An interview with our cover artist.
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When people learn you’re the editor of a short fiction magazine, they press you for all the lurid slush pile stories. They understand that the world overflows with twisted, confused individuals and that, as an editor, you have chosen to make your living with the creative output from that crowd. Due to ghastly curiosity, they have questions.
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Anansi see a whole ceiling of spiders
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Recently, a New Republic article entitled “What It Says About You if You Enjoy Horror Movies” caused a lot of controversy and angered many horror aficionados and creators, including myself. One of the conclusions, and the one that drew the most ire, was that people who enjoy horror movies lack empathy.
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Once upon a time, I thought I was a girl. Once upon a time, I lived in a castle. Well, it wasn’t really a castle. It was a fortress of sorts, though, and it had something like a moat and something like dragons, or that’s the story we told each other at night, whispered from room to room, down halls that stank of antiseptic and that stuff you sprinkle on carpets to soak up bodily fluids.
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In a cold grey city to the North there lived a family made of ragtag parts. The denizens all thought them strange, and when they passed by the house they pushed babushkas across and hats over their eyes to hide their faces.
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