It is nearly light and I have not slept. Pine boughs scrape the windowpanes. “Stay,” she murmurs when I stir, but the name she whispers is not mine. She drifts in and out, clutching the covers to her chest. Frost limns the window, and yet I lie here and burn.
So this is a thing writers do, I hear: post a list of works eligible for the next round of science fiction and fantasy awards (Nebulas, Hugos, Locus Awards, the World Fantasy Awards, etc). Turns out, I wrote a few things this year that I'm particularly proud of. The following works are eligible for nomination: … Continue reading 2019 Award Eligibility
I left my phone on a shuttle bus in Denver, Colorado, after a conference, and I didn't get it back for a full week. I spent eight days without the constant reassurance of my phone, and it was— Let me cut in: this is not the essay you think it is. You're expecting an essay … Continue reading Disconnecting to reconnect
Somewhere amongst the detritus of my younger days—the moldering books, the broken music-box, the worn-out dancing shoes—is a letter that contains your signature and a broken promise. Our entire history could be read in its creases and ragged edges, if I cared to find it.
i. I see myself in the stumps and pits where trees used to grow in the absence of the white pine where I measured myself against the height of green branches that slowly overtook the front yard and cast shadows that frightened me as a girl I see myself in the cracks between the flagstones … Continue reading Elegy for a small town childhood
