PUBLISHED SHORT FICTION
To kill a theriida, you need gunboats and suits, laser cutters and open-mawed cargo bays, brawn and a stout heart, and God on your side.
We, of course, had none of that.
The way to save yourself, o captain, is simple.
You must leave everything—your star-splayed chair on the bridge, your full belly, the soft, silk robes in the first-class chamber where you sleep—and come down to where we are dying.
By the time I stumble off the red-eye from Los Angeles, my butt is numb. Five years ago, I would have been working up to murder.
Now, I feel fucking glorious.
UPCOMING SHORT FICTION
“The Blanched Bones, The Tyrant Wind” in Fireside Quarterly, January 1, 2019
The city lives because we die: we, the shivering, bloody few, the girls who climb the diamond stair in the winter to serve ourselves to the dragon.
“The Bodice, The Hem, The Woman, Death” in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, October 27, 2018
A few days before the end of our world, my mother took me to her favorite tailor to be fit
for a dress I would never wear.