Matt Dovey is very tall, very British, and most likely drinking a cup of tea right now. His surname rhymes with “Dopey”, but any other similarities to the dwarf are purely coincidental. He has a scar on his arm where a micrometeorite tore through his spacesuit and left him seconds from a cold and frozen death. He now lives in a quiet market town in rural England with his wife & three children, and still struggles to express his delight in this wonderful arrangement.
He does boring stuff with computers for a living. He got into writing because he thought it'd pay well and the world would be falling over itself to read his genius; he has since been thoroughly disavowed of both notions. He is a member of the Codex Writers Group, the Villa Diodati Writers Group, and an associate editor (slush monkey) at PodCastle. He sometimes reads other people's stories out loud, too.
When he's not writing, he's probably homebrewing wine, mucking about with his camera, or running around a field with a pretend sword and a silly accent. Writing has stolen all his computer game time, though, and adult life has stolen all the money he used to spend in Games Workshop.
He has presently completed 35 consecutive orbits of the sun (a personal best) and hopes to continue extending this record. He still hasn't read The Shepherd's Crown because he can't bring himself to live in a world where there are no new Discworld books awaiting him.
Should you care to contact the author, you may email him at email@example.com. He is perenially terrible at replying to emails, though, so please don't take it personally when it takes weeks for him to reply. He promises he will feel guilty about it the entire time.
Comprising bios of various lengths, high resolution photos (click through or Save Link As for the full size photo; smaller files are displayed here) and a complete bibliography of published fiction. All content in this section may be used freely.
Matt Dovey is a professional writer of short science fiction & fantasy. He is very tall, very British, and probably drinking a cup of tea right now. His surname rhymes with “Dopey”, but any other similarities to the dwarf are purely coincidental. More →
"For Christ's... no, not knitted booties. Chain-sandwiched-between-thick-leather booties. What in good hell's use would knitted booties be?"
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Ah, you recognize me. I wasn't sure that you would. There are hundreds of officials in your court, and I have noticed that your eyes tend to glaze over when they're introduced to you. No, no offense meant or taken. Just because the likes of me has to remember every country squire and his bastard son that passes through, that's no reason to expect someone of your importance to remember the Supervisor of the Accountants to the Second Under-Treasurer.
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I cross into the open fields that border the woods, stumbling in the black furrowed mud that has been harvested of all it can give. Crows circle overhead and caw their disappointment at this paltry season, black tatters cast about in blustery winds.