This 300-word story won first place in the 2022 Queer Sci-Fi flash fiction contest. The rules were simple: 300 words or less; unmistakably queer protagonist; fantasy or science fiction; adheres to the theme (this year it was Clarity). Ruti’s Prayer
by Lloyd A. Meeker Again Arum had not visited, let alone answered. Ruti’s gift had been inadequate to attract the god as he passed by. Even though he was only an apprentice shaman, Ruti knew he’d felt Arum pass — the birds had stopped singing, and the breeze scampered through his wattle house as if the walls were made of bushes scrawny as his arms. His prayer, that Tegon, the most beautiful warrior in the village, would return his love, love that made his whole body ache, remained unanswered. It seemed Arum required a finer gift than the smoke of sweetgrass rising on the song of his flute, but Ruti ...

To be honest, it’s been a long and sometimes discouraging slog getting to this point. Others might nod sagely and say it was just a 7-year cycle, but after dozens and dozens of rejections, I was contemplating giving up seeking traditional publishing when I crossed paths with Amy Collins last year. She’s been relentless, fabulous and resourceful. What a difference a real ally makes! This is a huge breakthrough moment for me, and I’m moved to share it with you. 2025 may seem like a long way off, but there’s plenty to do before it arrives. Onward! ...

In Love with Autumn

When I was in my spring,
I didn’t care for autumn much.

The aspen would turn gold
for a week, letting you know
It was time to buckle down
for another hard winter.

Now that I’m in it, I’m falling
in love with autumn.
I see differently in its weightless
light, in this clear air.

Today I bask in soft forgiveness
of an effortless sun.

Today I’m given thankful calm
to savor my life in peace, far-reaching peace,
a balance of light and dark
that has its own sense of humor.

Today I feast on harvests of ripe fruit
grown all summer long from blossoms
that fell away in spring.
There are seeds in the fruit I eat.

I don’t believe in life eternal.
I know it, like bees know,
who fill cells with honey
for sisters they’ll never ...

For months I’ve been working on a problem related to my current writing project, and this essay came out as a part of my conclusion: arrogance without context is hubris. Not exactly sure how the ideas will fit into the story, but they’ll be there, even if only in the foundations. I hope you find it interesting! Toward the end of 2022, I moved to Málaga, Spain, for three months — a place first settled by the Phoenicians. I then moved to Montpellier, France, where the university was founded in 1200, and the botanical garden was established by Henry IV over 400 years ago. I’ve visited castles and palaces occupied by a succession of conquering armies; sat in their gardens and contemplated their fountains, admired the breathtaking craftsmanship of tile work and architectural detail. In Málaga, as I steeped in the silent presence of a Roman theater next to the ...

Thanks to the startling generosity of complete strangers, I have my mandolin back! Here’s the story. It’s a story well worth telling, if you ask me. Which you didn’t, but I’m telling it anyway. I have to, because this chain of miracles needs to be celebrated by more than Bob and me. On October 17th we flew into Málaga with a year’s worth of luggage — one large suitcase, a smaller suitcase, and a backpack each. Plus my mandolin. At the taxi rank we got a driver whose car could carry everything, and we loaded up. I showed the driver the address of our AirBnB apartment, and off we went. In the flurry of paying the driver (in cash at his insistence) I didn’t check to make sure we had everything. My mandolin was still in the taxi, and he was gone before I realized it. So we were met ...