So excited to announce that I’ve sold a new story, “Those Who Forget and Those Who Perish,” to Seize the Press! Despite what the title may suggest, this is not an Omelas story, but it is a gruesome little downer, and it’s my first horror sale! I’ve rewritten this piece several times, and I’m so glad it finally has a home.
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One month after my first professionally published story, “Our Fate, Told in Photons” appeared in Clarkesworld, I’m celebrating another publication, this time in Diabolical Plots.
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Six years ago, I published a chapter from an unfinished fantasy novel in my alma mater’s student literary journal. It won the University’s Best in Fiction award that year. Today, I made my debut as a professional fiction author.
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A long time ago, in a world full of T-Mobile Sidekicks and Chuck Taylor All-Stars, I used to be a scene kid. I never had the disposable income to follow bands around the country, but I saw a respectable number of shows each year between 2005 and 2012. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about life before the pandemic, especially the kind of gritty, dive-bar experiences I fear are gone for good.
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Three times a day, I retrieved a handful of pills from the little blue basket on the kitchen counter. It was 2017, and I was two years into my career as a chronically ill writer. In the eight years after my Behçet’s Disease diagnosis, I’d had plenty of time to rage, cry, and contemplate my situation—how my chronic illness impacted my life, how many medications I needed to be able to live with minimal pain, how I rationed my spoons each week. What I neglected to realize was how obvious my condition was to other people.
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