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The Girl with the Heart of Stone, by Leah Bobet (1/9/06): Fiction.; "I am going to seek the Beast in the wilderness," she told him. "I am going to win my own heart back, by force, by wit, or by sacrifice."
Bone Women, by Eliot Fintushel (12/12/05): Fiction.; So fucking vulnerable and frank she was, the bitch, the innocent, it aroused in me, like a piano string, willy-nilly, humming back to the tuning fork its A-440, an answering emotion. Which I duly quashed. Don't they know, goddammit, that they're supposed to suck it up and amble on? It's a man's world, haven't they heard? I don't like feeling.
Tall Jorinda, by Marly Youmans (11/28/05): Fiction.; "My beauty," he said, "you've got hair enough to stuff a mattress, you've got eyes like saucers, eyelashes like wheel spokes, brows like cane thickets. If you tripped, you'd cause earthquakes in California, tidal waves in Japan. Catamounts and grizzlies, Indian tigers and giant pandas should be your pets."
Rapunzel Dreams of Knives, by Beth Adele Long (10/17/05): Fiction.; "Do you want to go? His country is truly beautiful. Though it's awfully cold and the men are said to be unusually brutish."
Happily Ever Awhile, by Ruth Nestvold (6/20/05): Fiction.; It wasn't that she hadn't forgiven him; she could hardly do otherwise, as much as she loved him, and it wasn't in her nature to be vengeful. She had forgiven her stepsisters, after all, when they stood there in front of her with bloody feet, their toes cut off to steal her prince from her.
Survivors, by Elizabeth H. Hopkinson (4/11/05): Fiction.; When the Inspector talked to me, I told him it was all a mistake. If we went back and asked, the King might change his mind.
Huntswoman, by Merrie Haskell (1/24/05): Fiction.; "No matter what anyone else tells you," the queen said, capturing the huntswoman's eyes with her own, "remember that you will be best rewarded by me. Just bring me the princess's heart, and her hands."
Inside the Tower, by Stephanie Burgis (1/10/05): Fiction.; I've hated my mother for half my life, but watching her die is killing me.
Spillage, by Nancy Kress (9/27/04): Fiction.; I am a coachman, he thought with relief, and searched for something else in the darkness, something more. There was nothing. He was a coachman, and that was all.
The Pale, by Liz Williams (8/30/04): Fiction.; She came out of the poisoned sea, my mother, out of darkness and winter.
Hold Tight, by Gavin J. Grant (8/23/04): Fiction.; —When the world was young, one of them said, we played with you. We were friends, great friends. I was young, you were young, maybe you don't remember me? We played Red Rover, Leviathan chasing Giant Squid, high tig, rainbows and sunbeams, hide and seek, tops and bottoms, forts and castles. Those were good days. Do you remember yet?
Snow and Salt, by Genevieve Cogman (7/19/04): Fiction.; She came up out of the ground even more beautiful than when she had gone down into it. Her face was as white as snow, and her hair as black as ink, and her lips as red as the blood on her gravestone.
The Grammarian's Five Daughters, by Eleanor Arnason (3/29/04): Fiction.; The mother thought for a while, then produced a bag. "In here are nouns, which I consider the solid core and treasure of language. I give them to you because you're the oldest. Take them and do what you can with them."
Louisa, Johnny, and the North Shore Huldre, by S. Evans (3/8/04): Fiction.; Johnny's never seen a manitou packed into a muslin dress that tight before. He wants to slow down and take a better look. He tells himself it's only polite to be friendly to the little mysteries that live along the North Shore, but his eyes are caught by the line of her hipbone straining against the fabric.
For Now It's Eight O'Clock, by Alex Irvine, illustration by Arthur Broughton (3/1/04): Fiction.; "I'm going to get that Wee Willie Winkie," my neighbor Jeff said. "Tomorrow night. You with me?"
Three Tales from Sky River: Myths for a Starfaring Age, by Vandana Singh, illustration by Naomi Nowak (1/5/04): Fiction.; Her scalp was no longer bare, but covered with tentacles, each as thick as her little finger. They writhed and looped about her face, and gave her otherwise pleasing appearance a terrible aspect.
The Birdcatcher, by Erika Peterson, illustration by Maral Agnerian (10/6/03): Fiction.; A sudden wind blew a little swirl of birds around his feet. They rose to his knees and then his hips in a whirlwind gust, a dense flock springing up out of nowhere. More birds appeared on his outstretched hand, and when they flew away, his hand was gone.
Beguiling Mona, by M. Thomas, illustration by Nicole Cardiff (9/1/03): Fiction.; Nayessa's mother was a spider. Nayessa didn't know how this was true—her mother had only the expected number of arms and legs—but the old people in the neighborhood on Blue Cat Way said it was true, and they were old enough to know such things.
Rushes #3 of 12: Three the Rivals, by Jay Lake (3/17/03): Fiction.; Aching from the labor of Creation, Mother Ge rested in the garden that would be Britain. There her children petitioned her.
Rushes #2 of 12: Dresséd All in Green, Oh, by Jay Lake (2/17/03): Fiction.; One night just before Yuletide, the Lord of Misrule pursued the Wren Boys through London's cobbled streets.
Rushes #1 of 12: One Is All Alone, by Jay Lake (1/20/03): Fiction.; "So," says a voice of rattling leaves and creaking branches. "At last you return."
Rhythm of the Tides, by Lisa A. Nichols (9/9/02): Fiction.; My mother was lost to the sea while I was still in my cradle.
Comrade Grandmother, by Naomi Kritzer, illustration by Marge Simon (9/2/02): Fiction.; "For everything there is a price, Comrade Daughter," Baba Yaga said. "For everything there is a cost. We are not socialists here. Have you come to me ready to pay?"
Princes and Priscilla, by Ruth Nestvold (4/8/02): Fiction.; "She doesn't need to run a kingdom. She needs to marry and produce an heir. That's her function!"
Other Cities #3 of 12: Ahavah, by Benjamin Rosenbaum (11/19/01): Fiction.; You can't ride the rails for long without hearing about Ahavah.
The Cruel Brother, by Justine Larbalestier (10/22/01): Fiction.; Greta smiled, and did not take her hand away, or resist, as Hans pulled her closer, and began unlacing her all over again.
On the Wall, by Jo Walton, illustration by Colleen Doran (9/3/01): Fiction.; Their purpose in making me was to have a scrying glass capable of seeing the future. In this sense I am a failure—I can see only what is, not what has been or will be.
The Green Corn Dance, by Emily Gaskin (2/26/01): Fiction.; "The dreams—I don't think they're dreams, Betty."
The Fen-Queen's Bride, by P. K. Graves, illustration by Bill Reames (2/5/01): Fiction.; "You are so mean and stubborn and ugly that I will curse you for it. Each time you open your mouth, a horrible insect or an ugly swamp creature will drop from it."
The Palm Tree Bandit, by Nnedi Okorafor (12/11/00): Fiction.; Women were not allowed to climb palm trees for any reason—not to cut down leaves or to tap the sweet milky wine. You see, palm wine carried power to the first person to touch and drink it.

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