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Matt Dovey

11:20am, 22nd November 2016

Awards Eligibility 2016

It is that time of year where, across the globe, writers are chasing their brain weasels into cages, pulling up a lectern, and nervously presenting their awards eligible work for 2016.

So ignore the plasters on my fingers (the weasels were a bit bitey) and instead let me direct you to The List of Things What I Have Written This Year What I Think You Might Like, Iffn It Please You, Thank You Sirs and Ladies and All Inbetween and Outside Those Narrow Gender Definitions.

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TAGS: award


3:00pm, 1st November 2016

New Story: Quartet of the Far Blown Winds @ FFO

The Hubble Ultra-Deep Field, my favourite mindfuckQuartet of the Far Blown Winds is a story about distance, loneliness, and the vast empty reaches of space. It's about the Fermi Paradox, and my answer to it.

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TAGS: fermi paradox, new story, science, science fiction


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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 heavy mauls swung inward, the only thunder in the soft morning rain. The priests watched, trembling. The small man from Arabia stared hungrily at the widening hole.

The bricks sealing the cell shivered, and Amren watched his father's jaw tremble under the blow. Tremble as it never had in two desperate battles. Not even when the men of his auxilia fell about him in desperate retreat had Amren seen Sir Bedwyr's face show fear. Until now. And the Roman Legate looked on, sneering.

The Blind Queen's Daughter by Scott Huggins
Far Fetched Fables #151

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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.
Elm & Sorrow