EA Metacast, October 2015 (Part 2)
Part 2 of the October 2015 EA Metacast.
EA Metacast, October 2015 (Part 1)
Hello everyone, Alasdair here. We tend to do a metacast every year around this time, and this year we’ve done something a bit different. This one was recorded LIVE at WorldCon in Spokane in August 2015!
In the past, you’ve let us know our metacasts are too long, so we’ve split this one into three parts:
- In part one I introduce you to some of the staff at EA, we talk about Mothership Zeta, and there’s a special announcement! If you only want to listen once to get an update on what’s in store for Escape Artists in 2016, you want to listen to this.
- In part two we’ve more of the Q&A session, along with a great flash story, “Final Corrections, Pittsburgh Times-Dispatch” by M. Bennardo, narrated by Wilson Fowlie. We talk a bit more about what’s been going on behind the scenes at Escape Artists this past year.
- In part three we offer a special treat: a live narration by Podcastle’s own M.K. Hobson! She reads her original story “The Last Unenlightened”.
Enjoy!
Alasdair
PodCastle 385: Where Monsters Dance
Show Notes
Rated R
Where Monsters Dance
by Merc Rustad
It hurts your eyes to stare at the hole. You look away, shaking, and as soon as you do, the memory blurs, fuzzily distorting until you aren’t sure what you were just looking at.
One thing’s always clear, though: Ashley.
You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans and step into the woods. There, not a yard inside the dark tree shadow, you see a glimmer of color. A red thread–it matches Ashley’s favorite wool sweater. It’s caught on a branch and unravels deeper into the woods.
General Submissions Update
Happy October, everyone!
We received a tremendous number of submissions from this year’s Artemis Rising call. Many thanks to everyone who sent us something — the quantity and quality of the stories has been extraordinary. In order to give proper attention to all the submissions we’ve received, we’ll be temporarily closed to new submissions beginning November 1. We expect to reopen our submissions portal in January 2016.
Thank you for your patience! We look forward to reading your stories.
Best,
Rachael K. Jones and Graeme Dunlop
PodCastle Co-Editors
PodCastle 384: Flash Fiction Extravaganza! Vintage PodCastle
Show Notes
Flash Fiction Extravaganza!
Flash Fiction Extravaganza! Vintage PodCastle
PodCastle 383: Abandoned Responsibility
Show Notes
Rated PG-13
Abandoned Responsibility
by G. Scott Huggins
“Ah, Captain.” The pirate bowed. His accent was crisp and strange, and the crowd hushed as they strained to listen. “I thank you for your hospitality—”
Haraad cut him off with his usual tact. “The captain . . . has better things to do. I’m his son. And we aren’t rescuing you, pirate.”
PodCastle Miniature 84: The Fox Bride
Show Notes
Rated PG-13
The Fox Bride
by Mari Ness
He carried the squirming animal to his – no, their, he had to remember that now, their – bedroom, struggling to avoid her sharp teeth. The oversized ring he had given her glimmered on her left front leg; she had spent most of the evening biting and licking at it, when she had not been growling. He had ordered the musicians to play louder, to cover up the noise, but the growls still lingered in his ears.
When he reached the room, he secured her chain to one end of the bed, and sat gingerly at the other end. The waxing moonlight flooded the bed, giving a silver sheen to her red and snowy fur.
“When you are a woman, I can remove the chain,” he told the fox.
The fox barked.
“I swear it,” he said.
A snarl.
PodCastle 382: Of Blood And Brine
Show Notes
Rated PG
Of Blood and Brine
by Megan E. O’Keefe
Child walked the edge of the cold shore, bare feet sinking in rough sand. The red glare of the sun cast the pale beige granules in eerie, pink light, as if blood had been spilled across them and then diluted by the waves. Beak-pecked carcasses of sea creatures lay along her path, their poisonous flesh bulbous with tumors even after those few birds who could stomach them had picked them over. Why anyone would desire to smell like those wretched waters, Child could not guess.
The beach was empty, as it always was, save for a small group of mourning. They bundled their dead—two or three, she could not tell—onto a floating bier, set light the wooden slats, and shoved it out to sea. Child caught her breath, anger tightening her fists as flames licked up around the bier, revealing the wraps the dead had been sent to their rest within. Such a waste. But then, they had earned them. It was their right.
PodCastle 381: The Vandalists
Show Notes
Rated R for adult themes, disturbing imagery
The Vandalists
by Natalia Theodoridou
It always starts the same way.
First, a tiny feeling of unease.
You breathe.
Then, the sweating. Your forehead, your palms, your back. It’s from the heat, you say, I should open a window, but the windows here are not designed to open. You turn on the air-conditioning until it’s blasting polar temperatures in your office. You breathe. You try to imagine you are inhaling fresh air. You’re choking. Your hands are trembling slightly. Then your cheekbones go numb. Your lips too. Your palms. Your field of vision is narrow, it turns into a long, dark tunnel. Through the tunnel you try to find the pills you’ve never admitted you keep in the top right drawer of your desk. You find them. You swallow two. Now the walls are shaking. A flame flares up right in the center of your chest and spreads to your entire body. You enter the tunnel and search for the door. You find it. You are looking for the escape exit. You find that one too–thank you, you say, to no-one in particular. You climb the stairs to the roof. Your breathing is quick, your head light. Like a feather, you think, because that’s the first cliché that comes to your mind and you love your clichés, treasure them. The buzz in your ears is blocking out all other sound. You open the roof door and emerge under the blinding sky. Your jacket feels tight. You take it off. Your tie is flapping around your neck like a noose. You loosen it. You walk to the edge of the roof. You bend your knee, plant it squarely on the cement. The thought crosses your mind–to jump, just so you can escape this panic. But with that thought the buzz recedes. Through the tunnel you look at the city sprawled under your feet, a forest made of concrete. The wind freezes the sweat against your skin. You think you hear the distant roar of a lion.
PodCastle 380: Spirit Forms of the Sea
Spirit Forms of the Sea
by Bogi Takács
Réka steps forward from between two tents. She looks dazed and one of her braids is partly undone; the guard must’ve found her asleep.
She frowns at the stranger and her eyes narrow even further in the morning sunlight.
He smiles at her the way he would smile at one of his younger sisters, or even one of his own children. My stomach turns. Then he lets loose his spirit form and it ascends to the sky, a majestic white horse not matching his pedestrian self.