Oeuvre (means my stuff)

Free Speculative Fiction:

Rootbreakers at Motherboard Terraform

“The world was covered in green, billions of leaves waving triumphantly over all arable land like flags of an invading army. Once people had feared for trees. Turned out they could fend for themselves. The New Conditions had spawned new kinds, which grew as fast as bamboo and tough as ironwood. When the old nations began to break apart, the trees moved in, covering everything with green.”

Acceptance at Fabula Argentea

Wherein… we finally learn where authors really get their ideas.

Did you even wonder what happens when you finally break through and get published? Well, first you have the meeting. It’s kind of like when the outgoing President briefs the President-elect–gives him the codes, explains what’s what.

Rule of Thumb at Aurora Wolf

“In those days, a man could ride for a thousand miles on the infinite, oceanic grassland that stretched from the Danal River on the east to the low range of hills that traced the western coast of the continent. The half-orc tribes that had dominated the steppes for centuries had been defeated by the combined armies of the southern countries of Gurian, Khavalia, Istaru, and Cadis. The decimated half-orcs scattered across the plains and looked for work as hired hands or trackers. The result of the war opened up caravan trade routes and led to prosperity—for some. The limitless steppes provided good grazing, now free for the taking. Well-heeled landowners acquired great herds of goats, sheep, and aurochs. They hired men to move these herds to pasture and then drive them to market.

This story is about some of those men.”

Not Free (hey, a guy’s gotta eat!):

To Begin Anew in Last Darn Rites

“We knew our place from birth, and that place was above: with our silk swaddling, gilded rattles, milk from veal-fed wet-nurses; lullabies sung by trained contraltos, the gentle tinkling of harps plucked by court musicians. In the spring, the windows of our nursery were flung open to admit the aroma of roses. When it was cold, a fire warmed us, and cinnamon incense enfolded us in its pleasant piquance.

Your kind never intruded upon our space.”