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Another End of the Empire, by Tim Pratt (6/22/09)
Fiction.
He sighed. "So I'm expected to send my Fell Rangers to the mountains, raze the village, leave no stone upon a stone, enslave the women, and kill all the younglings to stop this dire prophecy from coming to pass."
Strange Horizons Podcast: Interview with Tim Pratt, by Susan Marie Groppi (10/29/07)
Editorial.
Strange Horizons editor Susan Marie Groppi interviews Tim Pratt, who talks about books, babies, and what his fourteen-year-old self would have thought of his life today.
Artifice and Intelligence, by Tim Pratt, illustration by Mack Sztaba (8/6/07)
Fiction.
"I think I do not believe in ghosts. But if someone had asked me, three months ago, if I believed in spontaneously bootstrapping artificial intelligence, I would have said no to that as well. The world is an uncertain place."
Reviews for the week of 3/26/07
Review.
Monday: Two Views: Cormac McCarthy's The Road, reviewed by Victoria Hoyle and Paul Kincaid
Tuesday: Tim Pratt's Hart & Boot & Other Stories, reviewed by Karen Burnham
Wednesday: Alastair Reynolds' Galactic North and Zima Blue, reviewed by Duncan Lawie
Thursday: Alisa Libby's The Blood Confession, reviewed by Hannah Strom-Martin
Reviews for the week of 1/16/06
Review.
Monday: Christopher Priest: The Interaction, reviewed by John Clute
Tuesday: Two Views: Doctor Who, "The Christmas Invasion", reviewed by Graham Sleight and Tim Phipps
Wednesday: Vera Nazarian's The Clock King and the Queen of the Hourglass, reviewed by Martin Lewis
Thursday: Tim Pratt's The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl, reviewed by Kelly Christopher Shaw
A Bestiary: Tlaltecuhtli, by Tim Pratt (4/11/05)
Poetry.
you run out of hope, you remember
Making Monsters, by Tim Pratt (7/19/04)
Poetry.
In a little workshop / downtown, in a room / without windows, a man / sits at a workbench, making / monsters.
Soul Searching, by Tim Pratt (7/12/04)
Poetry.
On weekends I help my old neighbor look / for his soul. He says he used to be a wizard, or a giant / (the story varies from telling to telling), and, as was / the custom for his kind, he put his soul into an egg / (or perhaps a stone) for safe-keeping.
The Birth of Damage: Nina Kiriki Hoffman's A Stir of Bones, by Tim Pratt (11/24/03)
Review.
As a whole, the series comprises one of the most honest, charming, and moving story-cycles in modern fantasy.
Living with the Harpy, by Tim Pratt (10/27/03)
Fiction.
Living with the harpy presented certain difficulties. Her feathers clogged the shower drain, and the smell of unsavory meats cooked over chemical fires drifted from her room. She screamed profanity sometimes, with obvious glee. I occasionally found drowned mice in the coffeemaker.
Angel Bites, by Tim Pratt (10/27/03)
Poetry.
In the event that you are bitten by an angel, / immediate steps must be taken
Ammut in Her Later Years, by Tim Pratt (7/21/03)
Poetry.
Ammut snapped up their hearts / and swallowed, the juice filling her mouth, the hearts / dropping into the great empty hollowness at her center.
A Bestiary: Ts'its'tsi'nako, by Tim Pratt (5/5/03)
Poetry.
Imagine a woman. Imagine a spider. Imagine / the woman is a spider, but also a woman, and also / imagine that she made everything you see, / and also that she made you, so that you might see / the other things she made. Imagine that she made / your imagination.
A Bestiary: Nidhigg, by Tim Pratt (4/28/03)
Poetry.
It has been said that everyone is a world unto themselves, / and to stretch a metaphor, that implies / subterranean depths, and biological equivalents / to geological structures, and at least the possibility / that myths about the world might apply / on a more personal level as well.
A Singular Debut: Cory Doctorow's Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, by Tim Pratt (3/31/03)
Review.
With the publication of his first novel . . . [Doctorow has] appeared at the vanguard of a trend within science fiction that's so bleeding-edge it doesn't even have a stupid nickname yet.
Wolfways, by Tim Pratt (2/17/03)
Poetry.
There are so many ways to become a werewolf.
Carcinodjinn, by Tim Pratt (1/6/03)
Poetry.
and having discovered a thumb- / sized tumor in his left lung,
A Bestiary: Engulfer, by Tim Pratt (10/7/02)
Poetry.
Funny thing, I thought I heard the water / in the bottles crying, like kids snatched / away from their mother, like lost kittens / grabbed by the scruff and stolen away.
A Bestiary: Plate Spinning, by Tim Pratt (9/30/02)
Poetry.
This isn't about physics or / geography, it's about the fact / that the world must rest on someone's shoulders
Of Explorers and Button Eyes: Neil Gaiman's Coraline, by Tim Pratt (7/1/02)
Review.
When I have children of my own, I'll be waiting impatiently for them to be old enough to enjoy hearing me read Coraline to them aloud.
A Bestiary: Laughing Blood, by Tim Pratt (4/22/02)
Poetry.
This is the second poem in Tim Pratt's new mythological series.
A Bestiary: Poor Bahamut, by Tim Pratt (4/15/02)
Poetry.
This week's poem is from a new series by Tim Pratt. It has everything good mythology needs—pain, hell and fish. Check next week for another in the series.
Muse Trap, by Tim Pratt (2/11/02)
Poetry.
Tonight I made a muse trap / and baited it with all her favorite / things. I left a trail of palm fronds / and cinnamon sticks and jelly beans
Little Gods, by Tim Pratt, illustration by Mark Precious (2/4/02)
Fiction.
"Little things get little gods. It's only natural."
Orpheus Among the Cabbages, by Tim Pratt (10/15/01)
Poetry.
A man's head rested among the cabbages. / He had black hair, and the kind of olive skin that / some women find exotic when they don't know / better. "I am Orpheus," he said.
Mask, by Tim Pratt (6/18/01)
Poetry.
I have come to find a new / face and body, a truer expression / than the one I see in the mirror.
The God of the Crossroads, by Tim Pratt (3/5/01)
Poetry.
"You're waiting again," the god said in / the punkette's sexy-raspy voice. "What / are you waiting for?"
The Fallen and the Muse of the Street, by Tim Pratt (12/18/00)
Fiction.
Samaelle had relinquished her armor and black wings in favor of a tank top and ragged denim shorts. She kept her sword, strapped firmly to her back, but no mortal would see it. They never did, until the last moment.