Thursday, March 21, 2019

SYNTH #1, an anthology of Dark SF edited by CM Muller

Release date: March 5, 2019
Sub-genre: Cyberpunk, Dystopian SF

About SYNTH #1:

SYNTH is a new anthology series of dark SF published quarterly, with each issue containing eight thought-provoking visions of the future . . . tales of utopia and dystopia, of inner and outer space; tales that are bleak, tales that are bold . . .

Issue #1 features the dark visions of Dan Stintzi, Steve Toase, Virginie Sélavy, Charles Wilkinson, Farah Rose Smith, Jeffrey Thomas, Christopher K. Miller, and Joanna Koch.

If you are a fan of Black Mirror, Philip K. Dick, J.G. Ballard, Alphaville, and the like, then SYNTH may well be your next literary fix

Excerpt from Surrogate by Dan Stintzi:

Out in the city, the snow was so thick Emmons was practically swimming. He followed back roads between the rubble of the old hospital, beside toppled smokestacks, weaving past homes reduced to steel and foundation. The route through the outskirts was impassable. The river had not frozen fully and the bridge was out again. That left the path through the city. He would have to pass the settlement, and possibly engage with and possibly maim or murder at least some of its inhabitants. He brought with him a hunting rifle he believed could still fire and a revolver he was sure could not. He had not seen the locals in years. He had heard the noises they made, but he had not seen them. The noises were difficult to classify. They came to him at night, in half-dreams, bounced off the city’s ruins, carried over the empty fields, over the snow. The sound was human—labored and sundry—rising up in unison like a chorus, but it was rigid too, mechanical, the noise an engine might make if it had a mouth and the desire to sing.
Emmons saw the settlement in the distance. The walls were made of wood; sharpened spears, aimed out at the road, jutted from the stockades. The settlement was built in the carcass of some ruined structure. Smoke rose in black plumes from the settlement’s center. The afternoon sky looked flat and hollow. It was a gray piece of paper that could be torn through. The smoke had a flavor that made Emmons’s stomach bubble. 
He followed the old road through the ruins, through the snow, until he came along a cleared path. He followed the path, climbing over concrete and metal, winding through the burnt out car frames, the piles of frozen garbage. He saw a purple hand in one of the piles, an unblinking eye in another. The ice never melted so the bodies never broke down. He sent his mind searching for memories of the days when bodies were piled up on street corners, when cars were left to rust on highways and sidewalks, but he came back empty. His brain had been strip-mined long ago, those old nightmares replaced with white space. 
He arrived outside the settlement where a man in a camouflage jacket sat hunched on a metal folding chair beside the settlement’s gate. Across from the gate was a series of wooden sawhorses placed in a line blocking the path forward. The man looked up and gripped the shotgun in his lap. Metal rivers ran in crisscross stitches across his face skin. The rivers were mercury colored, they flowed and rippled as if windblown. The man’s eyes were black orbs. His left leg was made of metal. 
Emmons wondered if this was a normal way for people to look. He could not remember. He stuck the rifle in the crook of his shoulder and took shuffling steps, walking parallel to the settlement’s gate, moving toward the barricade.

Excerpt from The Object of Your Desire Comes Closer by Joanna Koch:

Fay-Lin swathed my body with black hair and nervous energy. Barely sated by the last half hour, she spun a thread of hair around her index finger, a spider considering her mate. Happily trapped, sexually inexpert, I waited for the spider to strike. Instead of feeding me poison, she fought to keep me by her side.
I said, “You’re the most fearless person I’ve ever met.”
The forerunner of a wrinkle marked her brow. “What you did for us, alone for thirty years, that’s true courage, real strength.”
I smoothed Fay-Lin’s impatient frown with my rough hands, clumsy worship. “Send someone else. You’ve proved yourself before.” Around us, the evidence hummed. Our ill-equipped vessel sailed through the vacuum, eating up space. The unlikely survival of our ship was the last miracle I still believed in: the miracle of Fay-Lin.
“This is different. Damage, some sort of external growth. I don’t know what I’m dealing with until I get out on the hull and sample it. Too many unknowns. I need to make decisions in the moment, not manage from a distance.”
“Don’t go. For me.”
Fay-Lin twirled a black lock around her finger. I’d first witnessed this gesture of steeping ire when she was eight. It was our practice as teachers to let the children experience the full consequences of their actions. We stopped short of irreversible damage, but many suffered injuries. They had to learn there were no second chances on an orphaned vessel. At twenty-three, I was an old man to Fay-Lin and a double father figure, both teacher and chaplain. I didn’t intervene when her team failed the exercise. She spun a black lock and glared at me as she marched to her simulated death.
My stasis rotation came up soon after. I didn’t see Fay-Lin again until we were the same age. I missed watching her grow up. Age twenty-one, ascended to the rank of commander, Fay-Lin woke me to render aid as Minister of the Earth. We were adrift. Food supply ran low. The horror of waking from stasis made me useless to her at first. Some vital part of my soul seemed lost in that long void.
Fay-Lin roused me with her bold touch. How was I to resist? She was my first and only earthly love, though she wasn’t born on the earth. Let me say she was my first and only fleshly love.
Our love grew with the crops in the greenhouse. When she revived me, she bade me build a farm from nothing in space. For Fay-Lin, my answer is always yes.
Equal in passion, younger than I am now, I was immune to the mortifications of time. After months of mutual labor and love, I begged her not to send me back to stasis.
“The ship needs me. We can have a life together.”

About CM Muller:

CM Muller lives in St. Paul, Minnesota. He is the editor and publisher of the award-winning anthology series Nightscript, and his own stories have appeared in venues such as Shadows & Tall Trees, Supernatural Tales, Vastarien, and Weirdbook. His debut story collection, Hidden Folk, was released in late 2018.

Monday, March 18, 2019

Hello Protocol for Dead Girls by Zen DiPietro

Release date: March 17, 2019
Subgenre: Cyberpunk, Technothriller

About Hello Protocol for Dead Girls:


I wasn't so impulsive when I was alive. Death has changed me, I guess.

This isn't a dream. It's not the afterlife, either. This is something new.

I don't remember how I died. I only know that I did. My name is Jennika Monroe, and I need to find a way out of here. 

A college student reaches out from beyond the dead to solve her own murder. A struggle to identify what it means to be alive, what it means to love, and how hard a person will fight to hold onto what matters. 

This story is like nothing you've read before. It's Altered Carbon meets Gone Girl inside a Matrix type environment. It will challenge you, then thrill you, then leave you wanting more. Truly an innovative breath of fresh air that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Step into the pounding heart of a unique digital setting and enjoy this technothriller today!




Again, I find myself in the position of having to decide whether I should inform someone that they’ve died or keep that information to myself.
While Ashta had been sweet and friendly, this girl seems angry. The snap in her eyes and tightness of her mouth suggest she’d just as soon have me dead, and I have to wonder why she bothered to warn me against something that could kill me.
Since I’m already dead, my existence is beginning to mean something else to me. I’m not sure what yet. It isn’t life. What does it mean to exist without being alive?
“Are you stupid?” The girl spits the words at me.
“I guess that’s a matter of opinion,” I say carefully. “What’s in there?”
I indicate the opening with a glance.
“Why should I tell you?” she demands.
“I don’t know. You bothered to tell me not to go in. That must count for something. And we aren’t exactly surrounded by a lot of people here. Our options for socializing are limited.”
She frowns. “Have you seen any others?”
“A young girl. Now you. That’s it.”
“Are you new?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I’m trying to figure things out.”
I take a chance on introducing myself to her. “I’m Jennika.”
“Good for you.” She glares at me.
Was she this unpleasant when she was alive? I hope not. As far as electronic ghosts go, she’s kind of a jerk.
I am the guardian of my domain and the keeper of everything I touch.
Within the closed confines of my network—and I do consider it mine now, not BomiTech’s—I have nothing but time.
I begin the process of seeking out every single hackable device within my reach. Cameras built into portable devices, cameras for teleconferences, surveillance cameras, and all audio pickups are my first tier of recruitment. Then I tap into other electronic surveillance means, like the doors of the actual building where this datacenter is located.
All this gives me a perfect image of the coming and going of everyone in the building. Not only that, but I can hear everything. I’m always listening now.
They don’t realize how much more capable they’ve forced me to be.
The difference between them and me seems greater and greater. I don’t require sleep or food or bathroom breaks. I can move so much faster than they can—at the speed of thought. Although I still think of myself as human, or at least a variation of human, they seem increasingly…less so. They’re slaves to their biological processes.
It’s an advantage I’m glad to leverage.
I put my surveillance of them into a somewhat passive mode so that if something interesting happens, I can turn my attention to it. In the meantime, I’m going to reach for my original objective.
I want to talk to my friends and family.



About Zen DiPietro: 

Zen DiPietro is a lifelong bookworm, dreamer, writer, and a mom of two. Perhaps most importantly, a Browncoat Trekkie Whovian. Also red-haired, left-handed, and a vegetarian geek. Absolutely terrible at conforming. A recovering gamer, but we won’t talk about that. Particular loves include badass heroines, British accents, and the smell of Band-Aids. Writing reviews, author interviews, and fun stuff at

Friday, March 15, 2019

Speculative Fiction Links of the Week for March 15, 2019

It's time for the weekly round-up of interesting links about speculative fiction from around the web, this week with more on hopepunk, Star Trek Discovery, The Orville, Captain Marvel, season 2 of American Gods, Us, an uproar at San Diego Comic Fest and much more. 

Speculative fiction in general:

Film and TV:

Comments on Star Trek Discovery and Star Trek in general (spoilers):

Comments on The Orville

Comments on Captain Marvel (potential spoilers): 

Comments on season 2 of American Gods

Comments on Us


Writing, publishing and promotion:



Classics reviews:


Con and event reports:

Science and technology:

Free online fiction:

Odds and ends:

Wednesday, March 13, 2019

Interview with Scott Colby, author of the Deviant Magic contemporary fantasy series

Today on the Speculative Fiction Showcase it gives us great pleasure to welcome back Scott Colby, author of the Deviant Magic series, who we first interviewed back in 2014!

Tell us something about Deviant Magic. There are four books in the series, and counting. What got you started?
Deviant Magic started a long time ago, when I first wrote the story that eventually became Shotgun while pretending to take notes in my high school classes. I'd recently seen the movie Men in Black and I'd been reading a lot of Terry Brooks and I wanted to sort of combine the two. I reworked Shotgun multiple times over the next ten years before finally deciding to spin the idea into a bigger series. I really enjoy messing around with the idea of what might happen if magic were real in the modern world. It's sort of a secret to most of humanity where things stand right now, but long term I plan to break down that barrier and explore what happens when technology's suddenly not the only game in town.

The protagonist is a young sorceress trying to level the odds between humans and unscrupulous fantasy beings. She plays a different role in each book - can you tell us a bit about that?
I kind of fell backwards into the idea of Rayn as my protagonist. Initially I'd thought of her as the villain, but the more I fleshed out her background and her goals I realized that she's doing the right thing in the wrong way. She was misused by the people controlling the secret world of magic and she wants to fight back to make sure that never happens to anyone ever again. Her only appearance in the first book is a single mention at the end when one of the main characters realizes she was behind the entire problem. She's a complicated villain in book two, sort of a mentor character in book three, and a catalyst for a big reveal in book four. I enjoy working with a variety of perspectives, and I find it more interesting and a heck of a lot more fun to tell the stories of those affected by her crusade instead of just doing it through her eyes.

The stories are set in the real world (not a secondary or fantasy world) where magical creatures hide their existence from humans by means of magic and memory-altering dust. That’s an unnerving thought! What particular challenges does that create for you?
It's wild, right? I think the biggest challenge is maintaining that separation without making it feel like it's forced or like it's just a plot device. Humanity is kept in the dark because these magic creatures are severely outnumbered and they're legitimately afraid of what would happen if they were revealed--and every day that separation is maintained, the possible chaos that could occur if it ended increases exponentially. Beyond the strife caused by the stereotypical fear of people who are new and different, imagine you recently lost a loved one to cancer and one morning you wake up and find out that there are people who could've cured it with their magic. There's a lot of potential for drama here.

On your About page it says: “Deviant Magic explores themes of discovery, immortality, corruption, and the role of memory in shaping who we are, but at its core it’s a story about changes big and small and the myriad ways both individuals and institutions adapt to our ever-evolving social situation. The series also features magic-enhanced keg stands and a water nymph who gets kidnapped and trapped in a toilet.” Can you elaborate on that a bit? There are some big ideas in there. Also, what is a keg stand?
I love this question! A keg stand is a truly horrible way to drink beer. You get a keg, do a handstand on top of it, and drink from the pump. I don't recommend it. I've got a character who performs just such a skillful maneuver while magically levitating a few nearby bar patrons. The point I was trying to get across with that description is that my work is a mix of big ideas and lowbrow weirdness. Magic is often treated as a really serious power to be treated with respect. Most real people wouldn't do that. I mean, think about technology. Every single one of us has a device in his or her pocket with access to more information than our ancestors ever could've dreamed of. Most of us use those devices primarily to take silly photographs, play mindless games, or watch weird cat videos. I think people with magic powers would treat those abilities the same way. Plus it gives me an excuse to write really ridiculous scenes.

Modern or urban fantasy brings the fantastic right into the mundane. It’s hugely popular in books and across a whole range of media. Why do you think that is?
Who hasn't daydreamed about waking up one morning suddenly in possession of an ability that can change their life? I think that's the appeal; urban and contemporary fantasy play on those inner fantasies we all have about being able to make life less boring just by snapping our fingers. I think there's also a lower barrier to entry than you get with high fantasy or hard science fiction. It's your world, except your neighbor's secretly a troll and you really don't want to know about the secret ingredient in that home brew he insists you drink whenever he invites you over for a barbecue.

You mention several fantasy titans - Terry Brooks, Neil Gaiman, Frank Herbert, as well as Chuck Palahniuk and Thomas Pynchon (who doesn’t fit neatly into any genre pigeonhole). And Chelsea Handler - please tell us more about their influence and why you enjoy their work.
All of those authors are just amazingly creative (yes, even Chelsea), and I learn something about storytelling whenever I read their work. They are who they are and they put it right out there in an engaging format.

What are you working on at the moment? 
I'm working on the fifth Deviant Magic novel! I wanted to dive into the inner workings of my big evil corporation, so I'm doing so through the story of an intern who joins the company in a bigger full time role than he expected. Not only does he have to deal with his new knowledge of all the secret magic things going on, he has to come to terms with the fact that he hasn't been working for the good guys--and he has to decide if he wants to continue working with them in a role that might help temper how horrible they are. I'm really excited for this one!

A Date with Death explores a fantastic situation in the sort of small town the author grew up in.” Why is it that the USA seems to have this unique relationship with myth and fantasy? For instance the Coen brothers remaking Homer’s Odyssey in the Deep South in O Brother Where Art Thou. 
That's an interesting question. Rural life, and perhaps more specifically the idea of "where I came from" has been heavily romanticized in all aspects of American culture, so I think it's natural that creators who want to provide an easy base for more imaginative concepts use that as a base.

Diary of a Fairy Princess features a young royal fighting the patriarchy in the most stylish way she can”. Please tell us more. 
Diary of a Fairy Princess might be my favorite. It takes place in a city packed with magical fairy creatures. The role of the princess in this society is to grow up, function as a figurehead with no real power or responsibilities, get married to whoever's chosen as the next king, and then die in labor while giving birth to the next princess. This cycle's been going on for millennia; it's necessary to keep a vile form of corruption at bay that's surrounding the city and would overwhelm it if there ever wasn't a princess. Our hero, Myrindi, isn't having it, and she leans hard into the stereotypical spoiled princess role as a means of breaking free and giving herself more agency. The story alternates between the "live" story of Myrindi battling to rid herself of her betrothed and diary entries, written in her unique voice, that fill the reader in on exactly what her life has been like. Writing from the perspective of a spoiled princess was super fun.

Stranger than Fiction is your latest book, featuring “a group of former heroes unhappy that they’ve been replaced” - an issue that is seldom discussed by Marvel or DC. What happens to superheroes when they get fired? Can you talk as well about the humour that realism introduces into your books.
When heroes get fired, it's not pretty. They let themselves go, they wallow for a bit in drugs and alcohol, and then they desperately grasp for new relevance. Stranger Than Fiction was inspired by my general dislike of young adult epilogues that show the protagonists all grown up and happily married and getting ready to send their children off to magic school or whatever. That's too easy. Life doesn't work that way, especially for people who are probably pretty beaten up inside by the ordeals they've been through. My former heroes are a mess. Their relationships are strained, their children are entitled jerks, and their lives peaked far too early. So when a mysterious figure offers them the chance to get themselves back into the spotlight and maybe knock the new heroes down a peg or two, they can't resist the opportunity--even though they know there's more going on here.

What are you watching? And will you be watching the latest series of Game of Thrones?
I don't watch much that isn't live sports, to be honest, but lately I've been really into The Incredible Dr. Pol, a reality show about a country vet. I tend to latch onto random shows like that for a little bit and then move on. I don't have much patience for binge watching and I seriously miss the days when sitting through three hours of TV meant watching four or five different things. Does that make me sound old? It makes me feel old. TV's just not my favorite thing. I'd rather read or write or get some Playstation in. I am, however, looking forward to Good Omens and I plan to (slowly) watch that.

Superheroes: are you a Marvel or a DC man? You say you started out drawing before you switched to writing. How much influence have comic books had on your writing, if any?
I enjoy both Marvel and DC, but I've never been a big comic book guy. I really enjoyed the old X-Men and Batman animated series as a teenager, though. I usually try to make sure I get to all the big Marvel movies while they're in theaters and I'm really excited to check out Captain Marvel.

Marshmallow fluff somehow evokes memories of the Stay Puft Marshmallow man from the first Ghostbusters. Is marshmallow irredeemably linked with horror, or can it be reclaimed?
Marshmallow is an irredeemable substance and should be avoided at all costs.

What do you do when you sit down to write, and what displacement activities interrupt your writing?
Life in general is a huge hindrance to my writing. Ha! But in all seriousness, I do my best work around background noise. One of my favorite activities is to grab my notebook and a handful of pens and bounce around between random coffee shops and bars. I need something to concentrate against, if that makes any sense. Plus I never know what I'm going to see or who I'm going to talk to while I'm out and about that might inspire something interesting in what I'm working on.

Amazon and the internet have given rise to many new genres, and cross-genre books. How do you see the future of books?
Although I'm sure we'll develop lots of diverse new ways to read books in the next five to ten years, I don't think the idea of books themselves will change much. I've seen companies looking to insert more multimedia into the experience and I just don't see that taking off. Reading a book is a simple task and I think people like it that way--but I'm also that old curmudgeon who wishes he had a web browser that just didn't show any pictures or video and just gave me the words, so maybe I'm the wrong person to ask. I think the publishing industry itself is ripe for a bit of disruption, but I'm not real sure where that's going to come from.

About Scott Colby:

Author Scott Colby began his career way back in elementary school. His stories about equipping his friends with magic weapons so they could fight ancient evils in his backyard were huge hits when the teacher discovered them and made him read them aloud to the class. Scott hated this.

The story that initially became Shotgun was written during Scott’s senior year of high school, when he decided to rip off the hit movie Men in Black but with fantasy creatures instead of aliens and elves in the Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones roles. This story was subsequently rewritten about a dozen times before it reached its final form and spawned the Deviant Magic series. The Deviant Magic story isn’t close to complete and there are many more novels on the way.

Scott resides in scenic Somerville, Massachusetts, the home of marshmallow Fluff. His other interests include gaming, fitness, and technology. Like any good Masshole, Scott also enjoys trips to Dunkin’ Donuts and swearing at the Red Sox.

Monday, March 11, 2019

The Road of Skeletons (Thurvok, Book 3) by Richard Blakemore and Cora Buhlert

Release date: February 19, 2019
Subgenre: Sword and Sorcery

 About The Road of Skeletons:


On their way to the northern city of Khon Orzad, Thurvok, the sellsword, and his friend Meldom, thief, cutpurse and occasional assassin, travel along a road lined with the skeletons of executed heretics.

It's a grim path that becomes even grimmer when Thurvok and Meldom come upon a blindfolded woman who is still very much alive tied to a stake by the side of the road.

Should they continue their journey or rescue the woman and risk the wrath of the priest kings of Khon Orzad…

This is a short story of 5500 words or 20 print pages in the Thurvok sword and sorcery series, but may be read as a standalone. Includes an introduction and afterword.




The road that led to the northern city of Khon Orzad was a thin white ribbon of sand and gravel that was flanked by pine trees looming on either side, pine trees so high that they cast the road into shadow, even though the wan winter sun had barely passed its zenith.
Two men, one tall and muscular and one lithe and wiry and a good head shorter than his companion, were walking along that road at a leisurely pace. They were Thurvok, the sellsword, and his friend and travelling companion Meldom, cutpurse, thief, assassin, whatever someone was willing to pay him for. Both men were on their way to Khon Orzad in search of employment and opportunity.
So far, their journey had been peaceful, if cold, for winter was closing in and Khon Orzad lay far north of Thurvok’s usual stomping grounds. Meldom had been there before, though, and said that he knew someone in town who might be willing to hire a sellsword and a cutpurse cum thief cum assassin. But then, Meldom knew someone who might be willing to hire the pair of them in almost every city. Sometimes, the jobs were even as advertised and Meldom’s contacts paid up as promised.
The pine forest ended abruptly and before them lay the sea, its waters grey as the steel of a well-worn blade and foaming like soup boiling in a kettle. According to the map Meldom had purchased at their last stop, this inlet was called the Bay of Mourning Tides. It was certainly a fitting name, for the cries of the seagulls circling above the waves really did sound like a mourning dirge.
Beyond the Bay lay Khon Orzad, perched on a cliff high above the sea. If they had a way of crossing the Bay, Thurvok and Meldom could probably reach the city in as little time as it took to roast a rabbit or pheasant. But there was neither a ferry nor any other boat and so they had to take the long way, following the road as it wound around the Bay all the way to Khon Orzad.
Now that their destination was so close, Thurvok and Meldom strutted onwards at a brisker pace, eager to make it to the city and an inn, where they would find a hot meal, a tankard of ale or a jug of wine, a clean bed and maybe even a willing wench to share it with.
But then Thurvok came to an abrupt halt, when he spotted something alarming by the side of the road. Skeletons, lots of them.
Some still had a bit of flesh on them, others had been picked to the bone by the ravens and seagulls circling overhead. Most were standing upright, bound to stakes by the side of the road. But sometimes, the ropes that held them had rotted away and the skeletons had fallen to the ground in a pile of bones. Sometimes, rusty swords had been thrust into the ground around the skeletons, as if to keep them from running away.
It was not uncommon for cities to display the bodies of executed criminals outside their gates to deter would-be wrongdoers. But this forest of bones was extreme even by the standards of the most bloodthirsty of city states in the realm.
Even the naturally chatty Meldom had fallen uncharacteristically silent in the face of so much death.
In the end, it was Thurvok who broke the silence. “I thought you said this was a good place for business.”
“It is,” Meldom replied curtly.
“Their courts and magistrates seem rather bloody-minded, though,” Thurvok remarked, kicking aside an errant bone.
“I thought you didn’t care what courts, magistrates and judges say,” Meldom countered.
“I don’t,” Thurvok said, “But if I have to fight my way down from a scaffold, I’d like to be warned beforehand.”


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About Richard Blakemore:

Richard Blakemore (1900 – 1994) was a prolific writer of pulp fiction. Nowadays, he is best remembered for creating the Silencer, a masked vigilante in the vein of the Shadow or the Spider, during the hero pulp boom of the 1930s. But Richard Blakemore also wrote in many other genres, including an early sword and sorcery series about the adventures of a sellsword named Thurvok and his companions.
Richard Blakemore's private life was almost as exciting as his fiction. He was a veteran of World War I and II as well as a skilled sportsman and adventurer who travelled the world during the 1920s. He may also have been the person behind the mask of the real life Silencer who prowled New York City between 1933 and 1942, fighting crime, protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty, though nothing has ever been proven.
Richard Blakemore was married for more than fifty years to Constance Allen Blakemore and the couple had four children.


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About Cora Buhlert:

Cora Buhlert was born and bred in North Germany, where she still lives today – after time spent in London, Singapore, Rotterdam and Mississippi. Cora holds an MA degree in English from the University of Bremen and is currently working towards her PhD. 

Cora has been writing, since she was a teenager, and has published stories, articles and poetry in various international magazines. She is the author of the Silencer series of pulp style thrillers, the Shattered Empire space opera series, the In Love and War science fiction romance series, the Helen Shepherd Mysteries and plenty of standalone stories in multiple genres.

When Cora is not writing, she works as a translator and teacher. She also runs the Speculative Fiction Showcase and the Indie Crime Scene and contributes to the Hugo-nominated fanzine Galactic Journey.


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