A while ago, I posted about my plants, and the big monster tree someone gave me. It needed a new pot way back then, but I kept putting off repotting it because it would be difficult. Well, it took two days, and was the job from hell, but I got it done. Also shoved all the plants around to make sure everyone gets more light. Next project is another big grow light.
PROMO: Between the Sacred StarsPromo
Chad Grayson has a new space opera romance out, Broken Stars book 4: Between the Sacred Stars. And there’s a giveaway.
Journalist Will Corwin and Doctor Amelia Warren have been apart for a month, while Will finishes building the school in honor of Father Morgan, the priest killed by hybrid alien terrorist Nod Corvus. But things get complicated when Amelia’s ex-boyfriend shows up out of the blue with an offer…he knows where Amelia’s father is—the man they need to find so that Will and Amelia can adopt Amelia’s younger brother, Jonah– but what does he want in exchange for the information? What will they be willing to give him?
Thus begins a star-spanning chapter for Will and Amelia. First, they must find Thomas Warren, and serve him notice about the adoption. But what will he require in exchange for his consent? And when they return to Amara, and to the village of Burden, a threat from the past reaches out to try and destroy Will once more and jeopardizes the entire building project. There’s also the wedding of Will’s sister Natalie, and her longtime girlfriend, Jada. It’s the event of the year and will be Amelia and Jonah’s introduction to the life that awaits them as members of House Sinclair. But dark forces conspire to threaten the wedding, and the lives of all who attend.
Can Will navigate the demands of his family, and find a comfortable place for himself within it? Will Amelia be welcomed into the society of the Twelve Houses? Can their love survive the challenges that threaten to tear them apart? When the worst happens, who will be left standing?
Between the Sacred Stars is the book that changes everything. Life for Will and Amelia will never be the same.
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One person will win all three of the previous titles in the “Broken Stars” series in paperback.
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Will brought his cameras back from where they had been swooping over the chanting crowd and focused them on the line of police. If this was going to get out of hand, it would probably start with them. They were coming back down the steps now, approaching the crowd. At first, they seemed content to watch and wait. But even Will had to admit the crowd was getting to be too much to handle. Hundreds of people were approaching the CMPD, some shouting at them.
They tensed, forming their line, holding it. The crowd vented itself, then people started walking away. Elsewhere in the plaza, Will could hear shouting. Fights were breaking out, but Will had no sense of what the cause was or how many were involved. Probably just drunk people with no focused outlet, taking out their malfunctions on the passersby.
Will returned his attention to the police. They were standing, looking ready to pounce at the first sign of a threat. Someone, threw a bottle. It shattered against one of the police shields. The cops looked at each other, and apparently, this had been all the signal they needed. They pressed forward, into the crowd, pushing with their shields, batons out, smashing the heads of the people closest to them. Some in the crowd started to scream and run the other way, others surged forward. But the cops were angry now, and they were giving no quarter. Will filmed as they fought the crowd, spilling blood, knocking people to the ground and roughly stepping over them.
One of them suddenly saw Will standing there. Hal took a defensive position in front of him, but Will pushed him back. “Whatever you do,” Will said, “don’t draw your weapon. They will shoot both of us.”
Hal took his advice as the nearest police officer leaned into Will, pointing at his cameras.
“You filming this?” he snarled.
As calmly as he could, Will said, “I’m Will Corwin, with INA, and yes, I am filming this.”
“Turn your cameras off!” The police officer shouted into his face.
“Sorry, I don’t think I will,” Will said. Hal was getting in front of him now, sensing something was about to happen. The cop surged forward, around Hal, and grabbed Will by the arm, yanking him forward. Will dropped the compad in his hand, and the officer grabbed it, throwing it as hard as he could at the stone of the plaza, then finishing the work by bashing it into pieces with his baton.
Will didn’t tell him the footage had already been backed up on INA’s servers. But the cop wasn’t done. He threw Will to the ground, and a couple of his fellows joined him, kicking at Will, their batons raining blows down around his head and shoulders.
Hal threw himself on top of Will now, his arms up, taking the blows for him. But the officers did not let up; they kept hitting Hal and Will. As Hal brought his right arm up to block the blows, Will heard a sickening crack. Hal cried out and dropped his arm. The cops surrounded them now, four of them. They hauled Will to his feet, grabbed hold of Hal, and marched both of them out of the plaza. The pain in his head was so intense that Will thought he might lose consciousness. He tried to keep track of Hal, but his vision was blurry with pain and blood.
The demonstration had devolved into a full-on riot. Will stumbled as the cops led him and Hal away, tossing them in the back of a police wagon, along with several others. Hal’s face was white with pain, his breath coming in ragged pants.
“How badly are you hurt?” Will asked as the wagon filled with prisoners, pushing Will and Hal farther into the back.
“Not sure, but I’ve been better, got to admit,” Hal said, through gritted teeth.
As the wagon filled up, the doors closed behind them, submerging them in darkness. Will leaned close to Hal to whisper, “Sorry I got you into this.”
“You were doing your job,” Hal said. “I’m doing mine.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re being arrested. You have your compad?”
“So, we’ll have to hope they give us a phone call, so I can call Hana and get our lawyers on this.”
The police wagon was moving now, launching itself over the curbs to instead travel on the wide sidewalks. Will settled back in his seat, trying to concentrate on something besides the pain in his head and the sound of Hal’s ragged breathing in his ear.
Chad Grayson has worked as a phone service rep for various tech companies, a gas station attendant, a middle school language arts and history teacher, and even spent one night cutting the mold off the cheese at the cheese factory.
He currently works part time at the local library, and spends the rest of his time writing, reading, hiking, gaming, painting miniatures, and binge-watching Netflix. His superpowers are procrastination and dyscalculia.
He lives near his children in Cottonwood, California, with an assortment of pets including a very bossy cat. He is an associate member of SFWA. You can find him online at chadgrayson.com, on twitter as @chadgrayson, and on tumblr as @therandomavenger.
Author Website: https://www.chadgrayson.com
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PROMO: Measuring UpPromo
Dani Hermit & Curtis Star have a new MM contemporary romance out: Measuring Up.
Monarch Springs is full of hot guys… So why is Aiden determined to be in love with the only one that he can’t stand?
Up-and-coming interior designer Aiden Hart came to Monarch Springs for an intriguing job and an escape from his old life. Redecorating the tourist trap that is the Monarch Mansion in a small town in Pennsylvania sounded like the exact opposite of his trainwreck of a life in Miami. Not to mention a way to jumpstart his DIY celebrity career.
Aiden didn’t want to think that his new start was cursed. But being assigned to work with the disgraced former TV carpenter Brett Jeffries at the last minute and breaking down by the side of the road not two minutes later made being cursed sound reasonable.
Things started looking up when a hot mystery man in a beat up truck stopped to rescue him. This flannel-wearing angel was not the kind of hot that happened in Miami. This was salt-of-the-earth, lumberjack, bearded, knows how to change a tire, H-O-T hotness.
Of course, his hot savior turned out to be none other than Brett Jefferies.
And that was only the start of Aiden’s problems. From a traitorous cat to exes showing up at the worst possible times, he still has to somehow get this remodel done before Christmas.
However, falling in love with the job, the town, and, worst of all, Brett, was not on Aiden’s Christmas list.
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Monarch Springs – Here Is Where You’ll Find It!
Aiden Hart lifted his sunglasses up so he could read the roadside sign as he drove by it. His cat, Chartreuse – Char for short – barely acknowledged his derogatory snort with a lift of her head and a yawn from the carrier in the front seat.
“Yeah, I doubt we’ll find it here either, but hopefully it will be a nice change of pace,” Aiden told the absolutely disinterested cat. “If I have to do another retired couple’s front room just like in the catalog, I’m going to scream. But Monarch Springs is supposed to be gorgeous in the fall and we are going to get to create the entire Monarch Mansion’s Christmas look for the year. That’s something, right?”
Monarch Springs was also about as far away as you get from the designer-clogged heat of Miami. And for Aiden, that was just fine. He had no intention of moving permanently to some tourist trap in the hills of Pennsylvania that boasted a magic hot spring as its main claim to fame.
But when the call had come with the offer to basically re-imagine all of the public spaces of a historic mansion in time for its annual holiday parties and cookie walks, Aiden couldn’t possibly say no. Even if he could have, when he was asked to document it for a weekly web series for a pretty big deal travel-and-leisure network, nothing would have kept him from packing his things and relocating for the rest of the year to the quaint resort town.
Driving away from Miami also meant driving away from all those memories of his failed relationship with the man Aiden had thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. So that was a bonus. An excuse for a new start. He’d deal with what next year would bring next year. Hopefully, enough fame to pitch his own design series.
“Find me a good diner.” Aiden pulled the sunglasses from his dark wavy hair, deciding it was getting too dark for them anyway. He waited for the ancient GPS to respond as he spoke to Char. “A place like this should have one of those right? Like the best pie in the world or home of the biggest steak sandwich in Pennsylvania.”
Char made a noise somewhere between a growl and a purr.
Aiden chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right, Char. They better have so much bacon you can smell it three streets away.”
The GPS just started giving directions when the car made a bit of a hop followed by the telltale clump-clump-clump of a flat tire.
“Are you kidding me?” Aiden sighed as he pulled off to the side of the highway. He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel and let himself whine for a full sixty seconds. “This is no way to start a new adventure. Who do I even call? Don’t even start, Char. I know I should have renewed my auto club membership.”
Aiden opened the door and drew out his long legs from where they had been cramped for way too many hours of driving. He walked around the flat with a grimace as he went to get Char’s carrier out.
“We’re going to be here a while. Don’t go too far.”
He set the big white cat’s carrier down on the grass and opened the door. Char had been a feral beast when she’d first decided to move in with Aiden and his then-boyfriend. She’d become massively attached to Aiden and rarely went far from him, so he wasn’t worried about anything but maybe needing to give her a bath after she romped in the mud by the side of the road for a little bit.
“Well, how hard can this be?” Aiden asked himself as he opened the trunk and pulled out his suitcases, transferring them to the back seat to avoid the mud. It took what felt like forever to get to the compartment that held a spare.
Having never checked before, the interior designer was surprised to discover he had a nice replacement tire but no car jack. Or at least, nothing that looked like it was a car jack. He was just now realizing that he had no idea what a car jack even looked like. Not that he’d know how to use it if he did. He wondered if he should use his phone to Google how to change a tire, but that sounded positively exhausting.
He shut the trunk and leaned against it. “I can see it now. Barely famous decorator murdered outside of Monarch Falls or Springs or whatever. That’s if they find any part of me that wasn’t eaten by bears or whatever blood-thirsty cryptids live around here. Why didn’t I notice how creepy these woods are? Why didn’t I rent a car with a better extras package? Then I could be calling them to come to fix it.”
Aiden watched a pair of headlights coming towards him and made a hasty decision to wave at the driver with a hopeful smile while whispering, “Please don’t be an ax murderer. Please don’t be an ax murderer.”
The dusty pick-up truck slowed down but passed him by. Though it only went a short way before the brake lights came on. The driver seemed to have changed their mind. The truck backed up and pulled onto the side of the road behind Aiden, highlighting the back of his car with its headlights. A few long moments later, the driver hopped out. He didn’t say anything as he looked at Aiden, then at the flat tire. He turned around and went to the bed of the truck, rummaging for what Aiden hoped was a jack and not an ax.
Dani Hermit & Curtis Star are a married pair of writers who have been perfecting their craft even longer than they have been perfecting their marriage – over 20 years for both! It was a mutual love of slash fic and writing deep, angsty stories that lead to their love for each other.
It has been a rocky road full of pitfalls and potholes that has lead to the current format of writing boy’s love serials that are becoming the bedrock of the Hermit & Star brand.
Author Website: https://hermitstarbooks.com/
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M.D. Grimm has a new MM sci-fi romance out, Saga of the Bold People book 3: Resistance.
Can a retired assassin be the savior his people need?
How does a former assassin save his fellow humans from extinction? By allying them with mrrogs of course!
But that’s easier said than done as humans are understandably distrustful and suspicious of sescurei, the official species of the InterGalactic community. Leopold must convince them that Mastrodai’s offer of alliance isn’t a trick, which means diplomacy, patience, and tenacity. Times like this make him grateful that he has two strong mates to lean on. And when it comes to understanding his own people, he’d be wise to follow Alex’s lead.
Alex has been too long away from her family and is thrilled to see them again. But with reunions come old pressures, old doubts, and old wounds. She must negotiate who she was with who she is, while helping her mates and her colony come together with the shared goal of freedom.
Mastrodai, meanwhile, finds himself in the minority for the first time in his life, and the constant hostility has him doubting the wisdom of their choices. But he’s devoted to his human mates and determined to see things through no matter the discomfort… or danger.
Not everyone wants what Leopold and his mates have to give, and he needs to break through the resistance humans have built up after generations of degradation, humiliation, and fear. He must win his people’s trust, solve the riddle of his parents’ rings, and navigate the new complexities of his love life.
Being an assassin was so much easier.
Leopold is a human in an alien-dominated InterGalactic Community. He gained a reputation as the assassin Voidstriker, until his identity was revealed. He soon finds himself reassessing his life, his mission, and his own identity.
Having spent his entire life driven by hate and fear, he soon finds himself motivated by hope and love. He decides on a new mission in life: freeing the human species. It will be a long, hard road, and one he can’t walk alone. Even as his allies grow in number, he will most depend on his mates–Mastrodai, the mrrog prince, and Alexandra, a fellow human, his best friend, and their lover.
Along with Sasha, a young girl with extraordinary abilities. Leopold is no stranger to challenges but this might be his greatest trial yet.
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After I docked and killed the engines, the hangar doors closed and the airlock door slid open. In the doorway stood a panting young man, who resembled Alex enough I surmised that was Darius. He had the same pale skin, the same fair hair, and the shape of face was reminiscent of Alex, but his eyes were a dark brown. He stared at the DV as if afraid it would vanish.
I’d kept the opaque shield over the viewing glass to keep Mastrodai hidden for as long as
possible. I suspected there were cameras here, and I needed the reveal to be on my terms.
Alex let out a strangled breath before jumping to her feet and running. She didn’t wait for the DV’s doors to lower completely. She jumped off the ramp much to my and Mastrodai’s panic. We hurried after her but I pressed a hand to Mastrodai’s chest to hold him back. I peeked around the corner and even my stone heart softened a bit. They collided in a flurry of tears and laughter, and he swung her off her feet. They peppered kisses over each other’s faces before he set her back down. But they didn’t let go. Instead they talked over each other, and despite knowing Terran, I couldn’t understand a damn thing.
“Stay inside a bit longer.”
Glowering, he crouched in the shadows of the DV, and I patted his head before trailing after Alex.
Darius was a strapping young man in his black, armored uniform. Two aeunni were holstered at his hips, much like how I wore mine. Both shoulders had a triangle patch. I couldn’t make out the details but they were yellow. He looked like he needed a good sleep but other than that, he appeared well-fed and alert.
Though his eyes were now red from crying.
I stood near them for a moment before Darius noticed me. It amused me when he held his sister tighter, his eyes narrowing. I recognized instant defender mode and couldn’t fault him for it. I was a stranger and that was his beloved, long-lost sister. A sister who’d helped raise him.
I kept my expression neutral and my hands in sight. I nodded to him.
“Hello. Good to meet you.”
“Alex?” he asked, that one word dripping with suspicion.
Alex took a breath and stepped back, breaking his grip. She took my hand and laced our fingers.
“Darius, this is Leopold. He’s my partner, so stop glaring at him.”
Darius’s eyes widened as he flicked his gaze between us. “He… you… what? What happened?”
“I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But we need you to meet our other companion, and you need to help us get an audience with the entire leadership.”
“Why? Dammit, Alex, you have to tell me something. You show up here after cycles of us believing that you were dead or worse, and now you have a partner who looks like he could kill me with his little finger, and you’re acting all mysterious.”
I swallowed a laugh. He wasn’t wrong.
“I will.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed hard enough that he grimaced. “But this is important. Veryimportant, to all of us. Just stay calm while we introduce you to our other partner.”
“‘Other partner’?” Darius scratched his head, looking dazed. “I am so confused.”
Alex bit her lower lip.
I called over my shoulder. “Now’s a good a time as any, Mastrodai.”
I made sure to pronounce his name correctly, not the way I normally did, with all the required growls.
Mastrodai’s heavy steps down the ramp had Darius bracing. I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and let go of Alex’s hand while taking a subtle step in front of her. Mastrodai wore the armored suit I’d made him almost a Mragin year ago, just as I wore my armtina breastplate, but his head wasn’t protected. It was a gamble that I hoped would pay off. A helmet would other him more than he already would be among a ship full of humans. Mastrodai stepped into view, standing tall and proud, but weaponless and showing his hands.
Darius yelped and went for his aeunn.
At the same time, alarms sounded, proving that someone must have been watching the cameras. Mastrodai glared at the flashing lights, his ears flat against his head in deference to the noise.
I leapt and tackled Darius, disarming him and tossing away his second aeunn. He struggled and fought, screaming. He had strength and passion but I had training and years of practice. I managed to roll him onto his stomach and with a knee to his back, I yanked up his arm behind him, pinning him.
“Don’t hurt him! Oh Void, Leopold!”
“Show him, Alex! Show him that Mastrodai isn’t a threat.”
With a sob, Alex ran to Mastrodai and hugged him. He held her tightly, purring, eyes and ears alert for any other aggression. Alex looked back at Darius, pleading with her eyes.
Darius stilled, frozen in shock.
M.D. Grimm has wanted to write stories since second grade (kind of young to make life decisions, but whatever) and nothing has changed since then (well, plenty of things actually, but not that!). Thankfully, she has indulgent parents who let her dream, but also made sure she understood she’d need a steady job to pay the bills (they never let her forget it!).
After graduating from the University of Oregon and majoring in English, (let’s be honest: useless degree, what else was she going to do with it?) she started on her writing career and couldn’t be happier.
Working by day and writing by night (or any spare time she can carve out), she enjoys embarking on romantic quests and daring adventures (living vicariously, you could say) and creating characters that always triumph against the villain, (or else what’s the point?) finding their soul mate in the process.
Author Website: https://www.mdgrimmwrites.com
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Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/m-d-grimm/
Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/m-d-grimm/
Author Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/M.D.-Grimm/e/B00I0KZMY6/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
PROMO: Cover Reveal! Rembrandt’s StationPromo
Christie Meierz has a new MM sci-fi romance coming out in January, Rembrandt’s Station. And we have the cover reveal!
Stationmaster and exiled aristocrat Albert St. John Rembrandt—Bertie to his friends—is in love with a man he’s always believed he can’t have, and finding out the hard way that some Tolari are as poisonous as their planet is only the beginning of his troubles.
A ship has gone missing. His station is in crisis. Bertie must somehow recover his health and manage the disaster while trying to decide whether to accept genetic modification in order to be with the man he loves.
And no Rembrandt has ever taken a gen mod.
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Christie is giving away a $25 Amazon gift card with this reveal:
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Bertie was dying.
The Monral bent over him. “My love, I beg you—”
“Must… must stay human… the Duke…”
The Monral slammed his other hand onto the treatment bed and looked up at the apothecary, knowing his face betrayed the pain of his next words. “You cannot give it to him unwilling.”
She nodded, her own face betraying nothing. Grimly, he poured more of his own strength through his fingers into Bertie, who rallied a little, bringing the pain roaring back. Pain itself could kill a human. The path to keeping Bertie alive lay along a cliff’s edge. Any mistake would plunge him into the dark.
The apothecary pointed her chin at his hand. “We will do all we can for him, but high one, you must pace yourself.”
He shook his head and turned back to Bertie, willing him to remain in the light. Stay alive. Stay alive! Stubborn human! Why? Why did he risk losing his own life to remain unmodified, to hold himself apart from a belonging he clearly desired?
Poisoned, sickened, in extreme pain—Bertie could not be thinking clearly. Did that give the apothecaries an excuse to disregard his oft-stated opinion about the blessing?
Or—he could make Bertie want the blessing.
The Monral lowered his head. No. That, Bertie would never forgive. When he realized he had been manipulated—and he would—he would hate them all.
At least he would be alive to hate them.
The Monral wiped at stinging eyes. He could not betray Bertie now, though the consequences were unthinkable. He touched his forehead to Bertie’s cheek, let his senses wrap around his lover’s presence. Pain. Everywhere, pain. It crescendoed. Bertie cried out, and the Monral drew a harsh, gasping breath. It was too much, and he broke the contact to straighten. A chair touched the back of his legs; he dropped heavily onto it. Bertie had to live. He had to. If he would not take the blessing, then the Monral would do what he could do, even give every last bit of his own strength to save him. He could live with prolonged exhaustion. He was unsure if he could live without Bertie. Not anymore.
Bertie writhed. “I don’t want to die alone,” he rasped. “I don’t—” The last word broke off into another scream.
The Monral’s vision glazed. “You are not alone, my love,” he said, when the scream subsided into choking sobs. “And you will not die. Not while I am here.”
Bertie sighed, and his emotional landscape fell into a disorganized chaos of shallow unconsciousness. His body spasmed and twitched. Around him, the apothecaries, nurses, and aides moved rapidly about their varied tasks, but even unconscious, the pain hardly dulled, radiating from Bertie like heat from a fire. The Monral sagged in the chair, exhaustion fogging his thoughts. He had poured almost everything he had into Bertie. It was still not enough.
“You will not die while I am here,” he repeated, and ignored caution to pull what he still could through his ruling bond, pushing that through his fingers.
He tried to find more. There was nothing left. He would have to wait for the energy available to him through his ruling bond to replenish itself, but he was out of time. Bertie was out of time. Already his glow began to dim again. Tears welled up and spilled down the Monral’s cheeks. He was going to lose him. He was going to lose Bertie.
No. He gathered his remaining strength. If giving it left him unfit to rule, so be it, so long as it kept Bertie alive. If it was not enough—
He took a breath, facing the reality before him. If it was not enough, then Albert St. John Rembrandt, the Duke of New Norfolk’s unwanted youngest son, would walk into the dark surrounded by the love of Monralar.
“I am yours, my love,” the Monral whispered. “I will always be yours.”
He took a deep breath, gathering himself.
A feeling of being watched stole over him, and with it, a sense of Parania’s beloved. He paused. Laura was awake and listening, then. Or she was traveling about while her body slept. Why was she here?
Was it simply to offer comfort when Bertie—if Bertie—when—his thoughts stuttered to a halt. More tears spilled.
Then something touched the very core of his heart and soul, refreshing and replenishing, and suddenly he was alert. Energy poured in from his ruling bond as if he had yet given nothing at all. Startled hope flooded him. He drew another deep breath and directed the energy into Bertie. The dimming stopped.
From across the stronghold, he felt the smile on Laura’s face.
* * *
As dawn approached, the mood in the apothecaries’ quarters lightened with the sky. Even to the Monral’s untrained eye, as bad as Bertie looked, his color was better, pale as a summer cloud but no longer grey. Much of the pain had subsided, to the relief of everyone in the room, and though his breathing was shallow, it had settled into an even pattern. The Monral caught the head apothecary’s eye and lifted an eyebrow. She nodded.
“He is out of immediate danger,” she said. “We will do all we can to repair the damage to his body, high one, but it is extensive, and he will require many tens of days to fully recover. He could not have survived without the strength you lent him.”
Its work done, his connection to the beloved of Parania guttered like a candle flame and went out, leaving his chest aching but his body thrumming with energy. Mother of All, he thought. What power Laura had. And how much longer could her Paran hide the fact of it from those who would use or destroy her?
The Monral turned back to Bertie, whose eyes had slitted open. The whites were entirely stained red with blood. “Good morning,” he told him gently, in English.
Bertie managed a faint smile and said, in a hoarse whisper, “You sure know how to show a man a good time.”
Award-winning author Christie Meierz writes space opera and science fiction romance set on a world of empaths at the edge of a dystopic human empire. Her published works include her PRISM award-winning debut novel, The Marann, three more novels set in Tolari space, and several short stories.
She is a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association (SFWA), spent 10 years raising sheep in Broome County, New York, and has been declared capable of learning Yup’ik.
Christie now lives in Rochester, NY, where she and her mathematician husband serve as full-time staff to two parlor panthers known to humans as Banichi the Assassin and Miss Myrtle the Hurricane Cat. (Their true names remain a mystery). When she’s not writing, she writes about writing on her blog, her personal Facebook page, where she welcomes comments and friend requests, and her Facebook Author Page.
Author Website: http://christiemeierz.com
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Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Christie-Meierz/e/B009N3UB22/
PROMO: His Fake BoyfriendPromo
Hurri Cosmo has a new contemporary MM romance out: His Fake Boyfriend. And there’s a giveaway.
Noah is Griffin Colewater’s best friend and absolutely no one knows him better. Certainly not any of the parade of girlfriends he’s had over the years. Even his most recent, Lauren, whom he has been with the longest.
And just broke up with.
Does it make Noah a terrible friend if he’s just a little bit thrilled about that?
It doesn’t really matter, though. Griffin is the oldest son of the owners of Colewater Properties, a multi-gazillion dollar hotel conglomerate. He is also next in line to take over when his father retires which makes Griffin the most sought-after bachelor in the city. So, another girl is right around the corner.
The issue? Griffin’s mother claims to be desperately tired of his playboy antics. She is demanding Griffin settle down with a wife and family “or else”. Being that Griffin has never actually been able to please his mother in anything, Noah doesn’t understand Griffin’s continued hopeless mission to make that happen now.
Which makes the huge charity bash his parents are throwing a bit problematic. His mother is insisting on meeting Lauren. Yep. Griffin has yet to tell her he’s single again. And he insists he’s not going to. Instead, Griffin does something insane. He hires a fake girlfriend. Yah. A fake Lauren. Well ― not fake. She’s a ‘Lauren’, too. But that’s not the point. Griffin asked Noah to provide the “girlfriend for months” knowledge to Lauren number two so she could pull this whole ‘girlfriend’ thing off.
Honestly. What can go wrong with that?
Um… a lot.
Because Griffin is not only Noah’s very best friend in all the world, Noah is also so crazy in love with the man, he hurts. A stupid stunt like this could reveal that very thing and freak Griffin’s parents out so badly, they’re going to hire a hit on Noah. But the bigger problem in Noah’s mind? Griffin is totally not gay and if he ever found out Noah’s true feelings?
It could ruin everything.
Warning: rough childhoods.
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The scream jarred Noah awake and nearly off the couch. With eyes wide and his heart in his throat, he darted his gaze around the large living room, expecting big foot or murderers or at the very least a hot guy running naked across the floor. But there was none of those things. Just Griffin’s latest, his longest actually, standing there trying to cover her nakedness with perfectly manicured fingers. Her hair was only a bit out of place. However, she had no doubt gone to bed with her makeup on.
“What’s wrong?” Noah croaked out, trying to calm his heart as Griffin came tearing―okay, stumbling―up the hallway behind her, yanking on a robe.
“Lauren? What the fuck?” Griffin made it into the living room to stand beside Lauren. He, too, had perused the room with eyes that were barely open, squinting against the bright early sunshine already pouring in the windows. “Why are you screaming?”
She pointed a finger, having to bare a plump breast to do it, right at Noah. “There’s a man in our house.”
Griffin glanced at Noah and grinned. “Where?”
“Funny,” Noah deadpanned as he flopped back into his pillow, blood still pumping loudly in his ears. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Fuck,” Griffin grouched. “Six. Lauren, what the fuck are you screeching at six in the morning for?”
“I’m not screeching!”
Oh, she so totally was, and it grated on every nerve in Noah’s body.
“There’s a stranger sleeping on the couch in my living room!” she insisted.
Wait. Her living room?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Griffin yawned. “That’s Noah. You know Noah.”
Which was true. It would be hard not to know him if anyone met Griffin even a little. They were pretty much inseparable.
“How did he get in here, and what is he doing in our condo at six in the morning?”
“He has his own… wait…” There was movement and suddenly Griffin was hunched down near Noah’s head. “Hey buddy, she has a point. What are you doing here? What happened?”
“I was kicked out,” Noah moaned sleepily.
“What? That asshole!”
“Who’s an asshole?” came that shrieking voice again. Evidently, she felt it safer to shout from a distance.
“Can you tell her to tone it down a bit?” Noah whimpered.
“I can tell her. She won’t listen.”
“Quit talking about me like I’m not here!”
“Pretty tough to forget that,” Griffin murmured.
She squealed again but seemed to storm off because it was blessedly quiet again. Noah really did need to learn to like her better. Or at all. The problem was, she hated Noah.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Noah said.
“Believe me, I already am. Tell me what happened.” Griffin picked Noah’s head up, scooted himself under it so he was sitting on the couch and laid Noah’s head in his lap.
“You need to go do this with Lauren.”
“Do what? Besides, I want to find out what happened.”
Damn. Noah should never have come here. He wished now he had barged in on Genny and Marcus instead. Of course, he didn’t have an open invitation there like he did here. Still… “Sorry for… well, ruining your morning with Lauren.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Quit stalling. Was it that asshole, Sabastian?”
“Who else? He…”
“He’s a jerk. They’re both jerks. They threw me out last night.” Literally. But he didn’t say that out loud. He was still pretty freaked out about it.
“Fuck, Noah, you’re the one on the lease. Not that asshole you let move in with you. Why do you…? Wait. You’re shaking. What else happened?”
“I’m… just cold.” Lie.
“Hmmm. Well, never mind. I’ll deal with it.”
Oh shit. “How?”
“I don’t want you to worry about it.” He patted Noah’s head and smoothed his most likely wild hair. “What time did you get here?”
“About two.” He had somehow misplaced his wallet. Most likely it was laying on his living room floor having fallen out during the scuffle. Having no money or bus card meant he had to walk instead of being able to take a taxi or even mass transit. Thankfully the doorman knew Noah, and Griffin had left explicit instructions with the building’s staff that if Noah ever needed anything, including a spare key card to Griffin’s condo, he would be given it.
“Really? Wow. Go back to sleep.” He continued to stroke Noah’s hair. “Even I got more sleep than that.”
Noah opened his eyes and turned his head to stare up at Griffin. “Are you serious? Two o’clock, Griffin. You guys were going at it like… like…” His anxiety tamped up a bit. “Well, whatever. I shouldn’t have come.” Especially since it always depressed him to be reminded Lauren was front and center. And other things.
“Of course, you should be here, you know that. Why didn’t you just sleep in the guest bedroom?”
Noah rolled his eyes and turned back away. “You mean the one next to your room? You know why.”
Griffin harumphed. “Really? What? We were noisy?”
“You were deafening. Earsplitting. God. I hate the sound of hetero sex.”
I am Hurri Cosmo and I live in Minnesota where I hold tight to the idea that here, where it’s cold a good part of the year, I won’t age as fast. Yep, I avoid the truth as much as I avoid mirrors. But one of the reasons I love writing is reality doesn’t always offer up a “happily ever after” and being able to take control of that is a powerful lure.
Being a happy ending junkie, writing just makes them easier to find. Oh, I don’t mind “real life” and I do try to at least keep it in mind when I write my stories, but I truly love creating a wonderful couple, knowing they will fall in love and have their HEA. Every – single – time. And, of course, that is exactly the reason I love reading this genre, too.
Give me a glass of red wine, some dark chocolate, and my computer, whether I am reading or writing, and I will entertain myself for hours. The fact I actually get paid to do it is Snickers bars on the frosting on the cake.
Author Website: https://www.hurricosmo.com
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Another NaNo Floppersonal, Writing
Oops! I decided at pretty much the last second to do NanoWriMo this year. No prep work, just an idea. And… got about halfway through before realizing once again I just didn’t have the time to complete the story. Oh well, not like I didn’t know I’m really busy in November. So I decided to give WorldEmber a try this year. That’s got a much smaller daily wordcount goal, so I’m pretty sure I’ll make it!
Come visit me at WorldAnvil sometime! It’s getting fairly well populated with stuff from my worlds. There are currently four publicly visible, and a whole lot of others that I swept under the carpet because they’re just plain too messy for public view. The whole place is a work in progress. Lots of room for improvement, not much time to improve in… story of my life.
PROMO: Questionable MindsUncategorized
Fraser Sherman has a new steampunk mystery book out: Questionable Minds.
In Victorian England, 1888, there are those who say Sir Simon Taggart is under the punishment of God.
In an England swirling with mentalist powers — levitation, mesmerism, mind-to-mind telegraphy — the baronet is unique, possessed of mental shields that render him immune to any mental assault. Even his friends think it’s a curse, cutting him off from the next step in human mental and spiritual evolution. To Simon, it’s a blessing.
Four years ago, the Guv’nor, mystery overlord of the London underworld, arranged the murder of Simon’s wife Agnes. Obsessed with finding who hired the Guv’nor, Simon works alongside Inspector Hudnall and Miss Grey in Scotland Yard’s Mentalist Investigation Department. Immunity to mental telegraphy, clairvoyance and mesmerism are an asset in his work — but they may not be enough to crack the latest case.
A mysterious killer has begun butchering Whitechapel streetwalkers. With every killing, the man newspapers call “the Ripper” grows in mental power and in the brutality of his attacks. Is murder all that’s on his mind or does he have an endgame? And what plans do the Guv’nor and his army of agents have for Simon and the Whitechapel killer?
Questionable Minds is set in a Victorian England struggling to preserve the social hierarchy while mentalism threatens to overturn it. The cast of characters includes Dr. Henry Jekyll (and yes, his friend Edward Hyde too), Jack the Ripper, and multiple other figures from history and fiction.
Warnings: Graphic violence. Victorian sexism and imperialism.
Simon Taggart’s plunge into the abyss happened in an instant.
Col. Moran, seated at the dining table on Simon’s left, had said something to the Duke of Falsworth about a fellow hunter Moran had known in India committing suicide. Falsworth snidely observed that given the man’s debts, hanging himself had been the only possible solution.
And suddenly Simon was standing in the drawing room again. Staring up at Agnes in her white nightgown, hanging from the ceiling with her tongue protruding, her face blackened. Rage consumed him at the memory, rage at the men who’d brought about his wife’s death. Pearson Bartlett, mesmerist. The Guvnor, who’d given Bartlett his orders. And behind them, the unknown man who’d paid to have Agnes slain.
It was the scent of mutton that snapped him back to the Montworths’ dining room, a scent rising from the porcelain serving platter levitating through the air before him. Steered by Amanda Montworth’s vril, the platter bore the roast saddle of mutton down the long dining-room table. Her grey eyes were fixed on the platter, of course, as levitators depended on sight to focus their vril. The eyes of her parents and eleven uneasy guests were also watchful as the dish approached the epergne, the massive candelabra at the table’s center. Simon knew he wasn’t the only guest imagining what a shower of spilled gravy would do to their formal black waistcoats, jackets and white gloves, or the women’s elegant dresses.
The platter clinked against the epergne and shuddered for a moment, but Amanda, brow furrowed, regained her mental grip. The platter ceased quivering, backed away and settled into the hands of one of the footmen, to be served a la russe, around the table. Amanda gasped slightly as she released control.
“There, isn’t that remarkable, Sir Simon?” Buxom Mrs. Montworth flashed a smile at Simon, the wealthiest of her guests. “I don’t know anyone with the strength of mind my Amanda has, do you? Well, not anyone who is anyone, shall we say?”
“Mother, please,” Amanda said. “This is embarrassing.”
“No, you did quite well.” Simon smiled politely, forbearing to point out that for all the money John Montworth’s ironworks brought in, in London society the Montworths were emphatically not anyone. Amanda performing a servant’s duties only confirmed that, as the poor girl undoubtedly knew. “A strong mind is—an asset to the Empire.”
“When the turtle soup comes out, Amanda,” Mrs. Montworth went on, “I think you should levitate—”
“Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Montworth,” Simon said quickly, remembering soup spurting from a shattered tureen at another dinner he’d attended. Besides, Amanda had been embarrassed enough. “A girl as lovely and delicate as Amanda, no matter how strong her vril, should be careful not to overexert herself.” As Mrs. Montworth simpered and nodded, Amanda, who looked as delicate as one of her father’s foundry workers, smiled her thanks at Simon.
“That’s enough entertainment for this evening,” John Montworth said in his north-country accent. “Carmody?” Carmody, the butler, gestured for the footmen to resume their duties; it was a faux pas for Montworth to address a servant during dinner, but the past few minutes had utterly nonplussed the staff.
Simon considered Amanda sensible and good-hearted. It wasn’t her fault her vril manifested as a crude, physical ability, nor that her mother was as blind to the social graces as some men to colors. Fortunately, with several months before the start of the Season, the guests had few people they could gossip with—and there’d be much better gossip by January, when the Montworths presented Amanda at court.
“‘Preciate your help, Sir Simon.” John Montworth said, clipping off the end of his cigar as a servant filled Simon’s glass. The women had left the room moments before, allowing the men a half-hour or so to indulge themselves. “Mrs. Montworth’s dreadful proud of our girl having vril, she is—I try to tell her to be more discreet but—”
“It’s been a new world these past eight years,” Simon said, savoring Montworth’s peerless port. “Too new to have all the polite niceties of psychic usage down pat.” A courteous lie; everyone knew physical manifestations of mentalist power were completely inappropriate in society.
“You mean like yourself assisting Scotland Yard?” Thin, pallid Ronald Carpenter, Duke of Falsworth, smirked and blew a plume of smoke. “A man of your impeccable pedigree, mingling with the lowest orders? Gilbert and Sullivan could make a wonderful comic opera out of it if you ask me.”
“I don’t believe I did.” Simon’s anger surged up again, but the smile beneath his thin mustache stayed coldly formal. “And there is nothing comical about the beasts who use vril to prey upon others.” Like Pearson Bartlett, who could mesmerize a woman to put a noose around her own neck. “I do my duty to England, nothing more.”
His Grace met Simon’s cold stare, then looked away with affected unconcern. Dukes far outranked baronets, but Falsworth’s title was new, and the man was still insecure. A Taggart was never insecure.
“Men like your Inspector Hudnall have my highest respect,” Moran said to Simon. As usual the colonel had stuck with whiskey instead of port. “In the jungle or the London streets, it takes a sharp man to hunt predators successfully. And who’s better suited than you, Sir Simon, to the sport of hunting mentalists?”
“Hardly sport.” Simon replied. “Unlike you, colonel, I consider hunting man-eaters a public service, not an adventure.”
“But men like that are evolutionary dead ends,” Montworth said. “Thanks to Lady Helena, all mankind—almost all—will ultimately be elevated to a higher plane.” His glance had lit upon Simon at the “almost.” “The murderers, the butchers, the Varneys of the present day will become fairytales, like ogres or Bluebeard, in the world that is to come.”
It was a typical Theosophist sentiment, but Simon found he was in no mood to argue with it.
By the time Fraser Sherman graduated college he’d lost interest in his degree field. He tried writing and discovered he liked it. Since then he’s spent ten years as a journalist, sold two dozen short stories and five film reference books. His most recent book was the self-published Undead Sexist Cliches, about the stupidity of misogynist beliefs.
Although born in England, Fraser spent most of his life in Northwest Florida. He’d be there still if he hadn’t met his dream woman and moved to Durham NC to be with her. They’ve been married 11 years and are the proud parents of two small dogs and two half-domesticated cats.
Author Website: https://www.frasersherman.com
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PROMO: Third FrontUncategorized
E.M. Hamill has a new queer space opera out (non-binary, gender fluid, pansexual, gay), The Dalí Tamareia Missions book 3: Third Front. And there’s a giveaway.
Dalí Tamareia has the terrorist Skadi in their sights – but bringing her in may cost them everything.
Dalí’s role as an undercover operative is compromised, putting a target on their back and threatening the close-knit team aboard Thunder Child. A new lead on Miriam Skadi’s activities forces them back to Luna, where they must confront everything they tried to run from…including their changed relationship with Rion Sumner, who insists on backing up Dalí for this investigation.
But Dalí is not the only one searching for Skadi. An alien presence hunts the terrorist as well, taking over Sumner’s body to ensure Dalí’s cooperation. With their team on the other side of the solar system Dalí must depend on this questionable ally to complete the mission, which takes a deadly turn when an old nemesis resurfaces.
If there is any chance for a future with Sumner and their chosen family, Dalí must exorcise the demons haunting them, or they will burn in the heart of a star.
Warnings: graphic violence, grief, sexually explicit scenes
About the Series: A diplomat turned galactic operative risks everything to bring in the terrorist who shattered their life.
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The flint-blue curve of Earth filled the transparent alloy of the windshield. Even gravely wounded, humanity’s ancestral home was breathtaking. Phantoms of arid golden continents haunted breaks in the heavy cloud-cover; oceans glinted like winks of mercury in Sol’s light. The atmosphere was beginning to clear, but it would take the surface longer to purge the toxic aftermath of war and pollution from soil and sea
How in the seven hells did we manage to fuck up a whole planet?
“Prepare for drop,” Sumner murmured into his headset. I braced myself.
“In five. Four. Three. Two … ”
The magnet released us. Sumner fired top thrusters to quickly maneuver the ship away from the hull and we floated free. “We’re clear.”
“See you soon,” Ozzie said. Thunder Child left us in her wake, heading off to complete the surveillance mission. Sumner throttled the little craft into motion and carved an arc in space, putting the planet behind us.
And there it was.
The moon’s disc swelled before us, painted in silver and ash. In the nightfall of Earth’s passing shadow, the lunar plains of Mare Nubium sparkled with lights, and at the southern horn of the penumbra’s crescent, where light and darkness embraced, lay the place I once called home.
“Have you ever been to Luna?” My uneven voice betrayed the winding tension inside me.
“No.” Sumner glanced at me, but I kept my gaze on the moon, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve only been to the major space stations before Mars. Where did you live?”
“Kepler. You can just make out a hexagon of complexes north of the crater.”
“I see it.”
“The apex dome, Galileo, is where the Capitol is. The University is under Kepler, at the middle left. That’s where … where we … ”
Memories lay bitter and sweet on my tongue, the ache in my throat a hot coal. Oh, coming back was such a bad idea.
“The—” I coughed to clear the suffocating thickness from my voice. “The old city is in the industrial complex at the bottom of Bullialdus Crater, that cluster of rectangular structures near the shuttle port.”
A sparkle of transparent alloy and steel caught my eye as we got closer. My palms grew damp.
Luna Terminal gleamed against the void of space. Intact, as if the explosion that shattered the Earthward docking arm and killed so many innocent people had never happened. As if my heart was still whole and strong, not the bruised piece of meat thudding too fast in my chest.
The restored line of windows where Gresh and ‘Sida once stood to bid me goodbye were blank and flawless. Empty.
The spring-coil of anxiety suddenly exploded into shards and hollowed out my insides. I forgot to breathe, my white-knuckled fingers clenching the edge of the jump seat.
Fuck Kiran Singh. No matter what Mother England wanted to tell me, I should never have agreed to come back.
My breath ran shallow in the heavy gravity of blind panic. I fumbled with the stiff buckle of the five-point harness.
“Dalí? You okay?” Sumner’s quiet voice cut through the noise in my head.
“I can’t … ” The clasp wouldn’t give, my sweat-slick fingers numb and buzzing. “God damn it! I need to get out of the cockpit.”
“Hey, hey.” He extended his right hand and gently laid it over mine where I scrabbled at the release. “We’re in Three. Where are you going to go?”
I gave up trying and gripped his hand, pressing it against my chest.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Breathe. A deep breath. Come on, you can do it.”
I drew in a shuddering gasp, filled my lungs with air, and just as unevenly let it out.
The second one was less painful. “I’m sorry,” I managed to wheeze. “I didn’t think it would hit me this hard.”
“You thought you were prepared. You weren’t. Not yet.”
His hand was warm, and I hugged it like an anchor against the free-fall of chaos. I didn’t let go until my breathing was closer to normal and I knew I wouldn’t fall apart. His touch calmed me, and at the same time it created a ripple of longing I wasn’t ready to deal with. That was finally what made me let go.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, releasing his hand with a sheepish press of gratitude, and scrubbed my wet eyes with my palms. It was the first episode in months since I’d started the meds. I was fiercely glad Thunder Child was out of our implanted coms’ range and my teammates had not been remote witnesses to this meltdown. “I feel ridiculous.”
“Never feel that way.” The gentle admonition made me glance up and meet his eyes. Aquamarine sparks snapped in the depths of his irises as he held my gaze. “What you witnessed can’t be processed all at once. It comes out in pieces because it’s too much.”
“That felt like a huge chunk.” But the empty space had begun to collapse on itself. The void softly filled with a new substrate and covered the scree of old trauma as we stared at each other. Once again, Rion Sumner showed me the side I wanted to know better, and I desperately wanted to know it when I wasn’t a fucking mess he had to prop up.
“Port Armstrong to approaching vessel.” Three’s com blared as Luna Station’s control center registered our presence. The emotionless mechanical voice in our headsets startled both of us. “Verify identity and destination.”
Sumner toggled his mic with what I swore was irritation. “Port Armstrong, Midak 3 requesting approach.”
“Midak 3, transmitting approach vectors,” the artificial controller’s voice replied.
The instrument panel came alive with lights and coordinates. Auto-piloting sequences blinked suggestively on the data screen. Of course, Sumner chose to pilot Three manually, our moment of connection sublimated into preparation to enter lunar airspace.
I silently cursed the cock-blocking AI running the tower and sat back to watch him guide our little craft into the deep well of Bullialdus Crater, a bright path of syncopated flashes leading us into the underground terminal. The small, rocking thump of landing sent a shiver through me.
Luna. The people who had made it my home no longer existed, yet here I was.
Elisabeth “E.M.” Hamill is a nurse by day, unabashed geek, chocoholic, sci fi and fantasy novelist by nights, weekends, and wherever she can steal quality time with her laptop.
She lives with her family in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.
Author Website: https://emhamill.wordpress.com
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Queer Sci Fi’s newest LGBTQ+ speculative fiction anthology is here: Clarity. And there’s a giveaway.
Four definitions to inspire writers around the world and an unlimited number of possible stories to tell:
1) Coherent and intelligible
2) Transparent or pure
3) Attaining certainty about something
4) Easy to see or hear
Clarity features 300-word speculative flash fiction stories from across the rainbow spectrum, from the minds of the writers of Queer Sci Fi.
About the Series:
Every year, Queer Sci Fi runs a one-word theme contest for 300 word flash fiction stories, and then we choose 120 of the best for our annual anthology.
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It’s hard to tell a story in just 300 words, so it’s only fair that I limit this foreword to exactly 300 words, too. This year, 312 writers took the challenge, with stories across the queer spectrum. The contest rules are simple. Submit a complete, well-written Clarity-themed 300 word sci-fi, fantasy, paranormal or horror story with LGBTQ+ characters.
For our ninth year and eighth anthology, we chose the theme “Clarity.” The interpretations run from an “Aha!” moment to the bubbling laughter of water to a private, life-changing realization. There are little jokes, big surprises, and future prognostications that will make your head spin.
I’m proud that this collection includes many colors of the LGBTQ+ (or QUILTBAG, if you prefer) universe—lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex, queer, and asexual characters populate these pages—our most diverse contest yet. There’s a bit of romance, too—and a number of stories solidly on the “mainstream” side. Flash fiction is short, fun, and easy to read. You may not fall in love with every story—in fact, you probably won’t. But if you don’t like one, just move on to the next, and you’re sure to find some bite-sized morsels of flash fiction goodness. There are so many good stories in here—choose your own favorites.
We chose three winning stories, five judges’ choice picks, and one director’s pick, all marked in the text. Thanks to our judges—Angel Martinez, B.A. Brock, Ava Kelly, Lexi Ander, and J.M. Dabney—for selflessly giving their time, love, and energy to this project. And to Ryane Chatman too, for editing.
At Queer Sci Fi, we’re building a community of writers and readers who want a little rainbow in their speculative fiction. Join us and submit a story of your own next time!
- A Acosta – Stuck in the Space Elevator
- A. B. Encarnacion – Arene, 27F Invisible
- A.H. Lykke – Fresh
- A.J. Clarke – Shinigami
- Abbie Bernstein – Kids Know
- Alden Loveshade – Clouds
- Alex Blanc – Death by Siren
- Alex Liddell – Telegram From the Netherland
- Alex Silver – Smile
- Alison J. McKenzie – Happy to Help
- Allan Dyen-Shapiro – Oysters and Other Slimy Creatures
- Alma Nilsson – Meet Me at the South Gate
- Amanda Meuwissen – Willows
- Andrea Stanet – Bathtub Gin
- Anne Smith – A Glimpse
- Anton Kukal – Detonation
- Antonia Aquilante – Through the Glass
- Avery Vanderlyle – Taking the Plunge
- Barbara Krasnoff – Age Cannot Wither Her
- Beáta Fülöp – The Unicorn Handler
- Belinda McBride – The Choice
- Blaine D. Arden – No Crime Unseen
- C.T. Phipps – The Chase Was Enough
- Camryn Burke – Burden of the Blurred
- Caro Soles – The Truth Sayer
- Catherine Yeates – Outpouring
- Chloe Schaefer – Matthias
- Crysta Coburn – The Ghost Maid
- D.M. Rasch – Crystal Clear
- Daria Richter – Make Me Real
- Darrell Z. Grizzle – The Vampire and the Werewolf Priest
- David Viner – The Best Solution
- Derwin Mak – Software Update
- Devon Widmer – Post-Apocalyptic Goo
- Drew Baker – The Only Question I Could Ask
- E. W. Murks – Earth Day
- Elizabeth Hawxhurst – Inflection Point
- Emmy Eui – Sunset
- Gina Storm Grant – Clearing the Heir
- Ginger Streusel – Lovers’ Letters
- Gordon Bonnet – Refraction
- Isa Reneman – The Furthest Horizon
- Isabel McKeough – The Art of Not Blowing Up
- Isobel Granby – Sea-Glass
- Izzy Tyack – Magically Induced Clarity
- J Sigel – Hindsight
- J.S. Gariety – Bloom
- Jaime Munn – Impulse
- James Dunham – Brain of Theseus
- Jamie Lackey – The Cursed Princess
- Jamie Sands – Remote Working Gothic
- Jana Denardo – Unexpected
- Jane Suen – Bowls of Steaming Noodles
- Jason Sárközi-Forfinski – ACAB
- Jaymie Wagner – Harmony
- Jendayi Brooks-Flemister – Heartsbeats
- Jennifer Haskin – Cold Conviction
- Jess Nevins – Stagecoach Mary Versus the Ghost of Cascade
- Joe DeRouen – The World Around Her
- Jordan Ulibarri – Franklin
- Josie Kirkwood – The Blue Capsule Experience
- Julie Bozza – Verity
- K.L. Noone – The Unicorn’s Knight
- K.S. Murphy – Looped
- Kaje Harper – Beneath the Surface
- Kayleigh Skye – Blue
- Kim Fielding – Shared Language
- Kiya Nicoll – The Satyr and the Wishing Pond
- Kora Knight – Sunrise
- Kris Jacen – Visus
- Krystle Matar – My Poppy Fields Are Burning
- Lloyd A. Meeker – Ruti’s Prayer
- Lori Alden Holuta – Magic Mirror
- M. X. Kelly – Muddy the Waters
- Marie Victoria Robertson – As Foretold
- Mary Kuna – Late Bloomer
- Megan Baffoe – Ribbon Thread
- Megan Diedericks – The Closet is Made of Mahogany
- Megan Hippler – The Gift
- Mere Rain – With Clear Eyes
- Minerva Cerridwen – Secundum Artem
- Monique Cuillerier – Through This Window
- Nathan Alling Long – The Shadow of Doubt
- Nathaniel Taff – The Gauntlet
- Nicole Dennis – Orange Dust
- Oskar Leonard – Murcorpio
- Patricia Loofbourrow – There’s Something Weird About Joe
- Phoebe Ching – The Killer Cupid
- R.L. Merrill – The Sitter
- Rainie Zenith – Crystal Clear
- Raven Oak – Wrinkled
- Rdp – Alice!
- RE Andeen – Male Female Nonbinary Other
- RE Carr – A Woman’s Reward
- Rie Sheridan Rose – The Night Witch
- Rin Sparrow – Never Alone
- RL Mosswood – A Trick of the Nerves
- RoAnna Sylver – The Face in the Mirror
- Rob Bliss – PSI Ecstasy
- Rory Ni Coileain – One Night in Troy
- Sacchi Green – The Star Beast
- Sage HN – Impact
- Scott Jenson – Cycles
- Sheryl Hayes – A Smoking Hot Proposal
- Shirley Meier – Upon Reflection
- SI CLARKE – If the Shoe Fits
- Siri Paulson – Blood and Water
- Stacy Noe – Demons Need Love Too
- Stephen B. Pearl – Sad Reality
- Stephen Dedman – Through a Glass Clearly
- Steve Fuson – Translucent
- Steve Rasnic Tem – The Man in the Mirror
- T.J. Reed – New Memories
- Terry Poole – A Grey Man
- Tori Thompson – A Visage of Home
- V. Astor Solomon – Blood Will Show Us Who We Are
- W. Dale Jordan – Ascension
- Warren Rochelle – Ghosts
- William R. Eakin – Overcoming Entropy
- Yoyoli – If Deliberate Avoidance Fulfills No Dream
Queer Sci Fi is the brainchild of J. Scott Coatsworth, a blog and website that’s all about LGBT characters in science fiction, fantasy, paranormal and horror fiction. We’re dedicated to promoting the inclusion of LGBT characters in these genres.
We started the site in January of 2014, with the intent to create a community for writers and readers of LGBT-themed speculative fiction. We post regular discussion topics, news, book announcements and reviews. We have an AWESOME Facebook discussion group, and a great admin team – Angel Martinez, Ben Brock, Ryane Chatman, and J. Scott Coatsworth.
Once a year, we put out a call for flash fiction submissions based on a single word theme, and get anywhere between two hundred and four hundred entries. Clarity is our eight annual anthology.
QSF Website: https://www.queerscifi.com
QSF Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/groups/210192115794407
QSF Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/queerscifi/
QSF Twitter: https://twitter.com/queerscifi/