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Matt Dovey

11:21am, 16th March 2024

It's Been a While

Man, I am bad at updating this website. I mean, I have low expectations of myself, but even then I am limboing under them like a champ.

Anyway. In brief, for posterity:

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TAGS: appearance, Glasgow2024, news


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


8:00pm, 20th March 2016

Shortlisted for the James White Award 2016

Absolutely delighted to announce that I've been shortlisted for the 2016 James White Award for best new writer, supported by the British Science Fiction Association and Interzone. The winner should be announced around 18:00 GMT on Saturday 26th March at Mancunicon; the prize is publication in Interzone, which is huge--it's pretty much the only British SF magazine left standing, and is one of the most respected and reputable venues in the field.

Suffice to say: I am full of excitement.

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TAGS: award, news


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About

Matt Dovey is a writer of short speculative fiction. 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

You're not a person, they say, circling. You're one of Them. From the other side.

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Narrations

Mark's next door neighbour and business partner Pat kept telling him that power flowed through his veins. He took a breath and closed his eyes, trying to will the power back out again and into the ash wand in his outstretched hand. He pointed it at Pat's door. A narrow beam of blue light squeezed out of the end and hit the lock. Nothing happened. Sighing, he folded the wand and put it in his pocket. He took out his key and let himself into her house.

Psychopomps by Judith Field
Far Fetched Fables #181

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Random 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