Ah, what a lovely day for a walk through the freezing rain.
The ice on the snow cracks like the sugar crust on a creme brûlée.
The nine-year-old is saving a snowball in the freezer. She named it Samantha.
Month: January 2017
Twitter and Bed Times
That moment when you — a novelist and short story writer — wish that your writing was as good as a joke Twitter account.
Upset that we’re making her get ready for bed, the nine-year-old asks in a huff: “But what if I end up in bed TOO EARLY.” As if that would bother us…
Moles and Squirrels
Sometimes instead of writing new words, you pepper previous passages with useful references to the relatives sizes of moles and squirrels.
Happy New Year — Two Pieces of Flash!
To celebrate the end of 2016 and the start of 2017, we bring you a pair of stories that were originally published in A Glimpse of Anthropomorphic Literature earlier this year — this is the first time they’re available to read for free online.
Our first story, Sheeperfly’s Lullaby, is a snowy fable about a sheep and a wish that’s granted in an unexpected way. Our second story, The Mouse Who Was Born a Bear, is story of transformation and becoming one’s true self. Continue reading “Happy New Year — Two Pieces of Flash!”
The Mouse Who Was Born a Bear
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in A Glimpse of Anthropomorphic Literature, Volume 3, August 2016
Maureen lumbered toward the Re-Incorpus Center, feeling horribly large and conspicuous. Wire fencing on either side of the sidewalk protected her from the yelling protesters. Nothing protected her from reading the hateful slogans on their signs: Re-Incorpus Is Murder! Vat-Bodies Have No Souls! Death to Gen-Clones! Continue reading “The Mouse Who Was Born a Bear”
Sheeperfly’s Lullaby
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in A Glimpse of Anthropomorphic Literature, Issue 2, March 2016
Sheep tell many tales as they graze. There’s little to do in a grassy field but count the clouds, search for four-leafed clovers, and tell tall tales. Yet, some of the sheep’s tales are true, and when Soft-as-Snow stares at the clouds with her liquid brown eyes, she isn’t counting them. She’s searching, seeking, and hoping against hope — waiting for White Wings to return to her. Continue reading “Sheeperfly’s Lullaby”