Overheard while trying to sleep…
3-yr-old: “Don’t talk to me or else I’ll eat this!”
9-yr-old: says something
3-yr-old: “Augh! Now I have to eat this!”
An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
Overheard while trying to sleep…
3-yr-old: “Don’t talk to me or else I’ll eat this!”
9-yr-old: says something
3-yr-old: “Augh! Now I have to eat this!”
People keep posting stuff about how they’ll stay friends with others, regardless of political differences. Here’s what I think about that:
When the political difference of opinion has to do with whether other people should be free to exist, then it certainly is worth ending friendships over. Protecting the basic rights of all people — including LGBTQ folk, Muslims, black people, Hispanic people, women, and people with disabilities — is more important than civility. It’s even more important than friendship.
The nine-year-old, looking confused and troubled, “But I thought Nazis were, like, hundreds of years ago.”
Three-year-old: “The big bad duck lives in the woods!”
Me: ?
Three-year-old: brings me a stack of books, flips through the pages, and says on each page, “This is not the big bad duck!” Continue reading “Ducks and Planets”

These are Mary E. Lowd’s furry stories that were published in 2016 — you can read all of them for free online:
If you enjoyed any of these stories, please consider nominating them for the Ursa Major Awards. It only takes a minute, and award nominations and wins can make a big difference to authors. Nominations are open through February 28th.

by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Claw the Way to Victory, January 2016
“You’re distracted,” Lizzie said. The asymmetrical white splotch on her tabby face made her look sloppy and unprepared, even when she was dressed in her prim skating leotard with her ice skates tightly laced up her hind-paws. Continue reading “Marge the Barge”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Gods With Fur, June 2016

Commander Bill Wilker’s angular muzzle split into a wide collie grin, and he smoothed down his ruff of fur that spilled regally out of the collar of his Tri-Galactic Navy uniform. “That’s a goddamned beautiful lookin’ planet,” he said.
And it was a goddamned beautiful planet on the viewscreen. It was green and round and blue — everything that a planet should be, not like the desolate lava balls and crater-faced lumps in the last several star-systems. This planet practically screamed, “Shore leave!” and Bill Wilker was ready to take up that cry. Continue reading “Questor’s Gambit”
The nine-year-old is learning how to make cupcakes. This could work out well for me.
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.
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…