'The Word' – Kill Your Darlings

Pushing off from the soft dirt with her bare feet, she swung back and forth gently. The warm wind stirred the tall stalks of wheat in undulating waves, glinting in the mid-morning sun. She mouthed the Word to herself silently. Letting her lips and tongue wrap around the hard syllables. It felt jagged against her teeth, like a blade. She would never dare say it out loud, even if she was sure her father was out of earshot. What if the wind picked up her whisper and ferried it to him?

I should really post here more regularly, to be honest. In the absence of anything particularly exciting to relay: my short story ‘The Word’ was published as part of the Kill Your Darlings Speculative Fiction and Fantasy Showcase, which is very cool. You can read it here.

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Who the hell cares what old people think about climate change?

This isn’t abstract psychoanalysis. There is a brutal calculus going on in the minds of everyone from your skeptic uncle to the bankrollers of squillion dollar think tanks whenever they think or talk about climate change. They know that they will never have to really answer for their opinions on this matter, because they’ll be six feet under (and loving it!) when the world’s arable land is rendered infertile and its coastal cities flooded by rising oceans. In some dark and venal corner of their minds, they’re thinking about that fact all the damn time. Despite the frightening predictions of the new IPCC report, they’ve still got plenty of wiggle room to keep denying until they’re dead – which will be sooner rather than later. With any luck they’ll even avoid being held accountable in any concrete way, which for the conservative commentariat is an even worse fate than the Mad Max hellworld towards which we are hurtling.

I’m in The Outline today being polemical against the olds. Been too long since I’ve written something Rude.

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