Shimmer’s Clockwork Jungle Book just came out, featuring twenty steampunk animal fables, though my story, “The Emperor’s Gift”, is more clockpunk, I suppose. Also in the issue are Jay Lake, Genevieve Valentine, Amal El-Mohtar, and more. The issue is available in print ($8.00 USD) and electronic ($4.00 USD) formats.

Steampunk Tales #4 was also just released and contains ten steampunk stories for the low price of $1.99, including my story, “The Juggernaut”. Steampunk Tales is available as an iPhone App (through the iTunes Store), or in MobiReader and PDF formats. More information at the link.

Please check them out.

Northern Frights

Amazon

“When I originally read L. Frank Baum’s Oz books, two things struck me about the magical kingdom, its breadth – that there were always new characters, communities, and challenges around the bend – and that I very much wanted to go there.  Now I’m far away from those bountiful days of childhood, but I’m pleased to report that Shadows of the Emerald City, JW Schnarr’s 19-story anthology about the dark side of Oz, offers a sense of Oz’s continuing expansiveness as well as a satisfying number of characters that yearn to be part of the enchanted land.”

continue reading »

It’s alongside stories by the talented Ekaterina Sedia and Keffy R.M. Kehrli (both of whom appear in past issues of Sybil’s Garage).

Here’s an intro:

“The girl lived in the basement where the air was cool and damp and quiet. Company was coming over tonight, her mother had said, so the girl had better make sure her room was spotless. She gave the girl a dull knife to scrape the gobs of candle wax from the dresser and night stand, and she took it back after. She brought down the vacuum so the girl could suck the dust and dead bugs from the lampshades and corners. And she gave the girl a bucket of soapy water to scrub the dirt from the walls and floor. No matter how often the girl cleaned, there always seemed to be more dust. And the bed had to be made too, the corners creased like ironed shirts, and the four pillows propped in alternating colors against the headboard. The girl didn’t need to be reminded. Mother was always this fastidious when they were having company.”

I’ve been tempted to call this my “Urban Fantasy Triptych”, together with “The You Train” and “Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, In The City Beneath the Still Waters” (forthcoming from Postscripts), since the first two are based on my life here in New York and the latter is based on some years that I spent in New Orleans. But I’m not actually sure I’m going to stop at three stories. In fact, I kind of feel like there’s at least one more New York story brewing in me — probably several, given my longtime love affair with this city. We’ll have to see how or if they come out.

Curiously, I’ve never felt any urge to write stories about the other cities I’ve lived in — Washington DC, Boston, Mobile AL. This may be because I never quite felt at home in those places. But oddly, I’ve written a story about Milan, which I visited for only two days, and I’ve felt the urge to write a story about Montreal, where I spent less than a week. Some cities just resonate, I guess.

Anyway, here’s an excerpt:

In the mornings, Adele girds herself for the trip to work as a warrior for battle. First she prays, both to the Christian god of her Irish ancestors and to the orishas of her African ancestors — the latter she is less familiar with, but getting to know. Then she takes a bath with herbs, including dried chickory and allspice, from a mixture given to her by the woman at the local botanica. (She doesn’t know Spanish well, but she’s getting to know that too. Today’s word is suerte.) Then, smelling vaguely of coffee and pumpkin pie, she layers on armor: the Saint Christopher medal her mother sent her, for protection on journeys. The hair-clasp she was wearing when she broke up with Larry, which she regards as the best decision of her life. On especially dangerous days, she wears the panties in which she experienced her first self-induced orgasm post-Larry. They’re a bit ragged after too many commercial laundromat washings, but still more or less sound. (She washes them by hand now, with Woollite, and lays them flat to dry.)

Go read.

Also, many thanks to Paul for the title! I suck at titles.

“David was in love with his aunt Masha. In the months after his father died, she came over for dinner often. While she ate, he’d watch her chest rise and fall, and for long, uncountable minutes he’d stare at the soft, pink skin of her arms, wanting to run his fingers along her smoothness and squeeze her until he fell asleep. He’d stuff forkfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth and listen to his mother and aunt talk freely and harshly about people David barely knew. He’d study Masha’s green-within-green eyes, the chocolate folds of her hair, the funny way in which her nose curved just a little bit at the tip, as if God himself had laid a tiny imperfection upon her just to remind the world that she wasn’t an angel. But what most captured David’s attention, what his eyes wandered to as they’d finish dinner and move to the couch for coffee and cake, was the thick, brown leather belt that hugged her waist.

He knew the feelings in his body were the beginnings of manhood. But he was told that boys were supposed to like breasts and lips, butts and legs. And he did like those things—yet he couldn’t help but cross his legs when he saw her stomach bend under the thick leather strap, and nightly he dreamed of her smothering him as the heavy brass buckle pressed painfully into his groin. He pretended to listen to his mother and aunt, learning to nod his head when they looked his way, until he became skilled at predicting the paths of their eyes, at avoiding their gazes. And when the spell of conversation held the women in its thrall, when his mother’s words grew slow and stupid with wine, David stared deeply into the folds of Masha’s belt, studying the images stamped in its sides. He saw flowery jungles with fruit-bearing trees, a dozen birds hanging from limb and sky, and tufts of wavy, leafy vines that tangled throughout. Often, as the women talked, he imagined himself floating inside her belt, unable to escape its secret pull, forced forever to wander under its hot sun and glimpse out at all the world from the two-dimensional confines of her waist.

It was warm and safe there.

And so when his mother said, “Grandpa’s not doing very well. I need you to stay with your Aunt Masha for two weeks,” David nodded his affirmation as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. That year was 2056.”

To continue reading this story, click here.

Also, fellow Altered Fluid member K. Tempest Bradford’s “Enmity” is also available for viewing.

More details to follow later.