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Matt Dovey

8:44pm, 26th April 2016

#WotF32 Giveaway

Signed copy of Writers of the Future 32Let's do a #WotF32 giveaway.

All you have to do is sign up for my newsletter in the next week--between now and launch day, May 3rd 2016--and I'll pick a name to get a signed copy on launch day. Anywhere in the world. That easy--I just want your email address, and I don't even ask you to type it twice to check your spelling. I actually couldn't make it easier.

For reference, I have had that mailing list for two months and not sent a damn thing out on it. This isn't a lot of spam you're signing up for.

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TAGS: wotf32


5:00pm, 20th April 2016

WotF Golden Pen winner 2016

So this happened.

Not only that, but my illustrator, Adrian Massaro, won the Golden Brush award--the first time in contest history that one story has won both awards.

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TAGS: award, news, wotf32


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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

Where hunger, discomfort and anger had all failed to rouse her before, cruelty, at last, animated her to motion. "Well then," she said, sitting forward from her armchair. "Perhaps the hunger will be an object lesson to you. Perhaps, as your belly rumbles, and your sister cries in pain, you will think on what it means to have duties, and what it means to fail in them. Perhaps then you will not disappoint me again."

A Spider Trapped in Wax

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I watch with hope as Ms. Figgle-DeBitt samples a slice of caramelized banana upside-down cake. She takes a nibble and seems pleased. She sweeps cybernetic fingers through the shock of gray hair that sits on the human half of her face, a gesture I've learned is contemplative. She takes a larger bite, chews, and grimaces. She spits it out into a trash can.

Ms. Figgle-DeBitt's Home for Wayward A.I.s by Kurt Pankau
Escape Pod #597

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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