When people have dementia, eventually you have to lie to them.
Rage doesn't help. Sorrow doesn't, either. Both reactions are appropriate.
Whatever or however you celebrate this year, I wish you peace.
Alice Goes to Hell.
Genre is a marketing construct.
Suddenly I knew how to finish a novel.
I love you, Mom. Happy birthday.
I guess the story arc I'm writing is just...life.
I've got a new Central Corps short story up.
Isn't science fiction supposed to be about the future? Isn't it?