I've just had another short story published - this time in M-Brane SF #29
You can buy an electronic copy here.
Here's a snippet of 'The Cone' to whet your appetite:
It's a forgotten war. Spiraling burns, strange cancers, shrunken hard torsos like fragments of bleached rock.
I've heard it's like that over there – whining assholes complaining about the changes pulling out cost. Pulling out always costs -- people hanging from helicopters or eyes of garnets. You choose.
We all remember the Stone Field. Impossibly high horizon, low, stained denim sky. It's a work of art that place. Chunks of dirty sandstone scattered across a striated limestone pavement. The sandstone draws the eye, something about the delicately coloured lichen painted across the russet and gray rock. The lichens are gray and gray-pink and gray-blue and so on. A world of very pale grayed out pastels. Some lichen are like paint spills, others are little sharp florets.
Look too closely and time begins to slow, to pass in a slurping stream like hair clots in molasses.
Now you have a choice. Go back and take the changes with you; stay and become other or move on, imperfectly changed, and face the Light Chairs, if the Field even lets you get that far.
Choose change. Trust me. Drawn out lichen sex can be yours.
Anyway, more change is available if you want it.
It's up-slope from here though.
Always and forever up-slope.