Tagged: Fiction

Greetings, children of the dark. I’m writing this fresh off my happy place: a f*cking awesome gig in a great venue. Live music is a real lifesaver for me, and totally helps to replenish the batteries – something that’s much needed right now. (My therapist says I’m totally burned out and need a break, but when has that ever stopped me 😂)

I’d love to hear more about how you get creatively recharged – drop a comment below, or hit us up on social media! I’ll leave all the tagging details at the bottom of this week’s missive.

But before we get to the good stuff, I’ll repeat this plea:

Our drabble cupboard is looking awfully bare right now. Thanks to everyone who saw the plea and sent some in—it’s all much healthier now, and you definitely hit that arbitrary goal I set last week. Thank you! But it’s a neverending task, and a very hungry beast. We need more, and more, and more. Bloody insatiable! Keep it up, keep subbing, keep being brilliant. 

And speaking of submissions, I’ve noticed a few subs for the summer special starting to drip through. That’s great, but you’ll be waiting a while for any sort of feedback—Shalini won’t even start thinking about the summer special for another couple of months. Maybe keep them on the backburner for a little while longer? 

Anyways, this week’s TWF menu is inadvertently on a theme, for the most part. We start with the beautiful lamentation on loss (until it’s… not) that is Chip Houser’s short story. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Alan Moskowitz’s apocalypse,
• Evelyn Morgan’s denial, and
• Sean MacKendrick’s escape

Feel free to jump onto socials and have a chat – about your creative recharging, the stories you’ve read this week, or just to say hi!

• Twitter: @horrortree / @novicenovelist 
• BlueSky: @horrortree.bksy.social / @laurenwrites.bsky.social    
• Instagram & Threads: @horror_tree / @lozthewriter 
• Mastodon is just me! @[email protected] 
• Or follow HorrorTree on Facebook

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. Hope you’re all enjoying the shorter / longer days (delete as applicable according to your hemisphere). I’ll tell you what: this has been a massive energy-draining week for me for various reasons, and I’m sure glad I’m staring at the weekend. I had wanted to get started on reading your (I’m sure all amazing) short story submissions, but I need a day off already! I’ll get to working through them ASAP, though.

What I do need, though, is MOAR DRABBLES. Our drabble cupboard is looking awfully bare right now. We’ve got some going through the process now, but it’s only a couple of weeks worth. And that means I’m challenging you, dear reader, to get your drabble hats on. I’d love it if next week I can report that I’ve had a ton of drabble subs. Shall we set a goal? I would like to see at least 10 drabbles in the inbox before I write this column for the first issue of May. Can you make that happen? Get ’em ready and head to the submissions page. Remember when you’re using the form (here) to choose TWF from the first dropdown menu, and then choose ‘drabbles’ so it can be routed to the right place. 

Anyways, this week’s TWF menu is kicked off by a nihilistic museum visit with Adrian Fahy. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Michael Bettendorf’s hunter-gathering,
• JB Riley’s imaginary friend, and
• Lynn Kristine Thorsen’s tortured experiments

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. Sad to say our April short story submissions window is now closed, and I thought I’d bring you a very real statistic to show why we moved our submissions process to this strange quarterly beast. 

The statistic is this: in that 2-week window, we got more than 50 submissions.

Yes, 50 stories. Each of you should have now received an email to acknowledge your story is in the system, but if you haven’t and were expecting one, please do get in touch. We are very old-school here at TWF Towers and there is no automated email immediately going back to you to say “hey, we got it!”—it does take an actual human (i.e. me!) to go into the inbox and fish them out, catalogue them, and put them into our system—but I’ve now moved every submission into the next step of the process. From here, Stuart, Shalini and I get to reading, reviewing, analysing, arguing, and finding those stories that we’d like to accept. Of course, with 50+ stories for essentially about 12 spots, we’re going to have to be very critical and maybe let go of something that would’ve made it once upon a time. For that, I’m sorry.

Before the move to a staggered submissions process, we would be getting around the same number of submissions every single month. And there are just a handful of us, all volunteers, trying to make our way through those submissions. And we can only publish one short story a week, alongside our three drabbles. (If you want us to be able to afford more, get to supporting us on Patreon!)

If we didn’t try to limit the opportunity to submit, we would currently be scheduling stories several years in advance—and no one wants to wait a decade to see their story in digital print! (And yes, we still haven’t made our way through all of the stories from the last window, and there’s actually a handful of stories I need to edit and send back to writers who submitted in the last half of 2023. Life, sorry, etc.)

This process is to protect our writers from frustration as much as it is to protect our tiny team from burnout. We do, of course, have many other opportunities within the Horror Tree ecosystem to flex your creative muscles and submit your works. Your story might fit one of the many open calls we list on this site—the very reason for our being!—or maybe you’d like to write for a special themed edition or submit a story for serialisation. We also have our short sharp speculations, aka the drabbles, of which we publish three every single week! Maybe try your hand at some teeny tiny stories, or stringing three of those together on a theme to tell a longer story as an unholy trinity? 

Anyways, this week’s TWF menu. Our main course is a silent one, and it comes from the dark mind of Mitchell Strickland Jr—and it’s so great to put a strong disabled protagonist on these pages. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• SG Perahim’s monsters under the bed 
• Santiago Eximeno’s stranded mermaid, and
• RJ Meldrum’s renovation surprise.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. First things first: short story subs will CLOSE tonight. Anything submitted after today will not be read, and will not be kept on file until the next window at the beginning of July. Please take note of our submission windows, which you’ll find in the deadlines section of the submissions page, here. 

Why do we do it this way? Quite frankly, because there were way too many submissions! Not long after I took over this column, it became clear that if we didn’t close to submissions every now and then, we’d have writers waiting literal years for their story to be published. I love that you’re all so keen and ready to submit to us, and that we get so many great stories, but it just became unmanageable. The windows help us to keep on top of things. We still have people waiting several months to be published, but months is better than years. 

If you can’t wait for the quarterly window, fear not! There are plenty of other opportunities. Your story might fit one of the many open calls we list on this here site—the very reason for our being!—or maybe you’d like to write for a special themed edition or submit a story for serialisation. We also have our short sharp speculations, aka the drabbles, of which we publish three every single week! Maybe try your hand at some teeny tiny stories, or stringing three of those together on a theme to tell a longer story as an unholy trinity? 

See: lots and lots of opportunities out there. The spec-fic beast is hungry and never, ever satisfied…

Anyways, this week’s TWF menu. Our tasty main course comes from David Bradley, who’s dealing with a weird mouth thing. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Cassandra Daucus’s dirty secret 
• Patrick Winters’s hidden meanie, and
• DJ Tyrer’s existential angst

PS, the fae stuff went really bloody well, thanks for asking! Keep an eye out for the next one—Writing the Occult: Connection to Land will take place on 15 June, just before the solstice.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. I’m neck deep in fairies as I write this, getting ready for my big Fae Day event which, by the time you read this, will be over. I feel like I’ve been less engaged in this edition of my Writing the Occult events, and I’m not sure why: life, probably, but maybe also I’m just not a fairy person? Who knows. Maybe by the time you’re reading this, I will have been converted and will be looking under rocks and behind bark for evidence. I’m feeling like a bad Celtic-blooded human right now!

But for that reason, we’ll go straight to the good stuff this week.

Well, first I should remind you that our April short story submissions window is open for just one more week! They are coming in thick and fast, and we are going to have to make some tough decisions. We just can’t run more than one short story a week for many, many reasons, and we get dozens and dozens submitted in each window. We used to get dozens every week, which is why we had to move to the windows! Submissions guidelines are here, and you submit by using this form, making sure to choose TWF from the drop-down box underneath the name field. Please, please upload your story in an editable document format, not a PDF and not posted into the form. And our process is not automated, so it might take me a while to acknowledge receipt of your sub. I will get there, I promise. TWF is powered by human volunteers. 

Remember, though, that we are definitely open to drabble submissions every day of the year, so if you’re not successful with your short, maybe go shorter? Give it a try?

Anyways, this week’s TWF menu. Our tasty main course comes from J.L. Royce, who’s gone off for a hike in the Michigan wilderness. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Brian Maycock’s lazy long weekend, 
• Noah Wood’s collective creep-out, and 
• Richard Meldrum’s meeting in a dark alley.

Speaking of the boss man, he’s one of the panelists at Saturday’s British Fantasy Society online event day. The whole day is about “the book journey”—all those things besides the writing!—and I’ll be moderating the panel on marketing featuring Stuart, Jenn Hanson-dePaula from Mixtus Media, and indie writers and promo machines Beverley Lee and Nicole Eigener (aka Nicoverley). Ever wondered how to get your writing *out there*? Join us! It’s free for BFS members, and just £5 for everyone else, plus it will also be recorded if you can’t make any/all of it live. Details are over here.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. A quick word first up: the next short story submission window opens tomorrow, 1 April. No, this is not an April Fool’s Joke. Send in your darkly speculative fiction that’s less than 1500 words. Yes, the word count matters. No, we won’t consider it anyway if it’s a bit longer or if it doesn’t meet any of our other submissions guidelines, which you’ll find here. Make sure you use the form to submit, and that you choose TWF from the drop-down menu, and then indicate it’s a short story and upload in a .doc or .docx please, otherwise we might not see it or be able to review it. The window closes in TWO WEEKS. 

Anyways…

After last week’s missive about neurodiversity, it’s somewhat ironic that I’ve just taken part in a panel about creating more authentic and affecting depictions of mental illness in horror. Ironic, but wonderful: this is my passion topic. And this one was actually my first ever involvement in StokerCon! Big thanks to the wonderful Lee Murray for inviting me, and to my fellow panellists Angela Yuriko Smith, LE Daniels, and John Palisano for their honesty and insights. (Yes, I’m pinching myself that I was among them as well.) It’ll be part of the online programming for StokerCon, 30 May to 2 June; details here. 

I say it’s a passion topic of mine for a good reason: it’s both personal and professional. I’ve been very honest, both here and elsewhere, about my own mental health challenges and how working with dark speculative fiction can be like therapy of sorts. That’s the personal side. The professional side? Well, you’re reading it. In this role (a volunteer one, btw), I read a helluva lot of dark stories, good and bad and in between. And far too regularly, I’ll read a submission that uses mental health as a lazy trope. Listen up, writers: that sort of thing will never make it through the TWF filters. The schizophrenic serial killer, the obsessive stalker, the “nut house” (yes, we’ve had subs using that terminology) as a setting for gore and violence, using mental health as a punchline, these are lazy tropes. There is so much more you can do to explore mental health within dark fiction. 

We were asked for examples of stories that do it well, so I thought I’d share my recommendations here to show you what I mean. First up, Scott J Moses’s novella Our Own Unique Affliction uses the immortality of vampires to dig deep into ennui, existential crises, suicidal thoughts, grief, trauma, and more. It was one of my favourite reads last year. Also on grief, trauma and identity, try Cassandra Khaw’s The Salt Grows Heavy or Alison Rumfitt’s Tell Me I’m Worthless, two very different works but both searing. The obvious one for me when it comes to mental illness in dark fiction is Catriona Ward’s Last House on Needless Street—I can’t say any more because that would be spoilerific, but it’s so well-researched, well-informed, and well-executed in its representations. And on the short story side, head towards Sarah Jackson’s stories exploring trauma through hauntings. I took Sarah’s workshop on the topic at the UK Ghost Story Festival and it was so darn good…

Anyways, off my high horse and onto this week’s TWF menu. Our tasty main course comes from Joseph E. Arechavala, who’s having trouble sleeping. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• SG Perahim’s adventures in babysitting, 
• Lionel Ray Green’s vengeful scarecrow, and 
• Christina Nordlander’s floral bursts.

To finish, my usual couple of plugs. For the last time: Writing the Occult: The Fae is coming up in MERE DAYS, with a whole globe full of amazing speakers. Never fear if you can’t make the whole day—it IS long—because we’ll record it all, but only for ticket holders. Tickets are £40+bf, which gets you entry to the whole darn day as well as a recording you can come back to in your own time for all time. Tickets here. 

Also: I’ve roped Stuart into being on a panel at the next British Fantasy Society online event day. The whole day is about “the book journey”—all those things besides the writing!—and I’ll be moderating the panel on marketing with the boss man, Jenn Hanson-dePaula from Mixtus Media, and indie writers and promo machines Beverley Lee and Nicole Eigener (aka Nicoverley). It’s free for BFS members, and just £5 (about US$6.50) for everyone else, plus it will also be recorded if you can’t make any/all of it live. Details are over here.

Finally, last week I spoke a lot about neurodiversity in the SFFH community. After making/politely inviting members of the BFS community to share their own stories, I figured I should probably share my own. So for those interested, here you’ll find my reflection on being an “unpublished author” trying to Do The Thing while trying to understand how they actually tick. “Just make time for it” doesn’t work for some people!

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. How goes your new season? Yep, we just celebrated the spring equinox here in the northern hemisphere, and as much as I love the dark stuff, I’m really looking forward to longer days and less need for jumpers. I grew up in Australia, after all; I just can’t get my head around layering and dressing to constantly be adding and removing warm bits!

More important than my need for sun, though: today marks the last day of Neurodiversity Celebration Week. It’s a worldwide initiative that “challenges stereotypes and misconceptions about neurological differences”, aiming to transform how neurodivergence is seen within the organisations that rule our lives (work, school, daily life), to recognise the “many talents and advantages of being neurodivergent”, and to help create “more inclusive and equitable cultures that celebrate differences and empower every individual”. At least, that’s the deal according to the official blurb on its website. 

Why bring this to TWF on the last day of the week? Well, because neurodivergence awareness shouldn’t be confined to a single week. Because we should all be better at inclusivity across the board. Because in the last 12 months I’ve been diagnosed as a high-functioning ADHDer with strong autistic traits, including sensory processing disorder and dyspraxia, and I’m still figuring out what that means for me while also trying not to beat myself up for not knowing sooner. (Heck, they just didn’t diagnose girls in the 80s when I was in primary school!) And, importantly, because we in the genre fiction community are surrounded by neurodiversity. There’s something about fantasy, horror and science fiction that resonates with the different, the traditionally ‘othered’ of society. And I really, really love that about our community. And I want to celebrate it every day. 

So let’s take a moment to raise a glass, our fists-of-triumph, our hugging arms, and celebrate the neurodiverse writers and readers of the genre fiction community. Go forth and seek them out, or share your own stories, and let’s do what we do best: support each other. For example, in my other life as publicity and marketing officer at the British Fantasy Society, I published a few pieces this week from member writers sharing their stories, like this one from E.M. Faulds on late-diagnosed ADHD, and this searingly honest one from David Green about autism and writing and the way a lack of understanding can really hit hard. I am so proud of them for sharing their stories in such an open and vulnerable way. Head over and check out their blogs, then check out their works as well because both are fabulous humans. Here’s to the neurodiverse writers and readers of speculative fiction: We are many, and we are awesome. 

But enough of that. Let’s get to the reason we’re here (as important and, I’m sure, as much as you love my weekly ramblings!).

This week’s TWF menu centres around regular contributor DJ Tyrer’s adventures with mirrors. That story is followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Cassandra Daucus’s supernatural helper, 
• Paul Fletcher’s warning to runners, and 
• Alan Moskowitz’s vampiric pursuits.

To finish, two quick event plugs. Writing the Occult: The Fae is coming up on 6 April, with a whole globe full of amazing speakers. Never fear if you can’t make the whole day—it IS long—because we’ll record it all, but only for ticket holders. Early bird price ticket prices end (I think!) today! After that, the price will rise to £40+bf, with sales ending the day before the event. Tickets here. (Yes, I’ll probably plug this every week until the event.)

Also: I’ve roped Stuart into being on a panel at the next British Fantasy Society online event day. The whole day is about “the book journey”—all those things besides the writing!—and I’ll be moderating the panel on marketing with the boss man, Jenn Hanson-dePaula from Mixtus Media, and indie writers and promo machines Beverley Lee and Nicole Eigener (aka Nicoverley). It’s free for BFS members, and just £5 for everyone else, plus it will also be recorded if you can’t make any/all of it live. Details are over here.

OK, enough from me. Before the stories come, as ever, it’s over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark, and Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to the Irish diaspora. I’m fighting the urge to make comments about evil leprechauns and suchlike, and am thankful I’m feeling so drained from battling the mega virus from hell all week that I can’t think of anything Irish and witty to say. (The Irish are probably thankful for that, too!)

Speaking of the mega virus from hell—’twas not the plague; the test told me so—it is the reason I’m running a bit behind on TWF correspondence at the moment. A few of you have slid into my DMs to chase me on some things, and I can assure you I’ll get to it. Hopefully in the coming days. And yes, I said “hopefully”, because I have a lot to catch up on! I promise you, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. 

With those two ridiculous paragraphs re-read, I’m telling myself it’s time to cut my fevered losses and just jolly well get on with the show. So here we go.

This week’s TWF menu is some top shelf stuff, that’s for sure. Our feature short story is absolutely stunning—and its author, Miley Chen, is a high school junior, people!! I may as well throw in the towel now… 

That story is followed by the short, sharp (and somewhat gothic/folklorish, aka right in my wheelhouse) speculations of:

• Steven Patchett’s chosen one, 
• Samantha Lokai’s gardening tips, and 
• Joshua Ginsberg’s award-winning service.

I hope you enjoy these offerings as much as I did.

To finish, two quick event plugs. Writing the Occult: The Fae is coming up on 6 April, with a whole globe full of amazing speakers. Never fear if you can’t make the whole day—it IS long—because we’ll record it all, but only for ticket holders. You’ve got one week left to get tickets at the early bird price of £35+bf; after that, the price will rise to £40+bf, with sales ending the day before the event. Get in quick before that price rise! Tickets here. (Yes, I’ll probably plug this every week until the event.)

Also: I’ve roped Stuart into being on a panel at the next British Fantasy Society online event day. The whole day is about “the book journey”—all those things besides the writing!—and I’ll be moderating the panel on marketing with the boss man, plus Jenn Hanson-dePaula from Mixtus Media, and indie writers/promo machines Beverley Lee and Nicole Eigener (aka Nicoverley). It’s free for BFS members, and just £5 for everyone else, plus it will also be recorded if you can’t make any/all of it live. Our panel will be up last, at 4pm UK time (11am East Coast / 10am Chicago for the boss’s diary). Details are over here.

And now it’s over to you, Stuart.