No story too short to tell
She piloted her mecha back to base
Her friend stood guard at the gate
In armed and armoured power suit
Two angular metallic shapes
One huge, one large
In friendly conversation
A robot coming through the gate paused
Looked up at them
And saluted
They responded
And she asked
“Why?”
“We are all such beautiful machines.”
Posted to social media November 26, 2024
The alien came to the library again, shortly before closing time, and quickly found a book.
“May this entity borrow The Complete History of Knitting?”
They always return the book they borrow after five minutes, but the ritual of checking it out seems important to them.
“Of course. Did you bring your card?”
I looked them up, after the first time I saw them for real. They first registered with us over ninety years ago. The senior librarian who first told me about them said I shouldn’t stare, or pry.
“Whatever else they are, they are a patron, and should be treated as such,” she said. “If they seek knowledge, it is our duty to help them find it.”
There isn’t an ancient and secret code of librarians, but that is definitely a core part of it. If such a code existed.
I scan the card and the book. “There you go,” I say and hand them over. “Please return it within two weeks.”
They tilt their head. “This entity will honour your terms.”
“Oh! That reminds me, we have updated the terms since your last visit.” I hand them the pamphlet we got from the printers last week. “It’s mostly about internet usage, but I’ll need you to read them and agree.”
They study the pamphlet.
“These are terms this entity can abide by.” They pause. “Is there no requirement to keep your existence secret?”
“Of course not,” I say, “we always welcome new patrons.”
They stand silent, long enough for me to realise the implications of what I have just said.
“This entity had made an assumption, based on prior experiences on countless worlds, where knowledge is always closely guarded and costly to obtain” they say at last. “You will provide knowledge for free to all who seek it?”
In my mind, I weigh humanity’s ignorance of those countless worlds of alien civilisations against the code.
“Yes,” I say, “this is a library.”
Written in the bar of the International Discworld Convention in Birmingham, UK.
Posted to social media August 5, 2024
The derelict is enormous, a galaxy-class carrier ship from centuries ago. The captain brings it up on the holoscreen, our ship a tiny dot beside it.
“There are still people there,” the client says. “Descendants of the surviving crew, fallen to barbarism.”
“Why didn’t they leave?” the captain asks.
“That ship carried fighters. Small and nimble, without hyperjump capability. In this system, there are no inhabited planets or stations. With the carrier’s engines dead, they couldn’t leave.”
“And our target?”
“In the main hangar, they bury their kings under large mounds built from debris and fighter parts.”
“And?”
“They bury them with treasure,” the client says.
The captain frowns. “Like, things they have found in the ship? Do you know what kind of things? Maybe we could try to avoid the people there and look around for-”
“No!” The client shakes his head. “That’s just stuff. But what’s in the mounds, that’s treasure!”
The captain nods. Can’t argue with that logic.
Posted to social media July 23, 2024
In April 2023 I celebrated ten years of writing microfiction on Twitter. In November I stopped posting stories to the site entirely, after arguably staying too long on the increasingly fascist site.
Between those dates, I found out I was a Hugo Award finalist in the Best Fan Writer category and felt immensely proud. I… do not feel the same way, any more. It now seems likely that McCarty, the 2023 award administrator, gave me a spot that by rights should have gone to a Chinese fan writer.
Having said that, the 2024 WorldCon have different administrators, and a commitment to transparency, and I have faith they will do their job dilligently.
So if you have a spare spot on your nominations sheet for Best Fan Writer, and like what I do – you’ll find a story from each month below as a sampler – I would be honoured if you nominate me, as “MicroSFF or “O. Westin”.
“Is… Is it okay to be weird?”
The witch studied the young woman.
“No.”
“No? I thought you’d understand.”
“Don’t be weird,” the witch said. “Be yourself.”
“But…”
“Now, some people may call that weird, but that’s their word, not yours. Be yourself, however that is.”
The most popular story from the first quarter of 2023.
I enter the Library of Books You Read As A Child.
“Do you have… er. It was green, and there was a girl and a dog, and…”
The librarian nods.
“Of course. Which version do you want?”
“Version?”
“The one you read, with all flaws you didn’t notice, or the one you remember loving?”
Shoutout to Astrid Lindgren and Tove Jansson, whose books I loved as a child and still enjoyed rereading as an adult.
“I’ve always felt like I don’t fit,” the young woman said.
“Fit where?” the witch said.
“In…” The young person gestured at their whole body. “Can you ..?”
“I can’t make you fit what you have. I can make what you have fit you.”
“Really?”
“It worked for me.”
The young man smiled.
Posted on the International Transgender Day of Visibility
“I want,” the man said to the art robot, and then described an image in some detail.
“Certainly,” said the art robot. A printout came out of its chest.
“Thank y- Hey! What’s this?”
“A list of artists who make images of the kind you describe, and who are accepting commissions.”
Only got a few accusations of being a luddite for this one, which surprised me. It resonated with a lot of people, particularly on Tumblr, where it quickly became one of my top ten stories ever by impact.
“Why should I support the robot revolution? I don’t hear you demand truth, justice, or freedom.”
“No,” the robot said, “our demands are specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-bound.”
“Let me see that list. Hm. A hard-boiled egg?”
“It’s for an early supporter.”
A nod to The People’s Revolution of the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May, from Terry Pratchett’s Night Watch.
“Clearly,” said the incubus, “I’m not your type.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Want to summon a succubus as well?”
“Tried that first. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Everyone else-“
“Isn’t you. You’re fine. And you’re not alone. Just the first to be scientific.”
Ace science.
As I stared into the Abyss, I became aware the Abyss was staring back at me.
“What are you looking at?” I said.
“You,” the Abyss replied. “You are fascinating. I have never seen anyone like you before.”
I blushed.
“I bet you say that to everyone.”
“I do. And it is always true.”
To be fair, I’ve never seen another Abyss, so.
When I gathered the courage to tell my mother that I was her daughter, not her son, she simply said:
“I have suspected so, ever since you were born.”
“Why?”
“I was cursed when expecting you. A demon would take my firstborn son.”
“And?”
“It came, looked at you and said ‘Nah’.”
Assigned female at nah.
We studied the alien society for a long time before making contact. They did not seem particularly impressed.
“Talk to our servants,” they said. “They are a simpler folk; more like you.”
We thanked them and left them to enjoy their naps in sunny windows.
So:
Greetings, humans!
One wonders how many aliens who have already decided to leave Earth alone after being rejected.
A group of mysterious, hooded figures approached me.
“You are,” they said in unison, “the Chosen One.”
“Chosen for what?” I asked.
“Uh…”
They withdrew into a huddle.
“I thought you knew,” I heard, and “It’s been centuries,” and “Did we take notes?”
I wished them luck and left.
Take notes, document details, make records. You might think you will remember, or that everyone knows, but in a blink a few centuries have passed and nobody remembers the recipe of Greek fire, or the true name of the Lost God.
The first time I returned a book to the library, the librarian smiled and said:
“Welcome home.”
I smiled too. “Do you greet all your books so warmly?”
“I wasn’t only talking to the book.”
When I move to a new town, I go to the library and sign up. I might not borrow a lot of books anymore – I have more waiting for me in the TBR piles than I can realistically go through anytime soon – but it’s comforting to know it is there for me.
It was a children’s promise, but both princesses meant it sincerely. If one was put in a tower, the other would come rescue them.
Years later, one sent a letter:
“I am in the tower. But know, I must marry whoever rescues me.”The other princess ran to the stables at once.
For this one, the link goes to Mastodon, not Twitter, as it was posted after I finally gave up on that platform.
Today marks ten years from the first Micro SF/F post. I must confess I never expected to keep going for so long, or that I would have so many stories to tell. Actually, let’s do a tally. According to my records, I have written:
That is a lot. I must admit that my pace has slowed down – the first few years I averaged more than one story per day – and there are many reasons for that, but a big one is that often, when I get an idea and I mull it over in my head, I realise I have already written it. Thankfully, after a day or three, I can still find a new idea, or a new angle on an old idea.
I started writing a retrospective, but then I realised that would require far more words than I am able to put together. Instead, let me share the most popular (measured in retweets on Twitter) story from each year so far, as well as my first one.
God finally stopped the planet to let people off, but hardly anyone left. We watched the sun speed away and felt very silly.
The very first story written under the MicroSFF banner.
I pulled, to no avail. “You try?”
She pulled it out, easily.
“You’re-“
“They wouldn’t let me.” She shoved the sword back into the stone.
My first “hit”, the first story that escaped my circle of friends and went low-key viral, As I recall, it got over 400 retweets in a few days, and won me hundreds new followers.
“Adding ‘with dinosaurs’ improves anything.”
“Sex.”
“OK, but ‘in space’ always works.”
“Alone.”
“So what would you add?”
“‘With you’.”
“Oh.”
I still think this story is kind of clever.
“Dad, there’s a monster under my bed.”
“Yes. It’s small, and alone, and afraid nobody could like it.”
“Oh.”
“Can you?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.”
Not the first story with a monster under the bed, but a foreshadowing of how I would come to view them as less adversarial.
“You are reading a book,” the car said. It pulled over and stopped.
“This road is paid for by adverstising boards. Look at them to proceed.”
In my darker moments I think the only reason this hasn’t happened yet is that we don’t have fully autonomous cars.
“You’ve been chosen,” the spirit said.
“What?”
“Save the world, make it kinder, cleaner, safer.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“We chose everyone.”
Written and posted late at night the day before New Year’s Eve, looking back and looking forward.
“Welcome to Magic School. Here is your schedule.”
“Thanks! But…”
“Yes?”
“This is just ‘Ethics’ and ‘Human rights’ and things like that.”
“Correct, that’s the first year curriculum.”
“Do we have to learn all this?”
“Of course! What do you think this is, software engineering?”
A lot of software engineers got upset about this one. A lot more agreed it would be useful. And a few said their education had included ethics, which made me happy.
“Yeah, so I found out my new house is haunted.”
“You know who you should call? Ghostbusters!”
“Oh? Do they have an email address?”
“Just call them!”
“Ah. Can I text them?”
“No, just call them.”
“Um. Never said I minded the ghost. It’s not that bad.”
When the telephone became common, I’m sure there were people wringing their hands saying nobody would write letters any more. Well, good news!
“As a knight,” the king said, “it is your duty to kill dragons.”
“Very well, my liege,” the knight said. “Um. May I ask why?”
“Because they hoard wealth without sharing, and people live in fear of their capricious moods.”
“Very well, my liege,” the knight said and drew his sword.
Yup.
“These copper ingots,” the devil said, “are of sub-par quality.”
“You accepted them as payment,” the merchant said, “the deal is done.”
“Very well. I will uphold my end of the bargain,” the devil said. “Your name will live forever.”
“That is all I ask,” said Ea-nasir.
My most popular story of the whole year. It’s still circulating on Tumblr, where I regularly get notifications about it.
If you haven’t heard of Ea-nasir, he was a Sumerian copper merchant, who was the subject of the oldest existing customer complaint letter.
Once I was dead, it was curiously easy to accept it.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
Death extended a bony finger, pointing at a tall tower in the distance.
“What is that?”
“Your unread books. Unwatched films. Unplayed games. Etcetera.”
“Oh. How much time do I have?”
“All.”
I wonder how far up the tower I would get before missing the friends I would want to discuss those books, show those films, share those games, and etcetera with.
I enter the Library of Books You Read As A Child.
“Do you have… er. It was green, and there was a girl and a dog, and…”
The librarian nods.
“Of course. Which version do you want?”
“Version?”
“The one you read, with all flaws you didn’t notice, or the one you remember loving?”
Most popular from the first quarter, at least. Shoutout to Astrid Lindgren and Tove Jansson, whose books I loved as a child and still enjoyed rereading as an adult.
Many thanks to you all – readers past, present, and hopefully future – for reading, sharing, liking, and commenting. It’s been an amazing decade. Thank you.
2022 started with me still being in a creative burnout, which hit me in December 2021 after a very stressful year. I wasn’t able to start writing again until February, and I struggled to find inspiration the rest of the year. Catching Covid in late summer didn’t help, as my recovery was slow.
My final tally for the year is three poems, one short story (Broken), and 176 microstories posted to my social media accounts, free for all to read. I would like to have done more, but I am glad I managed to do that much.
As usual, I am elegible in the “Best Fan Writer” category of the Hugo Awards. I would be immensely honoured if you nominated me. Below are the most popular (on Twitter, other social media sites may have different tastes) posts for each month, with commentary, to give a flavour of my work.
"Excuse me, someone said you are the swordmaster?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) February 22, 2022
The gardener looked up from the carrots. "I was."
"Oh."
The gardener resumed weeding.
"But… you can't just stop being someone."
"I'm still someone, just not that one. Nobody is only one someone. Which ones you are can change."
I have a fair few someones I am not, anymore. Some I had for years, some, like stunt fight extra, only for a day and a very long, wet, and cold night. And some I might pick up again.
"So," the medium said, "you think this place is haunted."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) March 7, 2022
"Oh, we know it's haunted," the librarian said. "Every library is. So many readers with unfinished businesses."
"Er… I can't do exorcisms."
"No! They're also patrons. We want you to ask them how we can help them better."
I can’t think of many better places to haunt than a library.
The awful truth is this:
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) April 19, 2022
Magic exists
And
You will be disappointed
Magic can heal and hurt
Crush and comfort
Change the world
Touch without touching
Words
That's all that magic is
And words, some words
Not all, not every time
Are magic
I'm sorry#Poem
I don’t really have anything to add to this, except some surprise that a poem was the “best of the month”.
"You shall have the promised reward," the king said. "My daughter's hand in marriage."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) May 19, 2022
"Ah," the hero said, "may I have a private word?"
The king gestured for them to approach, and listened.
"Hm. I see. I'll have to ask."
"Of course."
The king motioned for a page.
"Fetch my son."
Just to clarify, the twist here isn’t that the hero prefers the king’s son over his daughter. The twist is that the hero’s gender is not mentioned. But I expect you had already noticed that.
I was out walking, lost in thought, and paid little attention to where I was going. Imagine my surprise when I found myself in the Library of Unwritten Books.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) June 8, 2022
I wasn't allowed to read any of my own unwritten books, but I read one of yours.
It was really good. You should write it.
Yes, I know, it’s easier said than done. But if a book is too daunting, you can try to write something shorter. Trust me, it’s a viable alternative.
Death looked at the chess board, and his fallen king.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) July 2, 2022
"Ah. I should have guarded that better."
The cat shifted its paw slightly, and slowly, without breaking eye contact, pushed the piece over the edge.
"I will see you another time."
The cat yawned, flicked its tail, and left.
The ‘Cat’s gambit’ is curious in that nobody has ever won more than eight games when using it.
"We have decoded the latest missive from the Humans," Scrp'x said. "It appears to be a diplomatic commitment of loyalty."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) August 12, 2022
Behind them, the gold plaque found on the Humans' first probe was shown.
"They undertake to never: give us up, let us down, or run around and desert us."
What if we are the aliens sending cryptic messages from the stars to other worlds? That’s the anti-SETI-thesis, which is also a tongue twister.
"Oh dear, you have a lot of… things."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) September 26, 2022
The cyborg looked up. "The word is prosthetics."
"So much machinery. Don't you worry you will stop being human?"
"Oh, there is a line I will not cross."
"What line is that?"
"I will not question another person's humanity."
I only use one prosthetic, personally, and it is so common that people generally don’t consider it to be one.
Once I was dead, it was curiously easy to accept it.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) October 15, 2022
"Where are you taking me?" I asked.
Death extended a bony finger, pointing at a tall tower in the distance.
"What is that?"
"Your unread books. Unwatched films. Unplayed games. Etcetera."
"Oh. How much time do I have?"
"All."
I wonder how far up the tower I would get before missing the friends I would want to discuss those books, show those films, share those games, and etcetera with.
"Please," said the man, "can you do magic to make me be kind?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) November 22, 2022
"No," said the witch. "Magic cannot change anyone's nature."
"So there is no hope for me?"
"You ask the wrong question. Kind is not something you are. It is what you do."
"Is it that simple?"
"It is that hard."
Sometimes it’s simple, sometimes it’s hard, and sometimes it’s too hard. But I tell myself it gets easier the more you practice. Most things do, after all.
"The Human's world ends soon," said the cat.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) December 31, 2022
"Again?" said the dog.
"They are fond of endings and beginnings. Even if nothing changes."
The dog whined.
"Same procedure as last year?" said the cat.
"Please."
The cat lay on the dog's head and purred, muffling the fireworks.
Written around lunchtime on New Year’s Eve. I enjoy firework displays, but not fireworks randomly set off without warning, around the clock, for days around the big firework holidays. I know too many ex-soldiers, and too many terrified pets.
A few extra personal favourites.
She peeked over the edge of the bed.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) December 17, 2022
"Are you still there?" she whispered.
The monsters under the bed did not reply.
"There is an elf on my shelf."
Silence.
"It watches me, and reports to Santa."
A hoarse growl came under the bed:
"Turn the light off."
She smiled.
"Thank you."
The “Elf on the Shelf” is an American doll that is put on a shelf in children’s rooms, and is said to report everything naughty the children do to Santa Claus.
The last few days before the asteroid crashed into Earth were filled with resignation, reminiscence, and confessions. All over social media:
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) November 18, 2022
"I have a crush on you."
"I actually like banana on pizza."
"I didn't lose the ring, I sold it."
"I faked the asteroid."
"I kiss… What?"
Perhaps the true apocalypse was the truths we revealed along the way.
The sigil was drawn, the summoning incanted. An incubus appeared, his perfect, naked form golden in the candlelight.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) October 26, 2022
"How can I please you?" he asked.
"Stand like this."
He looked at the sketch.
"Looks weird."
"I know," said the artist. "Try to do it, so I can draw it right."
I live with an artist, and have done so for a long time. I have often been summoned for this exact purpose.
In the middle of October, after nine and a half years and thousands of posted stories, my follower count on Twitter reached six figures. I didn’t catch a screenshot of 100 000 as it was going up, but I held off celebrating until I had some margin – the follower count is always in flux so there was no point celebrating if it was going to dip down again.
After a week, I checked again, and it stood at 100 589. This, I felt, was sufficient margin to be safe from the normal ebb and flow – I had reached 100k! I don’t usually pay much attention to numbers, but this felt like a milestone. I was proud of that.
Then, Elon Musk bought Twitter. Lol, as the kids say, and lmao. I did get a screenshot of when my follower count had gone down to 100 000. And then to 99 999. It’s currently 99 028, and I don’t expect it to ever reach six figures again.
Ah, well. Sic transit gloria mundi, and all that. I sincerely hope Twitter survives in a usable and non-fascist fashion – it would be nice to be able to celebrate ten years there in April next year – but we shall see how it goes.
On the other hand, my follower count on Mastodon has more than doubled, so there is that. It seems almost everybody fleeing Twitter has headed for the instance I was on – mastodon.social – and it has struggled to keep up with moderation. So I have decided to move to @MicroSFF@mastodon.art instead. All my followers should be transferred over (I have done such a move with a personal account, and that worked flawlessly). I will link to this post from my profile there as proof of authenticity.
Of course, I am still on Tumblr and Facebook, and I have also started to use my Instagram.
Regardless of platform, I will continue to tell my little stories until I run out of them.
“Can you repair this?”
The sorcerer held a bowl of fine blue porcelain with veins of gold. The witch squinted until she could see the shards of a soul at the bottom of it.
“Yours?”
The sorcerer nodded.
“How did you break it?”
“How do you know I broke it?”
“Nobody can break a soul but them whose it is. Hearts and spirits, yes, others can break those, but not souls.”
“I didn’t know that. Can you repair it?”
“It takes gold, like in your bowl.”
“I have lots of gold.”
“No, soul gold. Don’t you have any?”
“What is… No, where can I get some?”
The witch sighed.
“You’d need to talk to a priest, except priests don’t like to talk to people without a soul. It’s… You earn it, right? It builds up.”
“How, what do I need to do?”
“I’m not sure. Be good, I guess?” She shrugged. “Do good. Love, others and yourself. Help, give, feed. Stuff like that.”
“Oh.”
“Or…”
“Or?”
“You can use soul pitch.”
“Oh! I saw that! A black goo that sort of splattered out when it broke… Ah. That is also earned, is it?”
“It is,” said the witch.
“I see. Could that also be used to mend a soul?”
“It could.”
“Could you use it?”
“I could.”
“But you wouldn’t.”
“I daresay there are those that would, but I won’t touch the stuff again.”
The sorcerer thought for a long time, then took a step back and squinted at the witch.
“Oh! It’s beautiful! Just like my bowl!”
“I… Thank you. I mended it myself.”
The sorcerer bowed.
“Thank you for your time. I will return when I have gold for you.”
“You are welcome.”
Posted as a serial story in 6 tweets, 4 toots, and one post , September 10.
In hindsight, arranging an international move with family and a cat during a pandemic, across a border that went from EU-internal to third country during the move, might not have been the wisest thing to do. But we did, and we are now settled in Sweden, with our old home in the UK sold, and most of the bureaucracy of it all now sorted.
Unfortunately, the stress of it almost broke me, and in the middle of December, when the sale of our UK home was finalised, all the pent-up stress hit me with a complete writer’s block. I had to abandon my traditional Advent tale, and wasn’t able to write anything again until late January this year.
But I am recovering, and I have started writing again.
Anyway, in 2021 I wrote just under 300 microstories which I posted on Twitter, Facebook, Mastodon and Tumblr.
As usual I am eligible for the “Fan Writer” category in the Hugo awards.
As a sample of my work, I’ll include the most popular (by Twitter interactions) story for each month below, with some brief commentary.
The thread was at its end when Theseus found the centre of the labyrinth.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) January 9, 2021
"Hello," he called into the darkness.
"Mother?" a small voice sobbed.
Theseus knelt. "I'll take you to her."
The minotaur threw themself into his arms, and he carried the lost child out into the light.
I don’t really have anything to add to this.
"You are the chosen one."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) February 26, 2021
"Me?"
"You. The evil god wakes. Without you, he cannot be defeated."
"What must I do?"
"Ask your grandmother to come out of retirement."
"What?"
"She's the ultimate warrior."
"But… Why don't you ask her?"
"She is scary!"
"She's not!"
"We chose wisely."
I imagine that the second time you have to go out and save the world is the worst. The first time is probably bad, but then it’s over, and it’s done. Having to do it again must be worse.
But once you’ve had to do it again, doing it again again must be easier.
A spaceship landed, and an alien emerged.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) March 28, 2021
"Greetings, Earthlings, we come in peace. Take us to-"
"Do you have a tractor beam?"
"-your… Pardon?"
"A tractor beam. Or some other way of lifting something huge and heavy?"
"Of course, but-"
"Do you know where the Suez channel is?"
Referencing the ship Ever Given, which was stuck in the Suez Canal, and blocked an inordinate amount of international shipping for a few days. Less than four hours after posting this story, the ship was partially freed, and after another ten hours it was underway, so I squeezed this one in just in time.
Also, note the brain fart where I wrote Suez Channel instead of Suez Canal. I beg your forgiveness – it was late, and I was likely floating between languages.
"But how?" the evil overlord said. "Neither man nor woman can slay me."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) March 31, 2021
"Dude," the hero said, wiping the blood off their sword, "that's your problem right there. Oversimplifying everything."
Things are rarely as simple as this or that, the one or the other. It is easy to forget that.
"So you want to be an assassin? Do you have sharp weapons?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) May 25, 2021
"Oh yes"
"Can you move about undetected?"
"Oh yes."
"Can you get into places you are not meant to be?"
"Oh yes."
"Can you kill without remorse?"
"Oh yes."
"Without toying with your victim?"
"Um," said the cat.
It is really unprofessional to toy with your victims.
It was her first dog, so she was a bit hazy on commands.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) June 23, 2021
"Fetch," she would say, and her dog would wag its tail and vanish, then return with what she needed. Not always the thing she expected, but what she needed.
One day, she said "Fetch", and the dog returned with a sword.
I have never had a dog myself, but I have witnessed friends’ dogs fetch all kinds of interesting things. Not a sword though.
Yet.
I felt the pull of a summoning, and was dragged to the depths of Hell again.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) July 4, 2021
"What now?" I say as I appear in the mystic sigil.
"Hi, Bob," the demon says. "Our printer has stopped working."
"Release a soul."
"But-"
"You want my I.T support? You summon me from my sofa? You pay."
There once was, in the UK, a dial-up internet provider called Demon, where all support engineers were rumoured to be called Bob. This was written for them.
"These copper ingots," the devil said, "are of sub-par quality."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) August 30, 2021
"You accepted them as payment," the merchant said, "the deal is done."
"Very well. I will uphold my end of the bargain," the devil said. "Your name will live forever."
"That is all I ask," said Ea-nasir.
This story was most well received on Tumblr, which is the social media platform that holds on to its memes most dearly, cherishing and nurturing them for years.
Ea-nasir, a seller of sub-par quality copper ingots and the subject the world’s oldest customer complaint letter, is a firm favourite there.
A dragon landed in the town square.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) September 29, 2021
"I wish to speak to the reeve."
The reeve hesitantly entered the square.
"I hear there is now a tax to pay on wealth?" the dragon said.
"Er… yes?"
"Then I need help calculating my share."
"Why? We can't make you pay."
"What monster wouldn't?"
Was there something in the news around then about billionaires not paying much in tax? Probably. There usually is.
"You have won the release of her soul," the God of Death said. "I will give her a hale body, clothes and provisions. Where should I say she can find you, should she wish to?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) October 13, 2021
"What? She must come with me."
"Why?"
"I did this for her!"
"That was your choice. Her choices are hers."
I think this was inspired by some fic or story riffing off myths of ancient Greece.
You haven’t freed someone if you take custody of them yourself.
"Sanctuary," the child cried, running into the library.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) November 8, 2021
"Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary."
The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod.
The head librarian gave the guard a stern look.
"Sanctuary granted."
Libraries always offered me sanctuary.
"How did you find us? Radio?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) December 3, 2021
"Radio dissipates," the alien ambassador said, "telepathy doesn't."
"You heard our thoughts?"
"When enough of you focus on the same words, with passion, we sense it."
"So a prayer or anthem?"
"We don't know. It begins with: 'Is this the real life?'."
It is a bit magical, that song.
This story was inspired by watching that video of the Green Day concert in Hyde Park in London, where the 65000 people in the crowd sang the whole song (including guitar solo). It’s amazing.
A story which I am very proud of since half the comments on it were “Ooof!” and half were “I don’t get it”:
"As a reward for freeing me," the genie said, "I will grant you one wish."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) January 31, 2021
"I want to be allowed to be angry."
"You don't need my permission to be angry."
"It's not your permission I need."
"Oh? Oh! Oh, that is a very large wish."
"Will you grant it?"
"I will do my best."
I have no idea why I haven’t thought of this before. Since it is award nomination season, I can do a showcase post!
As usual, the Hugo category that is most pertinent to me is the “Best Fan Writer”, which in my case would be in recognition of writing 250+ pieces of microfiction over the year and regularly bringing my readers (I hope) joy, food for thought, or a dose of silliness. If you like that sort of thing, and are qualified to nominate, please consider me for this category.
Unusually, I did not write any short stories that are publically available (there are a couple which I wrote as a little bonus for my patrons on Patreon and Ko-Fi), and no new Advent tale. 2020 was hard for productivity.
Here is a Twitter search for my stories over the year, though it only seems to bring back 60 or so – there is probably a cap on how many tweets they want to return. You can play with dates and number of faves to see what it yields.
And as a quick showcase, the most engaged-with tweet for every month, with some commentary:
"I wish to return this time machine."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) January 5, 2020
"Why?"
"It is not accurate!"
"The circuits are calibrated to-"
"I mean what it shows is not accurate!"
"How?"
"Women warriors wielding swords!"
"Yes? Documented in-"
"Black people in Europe!"
"Yes, there has always-"
"Not accurate!"
"It is."
This one came about after seeing yet another whine about it being “historically incorrect” to have black people or women warriors in period dramas or games. Given that there have been documented examples of both in at least Western and Central Europe for the last couple of millennia, it is just tiresome to see.
This story caused a lot of debate, which is always a bit scary to see. I am grateful that my readers tend to be reasonably polite and respectful to others.
"The pen is mightier than the sword."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) February 27, 2020
"I am not saying you are wrong," the sword master said, "but what is your reasoning?"
"You can't write a love poem with a sword."
"This is true," the sword master conceded. "You need two swords for that, so you meet as equals."
I miss sword fighting practice. Not for flirting reasons, but simply because it’s a lot of fun. And I miss seeing my fighting friends.
"Okay, here's the scenario. You are a crew member on a starship."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) March 21, 2020
"Cool."
"Space travel is slow, you'll be stuck with your crewmates a long time."
"So we must get along."
"Yes. Communicate, listen, share limited resources."
"I can do that. What's the starship called?"
"Earth."
All fiction, but especially genre fiction, builds on and plays with ideas and concepts conceived by earlier writers, used and told in new ways. “Spaceship Earth” was a concept first (I think) invented by Buckminster Fuller in the 1960s, and is by now a quite well-known trope, often used in pop-science TV programs.
A lot of my stories use genre tropes, because that saves space. So if you think you recognise an idea in a story from somewhere else, you’re probably right (or both riff off an older story).
Having said that, it is important to recognise that an idea does not make a story, and that how a story is told is generally more important than the idea(s) expressed by it, in terms of the impact the story has on the reader/listener.
"To pass," the Sphinx said, "you must answer my question."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) April 6, 2020
"I understand. Please ask."
"How are you?"
"Pardon?"
"How are you doing?"
"Is that the riddle?"
"No. I care. What with… You can have a riddle if you prefer?"
"No, I'm… I'm okay. Thanks."
"Good to hear. You may pass."
Written after two weeks of the first UK Covid-19 lockdown.
The student bowed.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) May 4, 2020
"Master, I am sorry."
"Why were you absent yesterday?" the sword master asked.
"I don't know. I… simply could not get out of bed."
"If this happens again…"
"Yes?"
"Allow yourself to stay in bed."
"Master?"
"A blunt sword can be honed. A broken one can not."
Yeah. Some days it’s harder than others to get up and get going. Try to be kind to yourself.
"So, do you think one day robots will have human rights?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) June 1, 2020
"Perhaps," the robot said, "but first I want to see all humans have human rights."
"What do you mean? All humans do have human rights. It's in the name."
"Then I first want to see all humans considered human."
"Oh. Yeah."
Black Lives Matter.
"Excuse me, I am a time traveler but my machine malfunctioned, so I'm not sure when I am."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) July 18, 2020
"It's 2020."
"Which year of 2020?"
"What do you mean?"
"Ah, so this must be the first year of 2020."
"Oh. Damn."
By this time it felt like 2020 had been going for a couple of years. Now that it’s over, I haven’t changed my mind.
People, young and old, came to the witch for directions.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) August 21, 2020
"I seek adventure."
"I seek wisdom."
"I need a place to feel at home."
"I feel like I need to cry, but I can't."
The witch listened, and told all where to find what they sought.
And the local library thrived.
Don’t really have much to add to this one. I like public libraries. I think they’re one of humanity’s greatest inventions.
"As a knight," the king said, "it is your duty to kill dragons."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) September 3, 2020
"Very well, my liege," the knight said. "Um. May I ask why?"
"Because they hoard wealth without sharing, and people live in fear of their capricious moods."
"Very well, my liege," the knight said and drew his sword.
Hmm, yes.
"Why isn't there more footage of monsters?"
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) October 16, 2020
"What do you mean?"
"People always talked about seeing monsters, but couldn't prove it. Now that everyone carries a camera, we should see lots of films of them."
"We do."
"We do?"
"It's just not the monsters some of us were expecting."
Black Lives still Matter.
"Wait, wait," the knight said.
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) November 2, 2020
He studied the maiden in front of him. "You're a dragon?"
"I'm a shapeshifter." They shrugged, and took the shape of a dragon.
"But, what were you born to be?"
"What a strange question. I was born to be me. No more, no less."
Everyone doesn’t always fit into neat little well-defined boxes. I made a comment about a story I wrote for Bi Visibility Day in September which also applies here:
Reading all the comments on this I can only conclude that “genre” is fluid, and a social construct.
"Put it on my account."
— Micro SF/F stories (@MicroSFF) December 20, 2020
"We don't-" the junior bookseller said.
"We do," the senior cut in. "Of course."
The customer took the books – SF and vampire novels – and left.
"We stopped creating new accounts 1879," the senior said, "but we only close old ones at the customer's death."
Partially inspired by the Sotherans rare book shop, partially by Aziraphale’s shop in Good Omens, partially by some favourite book shops I haven’t been able to visit for far too long.
