As a child, I adored disk defragmentation. This was a part of a larger sense that computers were magic, a sense that even computer utilities were a kind of inspired play, the conversation between metal and sand and electricity. I watched defrag run for long minutes, tiny colored blocks shifting
Audra was used to getting left behind. On her fifteenth birthday, when she was supposed to be enjoying cake and playing party games with her friends, she was watching out the porch window and thinking about how her dad would burst in, driving his broad shoulder into the wood to
One of the most common questions fiction writers face (after “you’re not quitting your day job, are you?”) is the question of where we get our ideas. It’s a question that has always frustrated me because the answer is complicated, and also because the question is somewhat broken.