Pulp.

I got commissioned to write a pulp piece and guys, let me tell you, being Frank Miller without the insanity is all kinds of fun.

The mobster has a gun pressed to Rack’s forehead. The mobster has a god-shitting gun pressed to her partner’s fucking forehead, and the only thing Rhye can do is watch and scream as the scum smiles at her and pulls the trigger and blows Rack’s perfect brains out from between his ears.

Boom: Opening. Interested to see where this goes.

Welp.

‘Vixens’ is up – for free! At Lightspeed! – and I’ve got a bad case of the post-publication ennui setting in. I’m not sure what I was expecting, really. Writing is not a thing where you get a lot of feedback, unless you’re extraordinarily lucky and/or popular. That’s part of what makes it so tough. You tear a chunk of your brain out, fashion it into a paper airplane with HI I’M STORY DO YOU LIKE ME Y/N scrawled across one wing, and send it spiraling out into the world, where it promptly lodges itself in the gritty crawlspace beneath a stack of extra desks. That’s just how things are. The best cure, I find, is moving on to the next project as fast as possible. If you don’t have a next project, you bloody well make one.

If you did read it and enjoy it, however, I am very, very happy, because that means it did what it was supposed to do. Stick around. There’s more where that came from (no, that was not a threat) and if you didn’t like this one, maybe the next will getcha. I’m tenacious like that.