Occasionally, my writing group runs out of stories to critique, so we have a writing session instead. One time, another writer brought cards from a fairy tale story-telling game for us to use as story prompts. We all drew five cards, and my cards read:
Garden
Orphan
Storm
This Comes Alive
Husband or Wife
And when they died, they passed it on to their children.
For the final Shreddy story in The Necromouser and Other Magical Cats, it seemed only right to bring the character back to where he had started — chewing on plants. And it needed to be a big finish, since — while I occasionally entertain ideas of writing a Shreddy novel — this might be Shreddy’s last story ever.
The main character from “Shreddy and the Dancing Dragon” has a history of running afoul of modern technology. So, it was only a matter of time before the cantankerous tabby Shreddy went up against a Wii/PlayStation/Xbox-like video game console.
One of our stories, “Lunar Cavity,” has been nominated for an Ursa Major Award! This is a huge honor, and we’re really excited. But that’s not all!
A collection that includes five of our cat stories, The Necromouser and Other Magical Cats, has been nominated for Best Other Literary Work, and In a Dog’s World has been nominated for Best Novel.
I just transformed a story I wrote seventeen years ago by rewriting it to be furry — it was a fascinating exercise, and I’m really happy with the results.
Interesting statistic: rewriting a non-furry story to be furry doubled its length.
This pie would wish you a happy day if it weren’t so apprehensive that you might eat it.
In celebration of Pi Day, we have a new story from the Wespirtech Universe for you!
Join Prilla — The Little Red Avian Alien — on her journey to make fresh grassberry crepelettes, the way she remembers them from when she was a hatchling. Along her path, Prilla must negotiate with a reptilian alien, aquatic alien, robot, and her dearest friend, a canine alien. If you’ve been reading our other stories, you’ll recognize a lot of these species. Continue reading “Happy Pi Day!”
As Prilla listened to the others chatter, her nostrils were flooded with the remembered smell of her own favorite fledgling food: her hatch-mother’s grassberry crepelettes.
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Luna Station Quarterly, Issue 020, December 2014
It was Avian Night at the All Alien Cafe. The avian population of Crossroads Station wasn’t large, but they were vocal and social. The double winged Eechies and the puff-feathered Rennten could always be counted on to attend, since they’d evolved as colony dwellers. However, occasionally, even a traditionally solitary, long-legged Ululu would show up and regale the crowd with stories of how his people had built high-pressure nests inside all the gas giants in a thirty light-year radius of Crossroads Station before humans even noticed them. Continue reading “The Little Red Avian Alien”
Originally published in Tails of a Clockwork World: A Rainfurrest Anthology, September 2012
“In my own eyes, my mouse life was nothing more than grist for the mill of Nocturnia’s stomachs. Yet, those stomachs were connected to hearts that loved my kind for our sacrifice. Was I the monster?”
Mice tell a myth of fearsome creatures with scaly talons, massively muscled bodies, and sharp, hooked beaks. Death from the sky, instant death, for any mouse foolish enough to be above ground when these creatures come hunting.
The name of the myth is owl, and few mice see one and live to tell the tale. Owls are creatures of shadow — both the shadows of trees in a darkening forest and the shadows of misremembered tales retold by forgetful minds. Continue reading “One Night in Nocturnia”
Originally published in Dancing in the Moonlight: Rainfurrest 2013 Charity Anthology, September 2013
“…the chickens began to court their young squire. Some sang songs to him in warbling voices; others followed him around, plying him with eager compliments. As always, Henry loved the attention.”
The eggs never hatched. Henrietta and all her coop-mates laid eggs every day, and every day the Coopmaster came and took the eggs away. No baby chicks. Henrietta had so much love in her feathered breast and no one to spend it on.
Only nine inches below the slatted floor of the coop, a cold and hungry litter of fox kits waited for their mother to return. One by one, the kits closed their eyes and fell into a patient sleep. Their breathing slowed. Their hearts slowed too. Still, the mother did not return. Continue reading “Fox in the Hen House”