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Matt Dovey

9:51pm, 17th November 2015

Fragmented Thoughts for a Fragmented World

Common sense dictates I should refrain from commenting on politics and religion.

Bollocks to that. Politics and religion are central to my thinking, and they'll come out in all my stories. I'm not going to pretend to not be me. Honestly and seriously, though--I don't mean any offence by any of the below. I'm just thinking out loud.

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TAGS: politics, waffle


10:40pm, 12th November 2015

Don't Cross the Streams

I may well regret committing to so much social media distraction. I fear that social media is catnip for writers: satisfying, addictive and wholly useless and unfulfilling.

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TAGS: waffle


9:07pm, 4th November 2015

The Pot of Life Eternal

It can be tough to peak early in your career, and know that it's all downhill from here, but sometimes you've just gotta take what the fates deal you. Will I ever hit the heady heights of local press again? Is this my sole moment in the blinding sunlight of Lincolnshire gossip?

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TAGS: nonsense


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About

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 →

Latest Story

“I'm a bone poet,” she said. “The bonethieves only ever work towards violence and supremacy. All the bones they steal are only to help them steal more bones. They never think of all the better ways bones can be used.”

The Bone Poet & God

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The two siblings exchanged a look of grim comprehension over the breakfast table when the butler laid the broadsheet in front of them. The Morning Post's headline was painfully familiar to them now. In stark black and white, the proclamation that yet another child had gone missing on the shores of Lake Conmere drove away any hint of an appetite the two of them might have had.

Still Waters by Cara Fox
Tales to Terrify #283

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This is the sound of the end of the world: a billion voices raised in song, a harmony twisting and ululating around the colossal vibrating bass of the core immolators, twelve shining lances of light from the Yattari ships that pierce the now-dying planet of Korthia at equidistant points and pin it in space like a dissected animal on a metal tray.
This is the Sound of the End of the World