Author Archive: Sarah Hoyt

WE DO MAKE ART. SOMETIMES DESPITE OURSELVES. BUT FOR NOW THE INSTITUTIONS TO SLOSH MONEY AROUND ARE ALL IN LEFTY HANDS. So people like us? All we have are our fans:  Posts like that from creators are just the logical outgrowth of our semiannual Why Don’t Conservatives Make Art debate.

And for the Cancelled of X.

Oh, and if you are my fans/readers, this comes out on Saturday and still doesn’t have 200 pre-orders!  Done With Mirrors: A Collection of Short Stories (Sarah A. Hoyt’s Short Story Collections).

THIS. WE ALSO NEED A RECKONING FOR THE COVIDIOCY AND ALL OTHER INSTANCES OF ELITE OVERREACH, REALLY:  At Best, a Modern-Day Version of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf”.

Although the biggest reckoning for most of the science-ists is that we now doubt all the “science says.” Their power is broken. And they love power.

FROM HOLLY CHISM:  The Passing of the Age.

Once, gods and Titans went to war because humanity existed and the Titans…didn’t like that. Will, the blacksmith’s apprentice, was born long after the war’s bitter, destructive, last gasp. It left the land scarred, leaving behind the Wastes, a massive pit in the landscape, dug by poisoned magic. The old world was lost in the ashes, and survivors were left with so little that any who didn’t pull their weight (or had something someone powerful wanted) were exiled to starve in the Wastes.
Just. Like. Will.
Cast out to the Wastes because his father remarried and his stepmother had wanted her children to inherit, he turned to his master, the smith. The smith, who had held Will back to keep using his labor for free, refused to go against the rest of the village, angry though he was to lose Will’s labor. In lieu of the honestly-earned status of journeyman that would have protected Will from exile, his master gave him a bag of grave goods: a hammer (but not a good one), tongs (that were rusting to pieces), and a file (more than half worn out). And two small coins to pay the ferryman when he reached the river dividing life from death.
Will entered the wastes with the clothes on his back, inadequate grave goods, and determination to live through it, in spite of his village. And a mission given him by the Land, and by the god of the wild places, to take the knife he made with his grave goods to the very center of the Wastes. There, he will find his destiny.