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 had nothing better to offer. Tegon, whose teeth flashed when he smiled, whose glowing skin, streaked with sweat and dirt after wrestling made Ruti’s tongue swell and drip to lick him clean. Tegon, who used him, then ignored him. He put away his flute and left his house to bless the cooking fires. At the fires, Tegon caught Ruti roughly by the arm. “Hold! Do you have a gift for me today? I give you my beautiful cock to suck, but you give me nothing.” He laughed, a sound with barbed edges. “Your flute has made your lips strong. If ...

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 meet. One day all the figs and pomegranates I have eaten will take root in my body. Let winter come when it will. I will sleep for a time, as things in winter do, to rise in the sweetness of ripe figs from jeweled wombs of pomegranates. Lloyd A. Meeker 9/26/23 ...

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 cathedral, and Gilbrafaro Castle, which overlooks the city — built in 929 CE by Abd-al-Rahman III, Caliph of Cordoba and which fell to the forces of Ferdinand and Isabella in 1487 — a pattern of thought began to take shape in my reflections.  Summarized, it is that without sufficient context, arrogance becomes untethered hubris. That thought is not original to me, I know, but this is how I came to think it. Specifically, I began to ponder the shallow arrogance, seemingly proudly ignorant, I see in the American myth of exceptionalism. Certainly no culture is without arrogance — the world ...

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 by JD, our host’s friend, who let us into the apartment. He spoke almost no English, and I spoke almost no Spanish. But through Google Translate I explained what had happened. In a completely unnecessary display of generosity and kindness, he tracked down the two taxi companies serving the airport. He called them and explained in Spanish what the problem was. He was relentless. He wrote a script in Spanish for me to use when I called the taxi people back, which I did several times after he left. The next day, JD texted me to ask how my search ...