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Matt Dovey

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


10:00am, 1st March 2016

New Story: This is the Sound of the End of the World @ FFO

A hundred-year old image of the stars in the night skyIt's finally, properly, actually official: I'm a published author. My story "This is the Sound of the End of the World" is up at Flash Fiction Online today, for free, forever. Go read it! It's a 992-word space opera with giant planet destroying lasers. To quote Suzanne Vincent's editorial, it's "a 'galaxy-far-far-away' offering with a healthy serving of heart". I like that description.

It may not be long, but there's still a story behind it.

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TAGS: new story


12:05am, 30th October 2015

New Story: Elm & Sorrow

It wouldn't be much of a writer's website without some writing on it, would it?

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TAGS: new story


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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

"For Christ's... no, not knitted booties. Chain-sandwiched-between-thick-leather booties. What in good hell's use would knitted booties be?"

Griffins Don't Respect Bouncies' Returns Policy

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Narrations

I met Molly in a real dive outside Zeta 5, called Braker. The kinda joint that sold untaxed synthetics. Clientele smoked but Braker never bothered to filter their atmosphere. When you could breathe, it smelled like grease and heated metal. It was on a moon, always in shadow. Red bioluminescent bulbs years past their expiration, provided the ambient lighting. I was just there to refuel my Boxer. In retrospect, she probably followed me there.

Horror on Habitat Seven by Zach Chapman
StarShipSofa #503

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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.

Remember to Breathe