Goodbye, 2019, and thanks for all the stories

Fates Cover v2 Fin SM

I’m not going to write a year-in-review post, because I fear it’s going to be depressing. 2019 brought me a lot of grief, especially during the summer months, and not enough writing. It did have quite a few publications, though, and that’s always a good thing. So I’ll focus on the one thing that mattered LOTS.

2019 comes to an end with the publication of my first short story collection, titled Fates and Furies, from Candlemark and Gleam. It’s the fulfillment of a long-standing dream, and every story in it holds a special place in my heart. And so does Athena Andreadis, publisher and editor, who believed in my stories–in me–enough to give them a good home.

(Here’s the link if you want to buy a copy).

There’s an underlying thread that connects those stories–or, rather, a whole tapestry’s worth of threads. Greece is ever present, even in the wilderness of Mars. Death as well, and the Ferryman awaiting for his fare at the edges of our vision. The Sea, of course, as Mother and General to us all, as the stunning cover depicts. How to live and die well. And, for me, musings on a never-ending struggle in Life and in Writing: how aging changes our perceptions, and how, even at the moment of death, we can redefine our being with one single decision.

If I could sum up the entire collection in just a few words, I’d choose one paragraph from the final page of Ouroboros:

“At the edge of her consciousness, an endless shore stretches on. Under skies brewing heavy weather awaits a ship with black sails, with a three-headed dog on its figurehead. Different waters, different sails, but familiar faces crowd the decks. Not all of them are human, but all of them are kin. The Ferryman beckons, one skeletal hand on the tiller, the other palm up, requesting the fare. And her weary nanobots line Kallie’s fingertips, ready for their final journey, each of them a minuscule coin for her passage.”

And now, onwards to the New Year, to find new ways to redefine our lives, in spite of the Ferryman’s out-streched hand.

I’m not done yet.

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