“If it were me, I’d show that uppity machine what for.”
this story is simply too much fun. it's a sci-fi artificial intelligence tale that borro[image]
“If it were me, I’d show that uppity machine what for.”
this story is simply too much fun. it's a sci-fi artificial intelligence tale that borrows bits from the con/heist genre, and it's also got magic and a healthy "take that, machines!" stance that i applaud.
it's funny and surprising and i'm not gonna tell you how it was done, because - as this story'll teach you - a little knowledge takes all the fun out of the world.
just a tiny review for a tiny story, but that gives you more time to go read it over at tor.com.
“If it were me, I’d show that uppity machine what for.”
this story is simply too much fun. it's a sci-fi artificial intelligence tale that borrows bits from the con/heist genre, and it's also got magic and a healthy "take that, machines!" stance that i applaud.
it's funny and surprising and i'm not gonna tell you how it was done, because - as this story'll teach you - a little knowledge takes all the fun out of the world.
just a tiny review for a tiny story, but that gives you more time to go read it over at tor.com.
“Yes. Of course. But there’s something—hello?” The tourist’s voice raised an octave, increased
“Do you see that?”
“I don’t see anything,” Chocky hissed.
“Yes. Of course. But there’s something—hello?” The tourist’s voice raised an octave, increased in volume.
Chocky heard it, then. Shuffling, groaning, the rip and tear of clothing. He grimaced. “Leave them be. Their business. Not ours.”
“What are they doing? There is blood. They’re covered in it.”
“Then they’re almost finished. Whatever it is. Don’t get in the way.”
“I should do something.”
“You should mind your own business.”
“We should alert someone.”
“There’s nobody to alert. Come. We’re almost there.”
Chocky launched himself forward through the netting. He felt no disturbances in the lines. Behind him the tourist quietly said, “They stopped.” And then he waited for the tourist to catch up to him.
well, golly. this story takes place in a violent underground world of things going bump in the dark, where "bump" usually involves blades or teeth or claws. and, oh you sweet soft human all kitted out in your mannerly condescension and technological precautions, eager to figure out what makes these people tick for your ego-serving theeeeeesis, you may have misjudged some things.
“They are doing terrible things,” the tourist said.
do not underestimate the underground.
if this story is too unpleasant for you, this author has...options:
“Yes. Of course. But there’s something—hello?” The tourist’s voice raised an octave, increased in volume.
Chocky heard it, then. Shuffling, groaning, the rip and tear of clothing. He grimaced. “Leave them be. Their business. Not ours.”
“What are they doing? There is blood. They’re covered in it.”
“Then they’re almost finished. Whatever it is. Don’t get in the way.”
“I should do something.”
“You should mind your own business.”
“We should alert someone.”
“There’s nobody to alert. Come. We’re almost there.”
Chocky launched himself forward through the netting. He felt no disturbances in the lines. Behind him the tourist quietly said, “They stopped.” And then he waited for the tourist to catch up to him.
well, golly. this story takes place in a violent underground world of things going bump in the dark, where "bump" usually involves blades or teeth or claws. and, oh you sweet soft human all kitted out in your mannerly condescension and technological precautions, eager to figure out what makes these people tick for your ego-serving theeeeeesis, you may have misjudged some things.
“They are doing terrible things,” the tourist said.
do not underestimate the underground.
if this story is too unpleasant for you, this author has...options:
Words were not required. Sometimes the only way you could tell someone you loved them was to show them something beautiful. Sometimes, he thought, you
Words were not required. Sometimes the only way you could tell someone you loved them was to show them something beautiful. Sometimes, he thought, you have to send it from very far away.
well, damn.
there's a lot here. and if i'm going to stick to my SHORT REVIEW FOR A SHORT STORY vow; the one that's meant to protect me from overthinking a handful of pages of writing - or at any rate, over-reviewing them - spending more time writing the review than it took me to read the story, well, i'm not even going to be able to scratch the surface of this one.
how he managed to do so much in so little space is beyond me.
the title, which tells you what to expect from the story, structure-wise, is perfect, bittersweet, and also a little sneaky. each of the segments marks the "last" of something in a character's life, but it's not always clear what that "something" is. for example, the 1978 section's "last" was unclear to me until it was revealed in 2007, four chapters later: LT thought about that day they ran from the thistles. Funny how you don’t know the last day you’ll see someone. and THAT'S the kind of smooth subtle writerly shit i love and is especially pleasing to come across in a short story.
to be honest, the science stuff - invasive species biological evolutionary global warming alien spores pollination etc - for me, that was all wallpaper. but the arc of lt's life, his family, the changes and dynamics and developments and the ratio of stated/implied, how much was conveyed in such a relatively short page count. just, damn.
if i keep going, i'm going to break my vow, but do go give this one a read. it's a short story bursting at the seams with compressed, barely contained layers. it seethes.
Words were not required. Sometimes the only way you could tell someone you loved them was to show them something beautiful. Sometimes, he thought, you have to send it from very far away.
well, damn.
there's a lot here. and if i'm going to stick to my SHORT REVIEW FOR A SHORT STORY vow; the one that's meant to protect me from overthinking a handful of pages of writing - or at any rate, over-reviewing them - spending more time writing the review than it took me to read the story, well, i'm not even going to be able to scratch the surface of this one.
how he managed to do so much in so little space is beyond me.
the title, which tells you what to expect from the story, structure-wise, is perfect, bittersweet, and also a little sneaky. each of the segments marks the "last" of something in a character's life, but it's not always clear what that "something" is. for example, the 1978 section's "last" was unclear to me until it was revealed in 2007, four chapters later: LT thought about that day they ran from the thistles. Funny how you don’t know the last day you’ll see someone. and THAT'S the kind of smooth subtle writerly shit i love and is especially pleasing to come across in a short story.
to be honest, the science stuff - invasive species biological evolutionary global warming alien spores pollination etc - for me, that was all wallpaper. but the arc of lt's life, his family, the changes and dynamics and developments and the ratio of stated/implied, how much was conveyed in such a relatively short page count. just, damn.
if i keep going, i'm going to break my vow, but do go give this one a read. it's a short story bursting at the seams with compressed, barely contained layers. it seethes.
“We were many too, once,” she repeats, barely a whisper. “I really am sorry.”
this is an imaginative, elegiac story, a missive from the place be[image]
“We were many too, once,” she repeats, barely a whisper. “I really am sorry.”
this is an imaginative, elegiac story, a missive from the place between being and not; a signal from the space between the final breath and whatever comes after.
in this space, a group of endlings assemble, briefly, as oddly-matched housemates; tiger, rhino, dodo, shrew, pigeon, predator/prey alike, where they say goodbye to the world, telling their stories before being ushered out on a noah’s ark-like vessel into the sunset of extinction.
there is also one human among them; an orphaned girl named linnea who has a choice - to join her found family on their journey or to stick around a bit longer.
it's a very solid story. bolander’s writing is as strong here as in The Only Harmless Great Thing, and it draws the reader in and keeps them pinned.
she writes animals in captivity so wonderfully sorrowfully well:
They capture a few of the young birds alive and send them back across your waters. The last will be put on display as a public attraction, a curiosity kept in a dank, dark little chamber at the back of a shop. She will huddle into herself, feathers fluffed to ward off the chill of this gray place so far from her tropical homeland. The people who pay their pennies to see her will laugh at how round she looks, how plump and silly and vacant-eyed.
it’s a very moving story; poetic, thoughtful, emotionally resonant.
that's all i'm saying: "short review for a short story" goal intact!
“We were many too, once,” she repeats, barely a whisper. “I really am sorry.”
this is an imaginative, elegiac story, a missive from the place between being and not; a signal from the space between the final breath and whatever comes after.
in this space, a group of endlings assemble, briefly, as oddly-matched housemates; tiger, rhino, dodo, shrew, pigeon, predator/prey alike, where they say goodbye to the world, telling their stories before being ushered out on a noah’s ark-like vessel into the sunset of extinction.
there is also one human among them; an orphaned girl named linnea who has a choice - to join her found family on their journey or to stick around a bit longer.
it's a very solid story. bolander’s writing is as strong here as in The Only Harmless Great Thing, and it draws the reader in and keeps them pinned.
she writes animals in captivity so wonderfully sorrowfully well:
They capture a few of the young birds alive and send them back across your waters. The last will be put on display as a public attraction, a curiosity kept in a dank, dark little chamber at the back of a shop. She will huddle into herself, feathers fluffed to ward off the chill of this gray place so far from her tropical homeland. The people who pay their pennies to see her will laugh at how round she looks, how plump and silly and vacant-eyed.
it’s a very moving story; poetic, thoughtful, emotionally resonant.
that's all i'm saying: "short review for a short story" goal intact!
Her eyes darted restlessly to the endless scroll of must-haves to the right of her main view: spa getaways, mood boosters (completely safe!), a[image]
Her eyes darted restlessly to the endless scroll of must-haves to the right of her main view: spa getaways, mood boosters (completely safe!), and the latest fashions. At the upper right of her view were the icons for her own settings, as well as the parental access to her son’s space. Knowing she could always check his whereabouts should be reassuring, but it couldn’t warn her in advance, and that was the issue.
this is like that Black Mirror episode, Arkangel, but it takes its cautionary tale of mega-helicopter parenting into an additional layer of technology, set in a virtual reality where "lucky" folks are relieved of the demands of the physical body and the crushing responsibilities of life, free to relax or work or, in the case of our mother-protag, to raise her young son far away from the painful memories of betrayal and abandonment and the physical challenges imposed by his artificial limbs.
you know what kids don't like? being smothered and coddled in an artificial environment where nothing is any fun at all.
really good story here about parental assumptions and sacrifice and selfishness and ... options. much food for thought, and highly recommended by me, a stranger on the internet.
Her eyes darted restlessly to the endless scroll of must-haves to the right of her main view: spa getaways, mood boosters (completely safe!), and the latest fashions. At the upper right of her view were the icons for her own settings, as well as the parental access to her son’s space. Knowing she could always check his whereabouts should be reassuring, but it couldn’t warn her in advance, and that was the issue.
this is like that Black Mirror episode, Arkangel, but it takes its cautionary tale of mega-helicopter parenting into an additional layer of technology, set in a virtual reality where "lucky" folks are relieved of the demands of the physical body and the crushing responsibilities of life, free to relax or work or, in the case of our mother-protag, to raise her young son far away from the painful memories of betrayal and abandonment and the physical challenges imposed by his artificial limbs.
you know what kids don't like? being smothered and coddled in an artificial environment where nothing is any fun at all.
really good story here about parental assumptions and sacrifice and selfishness and ... options. much food for thought, and highly recommended by me, a stranger on the internet.
Orisa shook her head. “No plan except to keep going. Random choice perfectly acceptable.”
perfectly acceptable.
it’s not“Isn’t there some kind of plan?”
Orisa shook her head. “No plan except to keep going. Random choice perfectly acceptable.”
perfectly acceptable.
it’s not often that i have nothing to say about something i’ve read, even something as brief as one of these free tor shorts. but with this one, i got nothing. it’s true that it is outside my usual reading preference - outer space and bots and artificial intelligence, oh my! but beyond that superficial explanation (because i have enjoyed a few stories with those components before, here and there), the story itself didn’t make an impression on me at all. it’s not poorly written - that would have left an impression. it’s not that i didn’t “get” it. it just left me with literally no reaction. last night i was hungry, but it was too hot to go outside and i was too lethargic to be creative with my pantry’s contents, so i ended up shoving some plain bread in my face just to hold up my end of the bargain i have made with my body to keep karen alive. once the hunger pangs were quelled, i had no memory of even eating that bread. that’s how i felt after reading this story; the fulfillment of a self-imposed task: i have read my free tor short for the week. blink. now what??
i read a free tor short every week, and have been doing so for a few years now. they haven’t been posting as many new ones week-to-week as they used to, and some of them have been removed over the years, so there are fewer options from which to choose, since i refuse to read stories that are connected to a series i haven’t read. so i’ve been going outside of my comfort zone on these for a while, and sometimes they pleasantly surprise me, sometimes they confirm what i know about my own tastes, and very rarely, i emerge from my reading like this - flat as distilled water, beige as hotel art, unsullied as teflon &etc.
other readers may love this story. other readers may hate this story. me, i’m as blank as can be.
Orisa shook her head. “No plan except to keep going. Random choice perfectly acceptable.”
perfectly acceptable.
it’s not often that i have nothing to say about something i’ve read, even something as brief as one of these free tor shorts. but with this one, i got nothing. it’s true that it is outside my usual reading preference - outer space and bots and artificial intelligence, oh my! but beyond that superficial explanation (because i have enjoyed a few stories with those components before, here and there), the story itself didn’t make an impression on me at all. it’s not poorly written - that would have left an impression. it’s not that i didn’t “get” it. it just left me with literally no reaction. last night i was hungry, but it was too hot to go outside and i was too lethargic to be creative with my pantry’s contents, so i ended up shoving some plain bread in my face just to hold up my end of the bargain i have made with my body to keep karen alive. once the hunger pangs were quelled, i had no memory of even eating that bread. that’s how i felt after reading this story; the fulfillment of a self-imposed task: i have read my free tor short for the week. blink. now what??
i read a free tor short every week, and have been doing so for a few years now. they haven’t been posting as many new ones week-to-week as they used to, and some of them have been removed over the years, so there are fewer options from which to choose, since i refuse to read stories that are connected to a series i haven’t read. so i’ve been going outside of my comfort zone on these for a while, and sometimes they pleasantly surprise me, sometimes they confirm what i know about my own tastes, and very rarely, i emerge from my reading like this - flat as distilled water, beige as hotel art, unsullied as teflon &etc.
other readers may love this story. other readers may hate this story. me, i’m as blank as can be.
Outgrowing stuff is depressing, she’d say. I’d rather not.
meh. i was kind of tempted to give this one two stars, because i felt completely abandoned aOutgrowing stuff is depressing, she’d say. I’d rather not.
meh. i was kind of tempted to give this one two stars, because i felt completely abandoned at the end of it, and a little surly. but then i thought maybe it was just the frame of mind i was in, with personal loss clouding my perception, so i ended up going with a three, but it's a charitable, qualified three.
up until the ending, i was getting along just fine with the story - it presented an interesting scenario - a boy whose sister had gone missing, who felt guilty over her disappearance because he had abandoned her on their walk home in order to go flirt up a girl, and his search for her within the structure of a board game his parents had designed for them. it was a nice blend of sorrow and ambiguous magical realism - maybe happening/maybe just elaborate coping mechanism yadda yadda. it had good movement, mixing back and forth between memory, adventure, guilt, grief, and observation.
but then it just ...ends. it culminates in this moment of acceptance/closure for the character:
“Ok,” he said. “I get it.” He looked up and saw that the POLICEMAN was standing at the head of LIGHT STREET, beside the WAREHOUSE, watching him. “I get it.”
and then a concluding action that kind of left me baffled because i, for one, did not get it.
i'm perfectly willing to write off my comprehension-fail as the result of blurry-brained grief and exhaustion, but i have a suspicion that the open-endedness was intentional and meant to be one of those 'interpret it any way you want' stories that's fine for some readers, but if i'm expected to draw my own conclusions, i need more bread crumbs to follow. or more sleep. either way, it's a low three stars, whether the fault is my own or the story's...
Outgrowing stuff is depressing, she’d say. I’d rather not.
meh. i was kind of tempted to give this one two stars, because i felt completely abandoned at the end of it, and a little surly. but then i thought maybe it was just the frame of mind i was in, with personal loss clouding my perception, so i ended up going with a three, but it's a charitable, qualified three.
up until the ending, i was getting along just fine with the story - it presented an interesting scenario - a boy whose sister had gone missing, who felt guilty over her disappearance because he had abandoned her on their walk home in order to go flirt up a girl, and his search for her within the structure of a board game his parents had designed for them. it was a nice blend of sorrow and ambiguous magical realism - maybe happening/maybe just elaborate coping mechanism yadda yadda. it had good movement, mixing back and forth between memory, adventure, guilt, grief, and observation.
but then it just ...ends. it culminates in this moment of acceptance/closure for the character:
“Ok,” he said. “I get it.” He looked up and saw that the POLICEMAN was standing at the head of LIGHT STREET, beside the WAREHOUSE, watching him. “I get it.”
and then a concluding action that kind of left me baffled because i, for one, did not get it.
i'm perfectly willing to write off my comprehension-fail as the result of blurry-brained grief and exhaustion, but i have a suspicion that the open-endedness was intentional and meant to be one of those 'interpret it any way you want' stories that's fine for some readers, but if i'm expected to draw my own conclusions, i need more bread crumbs to follow. or more sleep. either way, it's a low three stars, whether the fault is my own or the story's...
Caleb doesn’t mind defending his family, but too many of the Celebration teams have started acting like the real point of it is the shootouts i
[image]
Caleb doesn’t mind defending his family, but too many of the Celebration teams have started acting like the real point of it is the shootouts instead of the holiday specials. Lyle Odenkirk is a cheerleader for bloodshed, and his ratings suggest many Americans feel the same. To Caleb this borders on blasphemy, a legacy perversion from the days when open-carry groups started patrolling the malls. To him, the guns were never the point. It was about family. Still is.
a not at ALL distressing vision of the future combining reality teevee, black friday mania and a hunger games-flavored all-american celebration of guns and consumerism. oh yeah, and family. let's not forget family. i wouldn't say it's enjoyable - too many mass shootings in the real world make this impossible to enjoy, but it's a good premise, well-written, and you'll probably be thinking about it in the back of your mind for a while after you read it. for once, i'm glad this is just a short story - anything longer than this would water down the concept. AND - since i no longer write long reviews for short stories to save myself the self-imposed stress-and-failure cycle, that's all you get, chums!
Caleb doesn’t mind defending his family, but too many of the Celebration teams have started acting like the real point of it is the shootouts instead of the holiday specials. Lyle Odenkirk is a cheerleader for bloodshed, and his ratings suggest many Americans feel the same. To Caleb this borders on blasphemy, a legacy perversion from the days when open-carry groups started patrolling the malls. To him, the guns were never the point. It was about family. Still is.
a not at ALL distressing vision of the future combining reality teevee, black friday mania and a hunger games-flavored all-american celebration of guns and consumerism. oh yeah, and family. let's not forget family. i wouldn't say it's enjoyable - too many mass shootings in the real world make this impossible to enjoy, but it's a good premise, well-written, and you'll probably be thinking about it in the back of your mind for a while after you read it. for once, i'm glad this is just a short story - anything longer than this would water down the concept. AND - since i no longer write long reviews for short stories to save myself the self-imposed stress-and-failure cycle, that's all you get, chums!
It was not unusual for a cough or sneeze to slip out unexpectedly, drenching a plate as it went out to a customer, or even a whole pie that Bhu pulled
It was not unusual for a cough or sneeze to slip out unexpectedly, drenching a plate as it went out to a customer, or even a whole pie that Bhu pulled steaming out of the wood-fire oven. Bhu found ways not to care, ways to justify his lack of caring, but one reason won out easily over the rest: Bhu wasn’t going to get anyone sick, because everyone was already sick. He saw the symptoms everywhere. In the customers’ heavy, bloodshot eyes, in their puffy lips and cheeks, the swelling in their necks and fingers, the sweat that coated their hands and the damp bills that they passed to him when he worked the register. He wore blue gloves for when he handled the bills, and at the end of his shift the fingers were stained and corroded, the latex pocked with small blisters.
YOU GUYS, IT COULD BE WORSE!!
in a world of the sick and the dying, insect swarms and squatters, and germ-covered pizza, it's good to know you can still count on man's best friend, even when your bestie is...a little gross.
[image]
it's lucy the bulldog mix, chubby and leaky, mangy and near-toothless, relying upon a wheeled back-leg prosthesis to get around, doing that alarming snort-breathing thing that brachycephalic dogs do, her eyes and nose wet with tears and mucus, slimy as something dredged from an ocean trench.
[image][image]
taking care of a pet is a big responsibility that only becomes moreso when the world in ending, food is scarcer, and your dog is a picky eater. fortunately, bhu works at a still-very-popular italian bistro, and his boss phan has some food to spare—something large and meaty down in the basement, something that keeps his restaurant filled with customers while everything else falls apart, something that makes lucy's mouth water and her body stronger.
under ordinary circumstances, owning a pet is an act of optimism, but owning a sick pet in the endtimes is a roll of the dice.
He liked to think, given the state of things, that the world would end long before she did.
but that was before...THE MEAT.
this is a fun, FREE story for our nowtimes. but if i catch anyone sneezing on my pizza, neither man nor beast nor lovecraftian nightmare creature will protect them from my wrath.
It was not unusual for a cough or sneeze to slip out unexpectedly, drenching a plate as it went out to a customer, or even a whole pie that Bhu pulled steaming out of the wood-fire oven. Bhu found ways not to care, ways to justify his lack of caring, but one reason won out easily over the rest: Bhu wasn’t going to get anyone sick, because everyone was already sick. He saw the symptoms everywhere. In the customers’ heavy, bloodshot eyes, in their puffy lips and cheeks, the swelling in their necks and fingers, the sweat that coated their hands and the damp bills that they passed to him when he worked the register. He wore blue gloves for when he handled the bills, and at the end of his shift the fingers were stained and corroded, the latex pocked with small blisters.
YOU GUYS, IT COULD BE WORSE!!
in a world of the sick and the dying, insect swarms and squatters, and germ-covered pizza, it's good to know you can still count on man's best friend, even when your bestie is...a little gross.
[image]
it's lucy the bulldog mix, chubby and leaky, mangy and near-toothless, relying upon a wheeled back-leg prosthesis to get around, doing that alarming snort-breathing thing that brachycephalic dogs do, her eyes and nose wet with tears and mucus, slimy as something dredged from an ocean trench.
[image][image]
taking care of a pet is a big responsibility that only becomes moreso when the world in ending, food is scarcer, and your dog is a picky eater. fortunately, bhu works at a still-very-popular italian bistro, and his boss phan has some food to spare—something large and meaty down in the basement, something that keeps his restaurant filled with customers while everything else falls apart, something that makes lucy's mouth water and her body stronger.
under ordinary circumstances, owning a pet is an act of optimism, but owning a sick pet in the endtimes is a roll of the dice.
He liked to think, given the state of things, that the world would end long before she did.
but that was before...THE MEAT.
this is a fun, FREE story for our nowtimes. but if i catch anyone sneezing on my pizza, neither man nor beast nor lovecraftian nightmare creature will protect them from my wrath.
From the time she was old enough to understand it, the scientists had always told her she was the only one. That she was unique. That she was [image]
From the time she was old enough to understand it, the scientists had always told her she was the only one. That she was unique. That she was alone. Now the idea of another individual like her, or even more than one, is so momentous she can barely breathe.
She makes herself breathe.
whooo.
i was very excited to see another free tor short from this guy, after i loved-loved Our King and His Court: A Tor.com Original. that one had some violent bits that were maybe not for everyone, but this is more deeply sad and upsetting in a non-squirmy way, so i strongly suggest you all go read it. it is FREE. and it's been a rough week for people who seemed to have their shit together opting out, so there's a timeliness to reading a story so full of how desperately lonely this world can be, and the lengths to which people might go to feel connected, no matter how illusory. it's hard to exist in the world sometimes, but i promise you this story has a heartening ending, a sad-but-hopeful ache.
From the time she was old enough to understand it, the scientists had always told her she was the only one. That she was unique. That she was alone. Now the idea of another individual like her, or even more than one, is so momentous she can barely breathe.
She makes herself breathe.
whooo.
i was very excited to see another free tor short from this guy, after i loved-loved Our King and His Court: A Tor.com Original. that one had some violent bits that were maybe not for everyone, but this is more deeply sad and upsetting in a non-squirmy way, so i strongly suggest you all go read it. it is FREE. and it's been a rough week for people who seemed to have their shit together opting out, so there's a timeliness to reading a story so full of how desperately lonely this world can be, and the lengths to which people might go to feel connected, no matter how illusory. it's hard to exist in the world sometimes, but i promise you this story has a heartening ending, a sad-but-hopeful ache.
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 5
[image]
on the one hand, new wayward children content is ALWAYS APPRECIATED. however, between what we've read and what we've intuited about what we've read, there's not a whole lot here that expands jack and jill's whole deal, so it's not as rewarding as getting that mariposa expansion pack a.k.a. Skeleton Song. still, her writing is so good - her turns of phrase, her twists of knives - she could rewrite the exact same events over and over using different words and i would be right there, drinking it all in, happy as a clam at high tide.
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 5
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on the one hand, new wayward children content is ALWAYS APPRECIATED. however, between what we've read and what we've intuited about what we've read, there's not a whole lot here that expands jack and jill's whole deal, so it's not as rewarding as getting that mariposa expansion pack a.k.a. Skeleton Song. still, her writing is so good - her turns of phrase, her twists of knives - she could rewrite the exact same events over and over using different words and i would be right there, drinking it all in, happy as a clam at high tide.
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 7
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well, this is a first (maybe a second): lovecraft-inspired horror i actually liked. the story has a great creeping-style build towards its horror, and then, once unleashed, it goes and goes and goes and goes, tying everything together at the end in an unexpected way; a true stoner thought-loop mindfuck of an ending. from one rabbit to another: MWAH!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 6
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i do love a story that creeps up on you, that slowly transforms from ordinary to extraordinary horrors; here an awkward, undesired social gathering peppered with white-people-bullshit that escalates into a not-quite-people threat, the details of which were a little hazy, but still effective and evocative. sometimes you don't need to see all the teeth to know you're in danger.
“I think you’re the only person here whose name I don’t know,” he says.
Choke.
You swallow. “My name is Kédiké.”
Reality flickers like a failing neon tube. Something nestles within that millisecond—a sound like flowing water, though you can’t be sure. Too suddenly, you’re back at the table, everyone still trying to wrap their tongue around your name. Alessia, intermittently contributing to the conversation from the side table where she’s tossing salads, says: “Do you go by a nickname?” She digs at the bowl with wooden spoons and flips with practiced ease. “Like Kay, or something?”
“Maybe what you need is an honorary American name,” says Charlotte, enthusiastic. “Name exchanges are great for cultural appreciation—you know the Indians used to do it with missionaries and soldiers? Anyway, my honorary Japanese name is Eiko. Means prosperous or something like that. I gave my friends American names, too: Kayleigh, Brooklyn, Chad. They love it.” She angles her head. “Maybe later you can give us African names?”
Another flicker, this time a half second, the crack wide enough to fit several images: white sheets; the sickly gray of a spider’s web; bloodred; fingernails scraping wood.
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 4
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an absolutely perfect fucking story. if you like murderbot, you're gonna love butterfly man.
for me, this was extra sweet because i love rich larson, yet i wasn't crazy about his most recent novel, Ymir*, which lukewarm response was purely a genre-not-for-me situation. but this, THIS!!! i loved every moment of it. it is on the longer side of the tor-short spectrum, so carve out enough time that you won't be interrupted by the hard limits of your commute, your lunch hour, your child's afternoon nap and GET INTO IT. if a whole story cycle about these characters set in this world existed, i would be a happier person.
* Ymir was actually the last book i was able to review before covid ate my brain and left me with a cavern of head-pudding instead. that was in JULY! beezus christ.
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 3
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five stars for a fifth JUDGE DEE story! seeing a red nose studio illustration thumbnailed on tor's free fiction page always makes the heart glad, and when it's attached to one of these undead-justice stories, it's doubleplusglad. i have missed reading these stories every week, but being away so long means it is now a tor-easure trove of unread goodies for me. my stocking is stuffed, my heart will go on, my edible will kick in.
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 2
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ohhhhhhh blessed new wayward children content, and i am all a-swoon. i was always a fan of mariposa, and had hoped for a full-length story set there, so if this is a teaser of that happening, excellent news, but even if this is all we're getting, i will be content. i will happily go wherever s mcg wants to take me, always.
“Good evening, Christopher,” she said, voice delicate as a wind chime. “How did you sleep?”
“Well,” he said, and his own voice was a heavier thing, rendered more substantial by the mechanisms of his breath, which was used to keep him alive, not just to speak. “I went to the meadow and slept in the sun for a while. It was nice.”
“I’d like to sleep in the sun,” she said, somewhat wistfully.
“You could,” he said. “I could carry your bones to the hill and let you sleep with me for a while. It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. You’re light as anything.”
“But skeletons don’t sleep in the sun,” she said. “We sleep in beds of flowers, or in the cool of the catacombs, away from sunlight. That’s how it is in Mariposa.”
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEWELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
this explanation/intro will be posted before each day’s short story. scroll down to get to the story-review.
this is the SEVENTH year of me doing a short story advent calendar as my december project. for those of you new to me or this endeavor, here’s the skinny: every day in december, i will be reading a short story that is 1) available free somewhere on internet, and 2) listed on goodreads as its own discrete entity. there will be links provided for those of you who like to read (or listen to) short stories for free, and also for those of you who have wildly overestimated how many books you can read in a year and are freaking out about not meeting your annual reading-challenge goals. i have been gathering links all year when tasty little tales have popped into my feed, but i will also accept additional suggestions, as long as they meet my aforementioned 1), 2) standards.
GR has deleted the pages for several of the stories i've read in previous years without warning, leaving me with a bunch of missing reviews and broken links, which makes me feel shitty. i have tried to restore the ones i could, but my to-do list is already a ball of nightmares, so that's still a work-in-progress. however, because i don't have a lot of time to waste, and because my brain has felt scraped clean ever since my bout with covid, i'm not going to bother writing much in the way of reviews for these, in case GR decides to scrap 'em again.
i am doing my best. merry merry.
DECEMBER 1
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the one good thing about dropping the ball on all of my self-inflicted monthly challenges is that i have not gone to the tor site for my weekly free shorty fix since JULY, and when i popped over there today, i found that in my absence, SO MANY of my favorite authors had all-new stories for me to sink into. if anyone's still following me, first of all, i'm sorry i have been such an absentee booknerd ere these many months, but also be prepared that this advent calendar is gonna be pretty tor-centric at the outset. which is probably for the best, since gr hasn't deleted too many of those in the past, compared with stories from other sites. anyway, i love jonathan carroll, and not only did i just get to read Mr. Breakfast - his first novel in YEARS, but now a new story?
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