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 sharp star brushed him as he rode a comet through the sky. 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 →
Two corners, three, it's still on them, four, six, nine. Then Vik stumbles, trips, scuffs across the floor. When he picks himself up, his fibrous face mask is torn and shredded.
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Dom doesn't lose his temper as easily as his brother, so normally he's the one who deals with it when shit goes pear-shaped. But shit has been going pear-shaped a lot lately, and by the time Dom gets to the warehouse, Marc is already in full swing. Literally--he's gone after poor Jimmy with a nine iron.
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