books. Like, books that are out there. I wrote a ton of books when I was a kid, and they weren't that great if I'm honest. I'm recycling a few for comics of NaNoWriMo, but overall my youth output was not ready for prime time.

Now I'm coming to a time in my life where I'm, like, getting published honestly. I'm getting a few very cool short stories out there into big anthologies (more on those soon), I'm writing day and night for multiple websites, and I'm working with some amazing collaborators on some amazing projects. I love working with Rob on Kalibourne still, and I'm digging working with Ginger on Owl's Flower. Honestly, I'm very fortunate to have friends I love working with who are also extremely talented.

Ghost Fall is the second in the Owl's Flower light novel series. For those who somehow haven't heard about this from me yet, it's our take on paranormal romance: a relationship that isn't perfect but also doesn't draw drama from angst and unhealthy behaviour. A heroine who isn't an "unspecial teenager who becomes special." A hero who's an immortal but not a sparkling infallible Adonis. Secondary characters with interesting stories. Mythology and religion pulled from cultures all over the world. And tasty recipes.

The first book was an "origin story," and starting now we can start going crazy. Ghost Fall is a Halloween story, so there's some horror aspects. We don't go full terrifying because that doesn't fit this series, but we do play around with some ghastly ghosts and some serious psychological implications. Our B story is a fairly simple-seeming one: a committed couple moving in together, and what that means for both daily life and building trust.

Ginger's 13 pieces for this book include one of my absolute favourite things she's ever drawn, Owl's Flower or otherwise. You'll know it when you see it.

Incidentally, Ghost Fall is frickin' cheap -- the price of a Ko-fi (or more if you feel inclined). You can pick it up here as an ebook, as well as the first book (which is always free). Print copies will be forthcoming as we price some printers.

Also, we're looking into doing some collab events at cons and the like. So keep your ears open!

Ribbon Trees ~ Years in the Making

Sometimes (okay, constantly) I'll write a piece for a specific publication, very tightly themed, and it won't make it in. Occasionally that doesn't matter, but sometimes you're left with something extremely narrow in tone that, while it might find a home elsewhere, is often just too tailored for that sort of thing.

"Ribbon Trees" was a recounting of my trip to Avebury with my friend JJ. Mostly we were going to look at the stones, but there were also some straight-up magic (take that however you like) trees there. There's a great deal to the legend of them... and that was part of my piece. That, and the full experience of the place.

The legend of Avebury's trees sat in my mind for months (years, at this point) after my trip, and I was pleased that I had a chance to write about them and share the experience with a larger audience. Not everyone will have a chance to see them for themselves, after all.

Sadly, its inclusion had a very near miss (I made it to the short list, and even to the editing stages). These things happen, and so I filed it away to use later elsewhere.

Then I was approached again, asked if I might mind having it put in an online journal. All things considered? Not at all. It's a piece I'm proud of, and I was glad for it to find a home.

The home in question is Rooted, a spinoff site of the original anthology with which it shares a name. The site explores "our messy, beautiful, symbiotic relationship with trees." And it's a great spot for a lot of creative nonfiction on the same topic.

You can read my contribution free on their site. And, you know, if you enjoy seeing me write about crazy trees with magical properties, you may want to look into Owl's Flower, the light novel series I do with Ginger Hoesly.

"Phase Day" ~ The Intent

My friend Craig has no idea how much he inspired "Phase Day," my upcoming story appearing in this summer's Devilfish Review. He's been posting old diary entries on his Facebook from 30 years ago, which places him in high school. Initially I thought he was just a really pretentious little twit in high school, but he's apparently been "brushing them up" to reflect more what he thought he was like back then.

"Phase Day" was another written for a specific call that didn't end up where it was meant for, but found a home elsewhere. (I seem to get a lot of those.) A request for science fiction, for deep history and characterization. And it was another case of impersonal "Thanks but no thanks." This story got shopping around once or twice more before finding its home, and I'm glad it did.

At its heart, "Phase Day" is a story of perspective -- it's an alien invasion story told from the point of view of the alien. It touches on the subjectivity of history, the shifting waves of what is considered "offensive," and what insight into intent can do to a situation.

In short, it's a collection of the writings of Amaltua Obon, an alien journalist who was seven years old when her people phased their planet and population in underneath the population of Earth. From her optimistic Phase Day essay as a child to an anniversary address given to a room full of slur-slinging attendees, it documents how the pendulum swings -- and what nudges the pendulum farther, faster.

I wish I could say it has a happy ending, but such things rarely do. It's less a character's journey and more an insight. She changes, she learns, but in the end it's not her journey we follow: it's her society's.

This all sounds extremely pretentious, and I'm sure that in the end it's more a nice diversion than anything else. Hell, if that's what it does for you, that alone makes me happy.

"Phase Day" can be read starting this weekend in Devilfish Review.

"Combat" ~ Just a Little Something.

Between us (so, you know, the entire Internet), I don't consider myself terrible good at flash fiction. It's a new area for me. So when I got my first and only (so far) accepted in any way, I was pleased. I honestly thought it was one for the bottom draw, and that's simply because I'm new to the format and practice makes perfect.

"Combat" was a very silly off-the-cuff idea, all things considered. I was reminded of evenings getting drunk and gaming with college friends (which I still do, don't get me wrong). It worked far better than I intended it to, and I hope it gives people a bit of a chuckle.

For me, the most entertaining part was figuring out ways to describe the body language for my two characters... which will make sense once you've read all of it.

"Combat" was shortlisted for publication in Here Comes Everyone's Toys and Games issue. And while it didn't make the final cut, it did make it onto the website with some very good work.

Have a read of it now! And do let me know what you think!

"Five Dates in Room 405" ~ All the Time in the World

When I hear stories about how my friends grew up and what their families taught them, I often feel extremely fortunate. I realise that my grandparents afforded me a great deal of personal freedom, and ensured that I never felt obligated to do anything by a certain age past be able to look after myself.

One thing I never got -- ever -- was a behest to get a boyfriend. I don't date much. I have had four boyfriends in my entire life (the longest relationship lasting eight months and being largely long-distance) and gone on one casual date outside of that. If and when the time comes, I'm sure there will be chances. But I was never, ever, ever told that I only had a certain amount of time, or a certain amount of chances.

Well, guys I turned down would tell me that. But my family, and my friends who cared about me, never told me that.

Date Night is Zimbell House Publishing's latest anthology, and it asked for... well, what you see on the tin. I can't remember what was on my mind at the time, but I immediately thought of high-school kids who had it drilled into them that your chances were few and far between.

"Five Dates in Room 405" is a story like that -- and also not like that. Our heroine is off to prom, largely because prom is what you do and her parents insist that she needs to get used to the idea of dating. And she does... but in an unexpected way.

I don't want to give too much away. Suffice to say it's a story of a realization not everyone gets to have early: that there will be chances every single day. There will be some you want and some you don't. There will be some you have to take yourself and some that fall into your lap. But the overly romantic idea that if you don't ask That Person Over There out now, or if you don't say yes to the person you're unsure about, you may have lost your shot forever... only flies in fairy tales at best.

It's also a fairly clear message I want to send to young readers, especially young women: you'll know when you're ready. No one can tell you when you're ready but yourself. And listen to that voice.

Date Night is now available from Zimbell House Publishing.

Black Archive 2018 ~ "Heaven Sent" is Coming

Monday morning on my way back from Raleigh post-MystiCon, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why my phone was pinging off its charger. A stop-in at a rest stop gave me a chance to see: Obverse had announced that I was doing the Black Archive installment for Heaven Sent.

I'd told a handful of people (mostly my sounding boards) what I was up to, but hadn't gone public with the announcement -- obviously, as my installment isn't coming out 'til 2018, a lot of it depended on if the Black Archive series did well enough for them to even get to me. Fortunately, the reviews are largely positive, which means there's absolutely room for me at the table... and with books coming out monthly rather than every two or three, it means my time is just over a year out.

Initially I'd had no intention of submitting to the Black Archive. I don't consider myself a critical writer by what the Internet seems to deem critical. But when I learned how they were going about it -- that these were going to be studies first and foremost -- I sent them my take on the 12th Doctor single-hander. Apparently it was the sort of thing they wanted, because I'm now on board as one of three women covering the Series 9 triple-play -- with Sarah Groenewegen before me on Face the Raven, and Alyssa Franke (WhovianFeminism) after me on Hell Bent.

It's an exciting and daunting notion... and one of the reasons that many of my We Are Cult reviews are of Black Archive volumes. Reading my predecessors gives me a chance to expose myself regularly to the writing style, method of footnoting, and general tone so it's hammered into my brain; and looking at them with a critical eye encourages me to go back and look at mine in progress with just as critical an eye.

A stopover on their Twelfth Doctor landing page gives you a look at what I'm plotting, and it shouldn't be surprising to anyone who knows me. Heaven Sent is a deeply Jungian, aggressively character-building piece. Its central mechanic has been used in everything from Stephen King to Japanese light novels to evoke a sense of purgatorial suffering and self-examination. But the Doctor-ly spin on it is what fascinates me the most, and the final chapter is going to explore what I think is the most interesting, fourth-wall-breaking aspect that really defines -- especially for this Doctor -- just how far the character will go.

I've been extremely fortunate in my opportunity to chat with Rachel Talalay, the director of the episode. At Intervention 7, she offered a master class (a phrase that's not even remotely an exaggeration) on the episode, that gave me new insight into a lot of my theories, as well as causing me to utterly upend my chapter on the Veil and dig into the Nightmare on Elm Street series for some heavy research. Rachel was a joy to have at the event, an inexhaustible font of knowledge, and answered questions that I didn't even know I had.

There are days when working on the book is my primary joy; there are others when I look back at previous volumes and wonder if I'm quite up to snuff. But it's such a magnificent episode, with such a lot to think about and work from, that simply tackling one angle within the allotted word count is more than challenge enough without setting myself other hurdled.

The Black Archive #21: Heaven Sent comes out July 2018 from Obverse Books. And now... I really ought to head off and work at it some more.

"The Janitors of Terra Mainframe" ~ The Truth Behind Conspiracy Theories

The Janitors of Terra Mainframe was originally written for an anthology prompt about secret societies. I had an idea to overhaul a previous story, but a new idea jumped out at me -- what if all the mad conspiracy theories currently circulating online were somehow true?

I have very few guilty pleasures because there's not much I like that I feel guilty about. But one of those few is my love of following conspiracy theories that people actually buy into. I'm not sure what it is. It's entertaining to me to see just how far they'll go, I suppose. I listened to Coast to Coast AM and read Weekly World News all through high school. (If you're a reader of Yuusha Hime Kalibourne, you'll see some of that influence in the minor character of Bob Harken -- named for a character from my uncle's play Men of the Cloth inspired by the same set of factors.)

My question, though, has always been: why, if these puppet masters have so many people fooled, do they not have our vigilant informants fooled? It seems like a pretty big mistake, just letting people go on YouTube and AM radio and tell the world at large that we're all in a simulation or we all died on Thanksgiving 2015 or whatever.

So that was my story basis: in what scenario would an actual secret group controlling society actually let someone give away their secrets? That's the question one caller asks late-night radio host Barry Hanks as he continues to insist that he has the true story behind the Janitors -- the people who "clean up" after mistakes on Earth by rebooting the planet.

Though the anthology I originally submitted to was cancelled, the story found a home over on Thoughtful Dog, where you can read it right now (as well as a mini-interview with me!). If you want to see what happens when the Mandela Effect meets the simulation hypothesis in a world that may or may not be present day -- off you go, then. And let me know what you think.

"Dark Media" ~ Non-Canonical "Who" with a Modern Horror Twist

The lovely Stuart Douglas of Obverse Books whispered to a few of us that there was a Shalka Doctor charity anthology in the works looking for contributions. I loved Scream of the Shalka, I love Richard E. Grant, and writing about a rarely-written-about Doctor for a good cause sounded like a fun exercise. I hit up Scott Claringbold of Red Ted Books with a resume and an offer of sample writing.

In return, I got: 'I know who you are. Welcome aboard.'

Nine Lives is a wonderful mix of writers (and artists, as you can see from Paul Hanley's cover work above), offering their spin on Grant's alternate Ninth Doctor as penned by Paul Cornell prior to the return of Doctor Who on the BBC. For those unfamiliar, he had only two outings: the aforementioned Scream of the Shalka, Cornell's voiced/animated web feature co-starring Derek Jacobi as an android build of the Master, and Cavan Scott and Mark Wright's short story 'The Feast of the Stone.'

There were a lot of ideas brewing as to how to approach this Doctor. Effectively, his story had been undone, after all. While traces of the ideas exist (running away with the President's daughter, for example), the meat of his reason for existing disappeared in the 21st century series. Some writers went for explanations of this. Others went for fourth-wall breaking. I played with these ideas for a while, realised I wasn't satisfied with my ability to do any sort of explaining, and finally just opted to write a straightforward horror story.

An inspirational screen from NES Godzilla Creepypasta

One thing I've not done in my limited Who writing yet is true horror. I did fantasy horror for my Iris Wildthyme story, but I'd never yet truly tried to deliver scares. Which surprised me, because I love a nice scary Doctor Who story, and my favourite thing is unsettling my readers.

My dissatisfaction with modern horror led me to indie creators, as many of you already know from my mad love of creepypasta (expressed in other writings). And my first toe into the world of creepypasta was BEN Drowned, a prose/video project that led to a now-obsolete ARG (though it looks like it's being turned into a legit game as we speak). It captured the raw fear, the ruined childhood, and the liminal imagery I find myself drawn to in my horror.

My story for Nine Lives, 'Dark Media' (a reference to the catch-all phrase currently used for multimedia fiction of this particular bent), is, straight up, a haunted video game story. It was the best way I could think of to write true 21st century horror: both with the indie-popularized medium and the delivery of the scares via video game. Plus, it allows me to, as I love to do whenever possible, put a child at the centre of the story.

Both BEN Drowned and NES Godzilla Creepypasta were heavy influences on both the mood of the story and the aesthetic of the fictional game within it. I also pulled heavy influence from Nick Nocturne of Night Mind, the A+ channel for dark media decoding and analysis, largely by observing (as ever) his steps for what makes effective immersive media and ARGs and integrating them into the video-watching part of my story. Which will make sense later.

And existing Slenderverse fans will notice that the two central boys are named Jeff and Evan. Yes, that's a deliberate EverymanHYBRID reference. I'm shameless.

There are tons more stories for all tastes in Nine Lives, which you can keep track of via its Twitter feed. Proceeds will go toward the Multiple Sclerosis Society and the Stroke Association. I'll announce when it's available -- and if you sponsor me on Patreon, you'll get to read a snippet before anyone else!

"Solada and the Deep Dark" -- Art Imitates Life

Usually, I can look back and remember what inspired certain short stories of mine. Sometimes it's a call for stories on a particular theme. Sometimes it's a moment in my life, or a line I hear someone say, that explodes into a story in my head.

But honestly? I can't remember what made me dream up Solada, her goat, and her unusual circumstances.

"Solada and the Deep Dark" was an odd little story I typed out for a story call ages ago, and shopped around around for ages without finding a home for her. While at the start I recall that there was something about this story that was styled to fit one an anthology call or another, it eventually became its own story.

Solada lives in a world unlike ours -- and for some reason, she's alone in it. She can't remember why, or where everyone else went. She only remembers nightmares of people begging her for help. And when she awakens on one particular night, a blight known as the Deep Dark is eating her home alive. No one knows what it is or what causes it... only that it pulls the life out of whatever it touches.

The other thing she knows is that there is a wise woman a long journey's hence who can answer any question and solve any problem. And when Solada makes it to her destination, she does indeed get her answers -- but they're not remotely what she was expecting.

I was pleased (and surprised) beyond belief when Atlas and Alice wrote back and said they wanted it for a future issue. I'd started to think that maybe Solada's story was a bit too crazy for anyone to publish, but for this particular publication, it's a perfect fit. I can't wait to see what other people think of her.

Check out their latest issue to read the full story. I'd tell you more, but I feel like it's best going in with no more than basic information. I've no idea how well the twist in the tale will resonate for you... but maybe let me know?

And thanks to Atlas and Alice, of course, for picking me up! You can read the story now on their site.

One Knight in Paradise: The Tale of Sir Hedwyn

I'm not being disingenuous when I say Philip Purser-Hallard is absolutely amazing. He's overseeing the Black Archive series, he created the City of the Saved spinoff series, and his knowledge of areas of literature I'm into far outstrips my own. So when he says something I've done is good, I will take that compliment.

This all started because I had a Black Archive pitch. (More on that when the time comes.) He responded positively and then added, 'Since I have you here...' He was putting together an anthology in the City of the Saved series, focusing on the era in its history known as the Civil War. And after reading my Iris Wildthyme story, he apparently thought I'd be a good fit.

The first pitch I sent -- not a good fit. But he gave me a second go, and both of us were much more pleased with the result. And that's how the Laughing Knight first appeared in my life.

A bit of information on the City, if you're unfamiliar with it:

The City of the Saved is the universe after our own, a galaxy-sized domed civilization where every human, proto-human, and partial human who ever lived (and several who didn't) live eternally in an ever-renewing Renaissance. Sadly, it doesn't go on forever, as a few centuries later things occur that lead the people of the City to become quite killable. A civil war breaks out... and this is the setting in which the newest anthology takes place.

City of the Saved: Tales of the Civil War explores stories arising from that conflict. But not all of the stories are necessarily stories about war itself. Mine, for example, is an Arthurian legend. Erm. Sort of.

The Tale of Sir Hedwyn: Or, the Laughing Knight is inspired by traditional Arthurian romances, especially those of Gawain and Yvain, and the medieval mindset in general. One of the most fascinating things to me about the medievals is their readiness to resolve information that would seem to anyone else to be at odds. And that's a major theme of the story.

Sir Hedwyn is, I hope, someone we all can like: a knight enamored of chivalry, but with no interest in killing. The latter of those leads to his untimely death, and he finds himself in the City of the Saved. It seems for all the world to be Heaven, but what happens when a world of adventure free from death turns violent?

I also toyed with the format a bit in Sir Hedwyn. It's all in prose, but I occasionally slip into meter reminiscent of the Alliterative Revival -- in which Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and other stories were written. There was a blink of a moment when I considered writing the whole thing in actual alliterative verse, but I stayed my hand. It probably would have driven me completely up the wall.

At any rate, that's Sir Hedwyn. He opens out Tales of the Civil War, which features works by six other authors, including a story by Purser-Hallard himself. I do hope you'll give it a look... and not be too grossed out by the second half.

City of the Saved: Tales of the Civil War is now available to preorder from Obverse Books.