you won't make yourself a name if you follow the rules

(because I have no plans to archive these 3 Sentence Ficathon fills on AO3)

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RIP Rthstewart's inbox 1,455 and counting
[1455 being the number of comments on the fest post before rthstewart posted this prompt, and 2567 the number when I started typing this response]

2567+ Virtual Hugs

" 'Here lies rthstewart, buried not by earth and stone but by the crushing weight of inbox notifications': put that on my gravestone."

"Bytes and pixels don't weigh that much; I mean, they don't have mass and can't exert force, right, which is why wanting to kill people over the internet doesn't seem to matter."

"Air molecules also don't weigh that much, but you'd still regret being under two atmosphere's worth or zero, and I hope you're not saying virtual hugs don't matter either?"

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Meta, conuly, a demigod of organization and the sacrifices at their altar
[because conuly is keeping track of all the unfilled prompts]

a meditation on the nature of offerings

The annual sacrifice in the month of Hekatombaion of a hundred head of cattle, provided by one of the richest Athenian citizens (chosen by lot) so that Gods and mortals alike may feast and the entire city prosper, is of necessity a bloody, time-consuming, laborious event. Smaller offerings—a flower crown, a poured-out cup of wine, an hour spent to aid someone the petitioned God protects—are suitable for smaller petitions, and smaller thanks-offerings for smaller gifts.

There is some question, of course, as to whether demigods are Gods or mortals—indeed, Herakles is honored as both mortal hero, ancestor to all of Greece, and Zeus's divine son: in some locales, one of the Twelve Olympians!—but mortals accept gifts and salaries in many kinds of coin as well: might cookies, gold-star stickers, a handheld label-maker suit an organizer, or might thanks and kudos be worth more?

Belatedly, Maple Syrup Rebellion is up!

Still selling fiction! Don't forget you can get bonus stories from dialecticdreamer if you buy stories from me!

"Which parade?" asked Annmarie, thinking of the St. Patrick's parade and the homecoming parade and the Peach Festival parade that her hometown put on at appropriate intervals.

"The Parade," Kenni answered, flinging their arms wide, "the only worldwide party that started as a riot. Maybe call it the Know Yourself Parade, because it's all about being who you are."


...

Sponsor more fiction! Help me raise moving expenses money!

This short story is the first in the My Magic Is Unwritten series of small-town fantasy stories featuring the same trio of multiply marginalized women. The series title, from the poem "A Woman Speaks", honors the poet Audre Lorde.

This microfunded short story is being posted a few paragraphs at a time, as donations come in to cover each segment. There are twenty-three segments in all, totaling 2581 words; the first segment is being posted for free. Donations may be sent via Paypal.me. Feel free to ask me about the number of words in the next few segments, if you want to fund a certain number of segments. When complete, the story will be crossposted to Sunbow Publications.

Content warnings for this story, which are highlight-to-read because some are spoilers: (Screenreader users: click to skip this warning) Violence against women, including offscreen sexual violence. Sexism, racism, and mental-illness ableism. Please consider your tastes and headspace carefully before reading.

2581 words—Buy It Now: $149.28
Amount donated = $0.00
Segments posted = 1 of 23
Amount remaining to fund fully = $149.28
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Sponsors so far: ysabetwordsmith (honorary)



"Connect the Dots"
Alex Conall

( Connect the Dots )