I have a new story out this month, so I joined up as part of the blog tour to get the word out. Follow the blog tour here for a special contest and giveaway! This collection of stories came about because the editor, Bokerah Brumley, mentioned how funny it would be to put such a collection together as a cure for boredom induced by pandemic isolation. People responded. Within minutes, the project transformed from "wouldn't it be funny" to "here's where you send submissions."
Due to the magic of high-speed editing, I submitted a story to her within a few hours of her call for submissions. That's a record for me, but it only worked because I had a story that nearly qualified, and needed just a few tweaks. Instead of more cowbell, it needed more chickens.
Stories by:
J. F. Posthumus, Cedar Sanderson, J Trevor Robinson, Richard Paolinelli, Jane Lebak, J. D. Beckwith, Grace Bridges, Denton Salle, Margo Bond Collins, J. A Campanile, Amber Draeger, Karina Fabian, Abigail Falanga, Clair W. Kiernan, L. Jagi Lamplighter, David Millican, John M. Olsen, Dawn Witzke,Joshua M. Young, Bokerah Brumley
Here's an excerpt from my story Stray Thoughts to show a bit of the flavor of my story. Don't expect the whole collection to be like this, since mine may be the only post-apocalyptic story in the book. Interesting tidbit: I wrote the story before COVID-19 hit, so the plague of my story was NOT inspired by the real thing.
Delores fetched today’s eggs and brought them to her outdoor kitchen.
She turned on her hotplate and waited for it to warm up, filling the time with conversation. “You remember last year? Things were different. I had that run-down basement apartment. I was arguing with the landlord over rent when the news came on about a new strain of flu spreading real fast-like. A few hours later, the city went dark. Landlord Bob didn’t last much longer, God rest his miserable soul. Turns out it wasn’t the flu, but nobody lasted long enough to name it.” She shook her head at the memories.
The birds always enjoyed her stories, even when she told the same ones every day. She waved a hand over the hotplate and frowned, then prodded it with a bare finger. The coiled element was cold. She wiggled the plug and the wiring, and still got no power. Shrugging, she toddled over to the power inverter that ran her tiny kitchen. The lights on it were dead.
I love the book;s attention to detail on formatting. This chicken comes from the print version.
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