I've had a piece of flash fiction published over at Hypersonic Tales. It's called The Lady of Tilmarine, and it has an audio version and everything. Très chic. It's not a pro sale, little more than token, but it's a sale, at least. A bit of balm for the bruised ego as I approach the triple digits in rejection letters.
The first e-mail I got from me was almost banal. “I saw you today, walking around,” it read. “I like your hat.”
I didn’t own a hat. But I had seen a hat I liked the other day. I bought it and wore it on my first date with Zeya. It worked wonders.
The messages were infrequent, always helpful. I followed all my advice. Yesterday, I got a new e-mail. “You fucked up,” it read. “You fucked it all up. God damn you to Hell.” Nothing else. Nothing since.
What should I do? I don’t know. What will I do?
Mims on the Rise of Killer Robots
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