It’s been a lovely sweltering summer in one of my homes-of-the-heart, Portland. Big sweaty hugs to all the friends and fellow writers who’ve hung out and about with Yours Truly. A quick recap of some recent short-story appearances I’ve neglected to mention in my zany madcap hurtle through 2018 so far:
My *very* short story “Because Reasons” in Asimov’s (March/April, 2018, as Alexandra Renwick): That feeling of continued connection when someone you love goes far away, but knowing they’re alive in the world means you might see them again one day… unless you have an incurable degenerative bone condition, and they have a one-way ticket to Mars. (Un)Friends Forever!
My short story “All Them Pretty Babies” (as Alex C. Renwick) in AUDIO at Cast of Wonders: Who do we value, and who do we treat as disposable? A story about what “pretty” means, and those who gets to decide.
My story “baleen, baleen” in Interzone 274 (as Alexandra Renwick): Zeke just wants to make the world a better place, no matter how many times he has to drown himself to do it.
My dead-guy/ Miami Beach flash fiction “Shallow Sand” in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine (Jan/Feb 2018, written as Alex C. Renwick): this one’s about a dead guy. Also, Miami Beach. Written on site in Florida. Too much terrible fun.
My short story “Making Happy” in the anthology If This Goes On: Political & social SF! My favey! Also, my first print appearance as Zandra Renwick…but as Alexandra Renwick, too (no apologies)! Huge thanks to editor Cat Rambo for inviting me to be one of her core authors, and thanks as well to publisher Colin Coyle for offering to make the anthology my first appearance as Zandra… and yes, there’s a story behind the name (and the name, and the name). Ask me at the bar (any bar…).
Come see me read & speak at Boréal, the outstanding annual Canadian French-language speculative fiction conference. This weekend I’ll be on the English track discussing All The Cool Stuff with Jo Walton, Claude Lalumière, Marie Bilodeau, Derek Künsken and other literary Canadian hip cats. Montreal is charming AF and the con is in the Masonic Temple!! So now’s your chance and no excuses.
Hear me read from my rock-n-roll Schrödinger’s birdie story “Wonderband” at the ALICE UNBOUND book launch this weekend at the 3 Brewers Pub on Sparks Street in downtown Ottawa. This one imagines Alice in Wonderland‘s duck, eaglet, lory, and dodo as an indie rock band ready to rock it out against their nemeses, The Hearts, if only Duckie can win himself back into the good graces of the greatest lead singer in town: the enigmatic Gryphon.
I guess you can take the girl out of Austin, but you can never really take Austin out of the girl. . .
“Beg your pardon? Well yes… I suppose it does look a little like a ceramic doughnut. I’d never noticed. But make no mistake! That smooth frosted exterior hides the finest modern microtechnology, computer components too small to see with the naked eye, taking remote readings from up to twenty meters away… We’ve been collecting data for decades, you know, all in the public interest.”
Stupefying StoriesShowcase presents my short piece “Quality of Life.” Read the rest here:
Here’s a little micro somethin-somethin of mine that appeared last year in 200CCs. Posting in its entirety, in honor of the day. – ACR
Halloween: An Unlove Story
by Alexandra Renwick
“Remember what I did, remember what I was, back on Halloween?” – The Dead Kennedys
You were so punkrock I was shitting myself for a piece of you. Liberty spikes, kilt over thrashed jeans, and enough steel chain swinging from your studded belt to haul commercial timber up a goddamn cliff. You were the Sid Vicious I’d been looking for and all sixteen years and ten-inch fin of me wanted so bad to be your Nancy I was practically drooling. It was the kind of love story I could get behind: drunken brawls, misdirected nihilism, and all the social dysfunction my teenage heart could bear.
The party was glorious, plastic skeletons and cheap vodka, black candles in the graveyard and sex on the tombstones till sunrise. Then came school on Monday like usual and surprise! you’re the substitute teacher.
Who makes teachers so fine, so young? Whoever that is should be shot.
Gone were your shredded jeans. No trace of ‘spikes, no ghost-clank chains, no smeared black kohl. Shiny and scrubbed, you wore pleated khakis with penny loafers. I was young but decided then and there I deserved a love story that wasn’t fatal, and would occur with more regularity than one day each year. <>