one branch of dark green leaves on a plain pale background
Joanne Rixon



Creative Colloquoy 

Everything in this story is true.

a mad scientist injects whimsy onto your screen

Diabolical Plots 

“Lhálali’s bloody viscera,” Eešan cursed. She searched the cliff face for a hold and found nothing. Finally she spotted a thread-thin crack and wedged her wingtip claw in it so she could reach upward with her stubby grasping-hands.



Sam Ninke is an artist, so when it becomes inescapably clear that the world is ending, they drive alone back to the art college in the small city where they grew up. Their favorite professor is still working there, and together the two of them take over the metalworking studio.



In the parking lot outside the prison, dry cracked concrete edges out in a flat pan with no clear end. At some point it turns into gravel, then sand. Tiny red ants scramble in the hot sun, carrying blacktop-fried worms and the severed limbs of larger beetles down into the dark.



Day 36

“There’s a light.”

a painting of a high mountain lake; in the middle, a palace sits on an island

Beneath Ceaseless Skies

In late summer of the fourteenth year of the reign of Fei-hu the Road-Builder, on a day when the portents suggested peace and prosperity throughout the city and all its territories, the warrior Aun-ki woke up and found that her skin caught fire at the slightest touch.

a colorful painting of red elk

Reckoning 2

This is a memory: a white-washed picture frame around a needlework bouquet of roses. It hangs on a wood-paneled wall in the only direct sunlight in the room, a thin sliver of bright coming down the stairs and slicing in half the wall, the roses, the pull-out couch’s thin, raw-springed mattress.

a painting of a lone spruce tree as the sun sets

Liminal Stories

Once upon a time there was a girl who was certain everyone was her enemy. In preparation for the treacherous attacks against her she was convinced were coming, she cut her heart out of her chest. She wrapped it in silk and placed it in a wooden box, then put the box inside a steel casket and carried it up into the mountains.



Joanne Rixon lives in the shadow of an active volcano with a rescue chihuahua named after a dinosaur, and is an organizer with the North Seattle Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Meetup. Her poetry has appeared in GlitterShip, her book reviews in the Seattle Times and the Cascadia Subduction Zone Literary Quarterly, and her short speculative fiction in venues including Terraform, Fireside, and Liminal Stories. She is represented by Jennifer Goloboy of the Donald Maass Literary Agency, and you can find her yelling about poetry and politics on twitter @JoanneRixon.