I still haven’t gotten my head around what makes something eligible for awards, but as it turns out, “You Row and You Burn” is eligible for the the short story category of the Nebulas? If you’re a voting member of the SFWA (I think that’s how this works, anyway…) and feel so inclined, this jittery, little word-goblin would appreciate a nomination.
Either way, it’s wild to be included and I am very happy about it.
Now, I best get back to writing if I ever want to be on it again…
I had been holding on to this acceptance for such a long time, and then I went and missed updating my site when it came out. Terrible behaviour. Bad job, me. This story was accepted by the excellent Fred Coppersmith of Kaleidotrope all the way back in 2021! It’s one of my oldest short stories, and one of my favourites.
“Black Tea, Cream Tea, Chocolate Tea, Blood” began its life in March 2017 as a response to a prompt during a prompt challenge with my best friend and often-creative partner in crime, wherein we wrote a paragraph or two in response to a prompt and swapped at the end of the day. We came up with the prompts ourselves, and this one later became the title. It was a much shorter, and quite a different beast back then. It makes me want to go back and look at the rest, see if there’s anything else worth mining.
After considerable rewrites and a couple o’ thousand more words, this story grew, and I love it a lot.
You can expect:
☕️tea ☕️a good wife ☕️yearning ☕️retribution, or good, old-fashioned matricide
I enjoy it when my more strange stories find homes—especially when they’re meaningful. This story is weird and gross and pretty all at the same time. With it, I tried to capture what it feels like to have urges you can’t control—the very same urges I try (with varying success) to suppress every day.
Yep. It’s an excoriation story, and with it come content warnings for skin-picking, mentions of blood and, due to the theme of the anthology, body horror. When I describe this story, I do so with six words: excoriation disorder, but make it pretty.
When I saw the submission call for Crawling, I took a chance. I had a story, a story that fit the call perfectly, I thought, except for the fact that it was ever so slightly too short. Luckily, Cat Benstead, editor extraordinaire, was gracious enough to let me submit anyway. Luckier still by far, Cat Benstead, editor extraordinaire, thought it was a great fit too.
If you would like to read a story that might make you want to curl up like a woodlouse while also thinking Oh, hey, the prose in this is lovely, here is my humble offering.
It begins with an itch at the base of her neck. Deep, probing. If she can just get past the skin, the muscle, right down to the bone she can pluck it out and clasp herself back together like jewellery. A pretty necklace, slipping red.
This, she does not do. Instead, she roves her wardrobe for a distraction—something rough that makes the itch seem superficial, surface—and pulls on a puce turtleneck, so high that even when rolled, her jaw sits on its top. If she opens her mouth, it squeezes her throat, so she does not open it.
— ELOU CARROLL, “PEELING BACK, RIGHT DOWN TO THE BONE”, CRAWLING
Every so often I get a bit overwhelmed with life and completely forget my website exists, even though it has existed in some form or another for approximately forever (read: about 12–15 years). So this is the first in a few (hopefully) quick-fire catch-up posts. Hooray.
Hello.
How are you? I’ve been in a wordcave recently—which is a wonderful place to be—attempting to finish the absolutely-frickin’-final-and-I-mean-final draft of the novel (while also being a little bit terrified of the absolutely-frickin’-final-and-I-mean-final draft of the novel). Though not entirely chronological yet, I have over half of it in a serviceable condition thanks to NaNoWriMo (forum controversies aside, I don’t actually use the website anymore, so have only seen snippets of that whole mess), and hope to get the rest of it spruced up by the end of the year. Will I do it? Who knows! Let’s find out, shall we?
We are, of course, ignoring the fact that I wanted to do this last year, but—I mentioned the terror, right? Cross your extremities for me, my friends.
From non-writing-related update land (well, sort of): You might have noticed that the website has had a little bit of a spruce too. It wasn’t entirely intentional. The problem with using templates on WordPress is that, sometimes, you go to edit the site you’ve had for a good while now only to find that the template you used no longer exists. Lovely. As it happens, I quite like what I’ve ended up with—at least for now. I have, however, made a mental note not to go into the customise or what-have-you interface for Crow & Cross Keys, just in case. That site is immaculate—if I do say so myself—and I would like it to stay that way. I will stick to editing the pages and creating posts, thank you very much. Speaking of CCK, you should read it. There’s some really great stuff on the site and in the schedule, and you don’t want to miss it.
Now to the exciting portion of the post: the publication news.
Back in—checks notes—Oh, God. May. Has it really been that long? Clearly, it has and I am terrible.
Ahem.
Back in May, I posted about the pre-order for The First Five Minutes of the Apocalypse. That brilliant, devastating anthology is now out and available to buy (and has been out for quite some time, Elou). I adore this anthology, and I’m not just saying that because I’m in it, though that is also a plus. I read this in two sittings. I don’t normally read anthologies in two sittings, even if I’m in them. If you want to be destroyed in many different ways, pick up a copy. (Also available on Amazon.)
As is customary, a snippet:
“Honey, wake up.” Giulia cannot hear herself speak. “Baby. Lenore. Come on, Lenny. It’s time. It’s time. Len. Lenore. Lenore.”
Giulia shakes her now. Her fingers, still red, sink into Lenore’s pyjamas and pull so hard the material rips. But Giulia doesn’t stop and before she knows it she’s screaming. She can hear that. It’s not her, though. It cannot be her. It is an animal and the animal is in pain.
They put them down, animals that sound like that.
— ELOU CARROLL, “DIRT AND BLOOD AND SILENCE”, THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES OF THE APOCALYPSE
So it turns out, I could have written three blog entries this week. If you follow me on the big blue bird app, you will have seen a small flurry of news over the last few days. I’m going to savour it, though, and post about another exciting thing next week. Lovely. Now, onto our (ir)regularly scheduled update: I have some new writing out today!
This is a special one. I know I say that about all of them (and I believe it too), but Corvid Queen holds a special place in my heart. Ever since I started sending my work out into the world like tiny little ducklings with tinier, pleading eyes, I’ve been reading Corvid Queen. I love Corvid Queen. As soon as I discovered them, I knew I wanted to write something specifically for them.
“Doewife” is that story, and I really hope you love it as much as I do.
Hello. It’s been a while. This is going to be a two-blog week for me. Watch this space. The first update—this one—is one that I’ve been itching to share for a little while now. Itching, I tell you! My short story, “Dirt and Blood and Silence”, will be appearing in The First Five Minutes of the Apocalypse.
I took this title a little bit literally. “Dirt and Blood and Silence” is a raw little slice of a story, and it hurts my heart. I love it a lot. More on this nearer the publication date…
The First Five Minutes of the Apocalypse is now available for pre-order. Just look at that contributor list, you know you want it.
Funny story—when I received this acceptance, I panicked. I panicked so much that I threw my phone across the room in shock. It is my favourite reaction to any acceptance that I have ever had. The acceptance was unexpected, and so too was the reaction. Fitting, really. Why did I react so violently? Well, The Deadlands is a dream publication. From the moment they opened their skeletal hands, I wanted to give them a hug.
This is my hug.
“You Row and You Burn” is a little story that features a gondola chase. Yep, you read that right. A gondola chase. You should read it, and you can do so here.
The Ferrymen are hunting you now. You have broken the rules.
Rule one: Everything dies, no exceptions.
Rule two: Pay the Ferryman.
Rule three: When you cross the Ocean Between, keep your extremities in the boat at all times. Do not—repeat, do not—leave the gondola.
Rule four: No one goes back.
— ELOU CARROLL, “YOU ROW AND YOU BURN”, THE DEADLANDS, ISSUE 22
Greetings, wondercats. How are we all? I am currently in the process of shifting my entire book collection into a cupboard so that we can move our furniture ready for the fitting of new carpets. With the upper body strength of a newborn lamb, this is a trial. It is lovely, however, to comb through them all. I have good taste, if I do say so myself.
Do you know who else has good taste? (Do you see what I did there? Ahem.) That’s right—JW Stebner, the might behind the glory that is Hexagon. Am I biased because JW has chosen my work not once but twice? Potentially. But just look at the contents list of Issue 12. Wonderful. This is such an exciting issue and I am so pleased to be a part of it.
Issue 12 features my eco-horror, “They Come to Return Home”. This story, or rather a selection of images from this story, haunted me for months before any words made it onto the page. I’m giddy that it’s finally out in the wild.
Should you wish to read it—and I really hope you do—you can expect:
The sea turtle squalls in the sand and, when she tries to edge away, it whispers, “They come.”
Marcelline’s head knifes up until her gaze meets the horizon. Dread, like sweat, soaks her collar and balls in her throat. There, in the distance—spreading like ink on wet paper—is a gargantuan figure, hip deep in the ocean. It is joined by another, and another, each one taller than the next. The sea turtle rolls its great head into her lap and looks up at her with a glassy eye. “They come. They come to return home.”
— ELOU CARROLL, “THEY COME TO RETURN HOME”, HEXAGON SPECULATIVE FICTION MAGAZINE, ISSUE 12
I am terribly late in posting this. For that, I must be punished. Why am I late? Well, I have had the busiest January on record. I am overdue a little peace, quiet and writing time. It is sorely needed. Anyway, happy new year, glorious creatures! I come bearing tidings of a lovely recent publication that I am so very, very proud of; Baffling Magazine is one of those publications that I have been staring at in wonder for a good while before plucking up the nerve to submit anything. Luckily for me, they liked me back and now there is a little morsel for you to eat—ahem—read.
My little ghost story, “They Commune With the Dead Using Biscuit Crumbs and Wine”, is now available in Issue 10. The cover is a beauty.
You’ve never seen a ghost, but you can taste his anger. He pushes dirt and oil between your teeth. He wants her all to himself, even though she wouldn’t know he was here if not for you.
And she doesn’t, not yet.
— ELOU CARROLL, “THEY COMMUNE WITH THE DEAD USING BISCUIT CRUMBS AND WINE”, BAFFLING MAGAZINE, ISSUE 10
Two posts in as many days—who am I and what have I done with Elou? Fear not, I am still the same word-fueled goblin child. Only now, I have another publication to share, which is always my favourite thing to share. If There’s Anyone Left, Volume 3, is now available in both ebook and print and I am so very excited! I’ve been looking forward to this one, not only because I adore my dark fairy tale flash fiction, but because I am sharing this table of contents with one of my favourite writers—and people—Taylor Rae, whose story, “The Light Will Leave You Warmer”, is one of the most beautiful pieces of flash fiction you will ever read.
My own story, “Pearlskin, or the Oysterman’s Wife”, is a dark fairy tale about an oysterman who dredges a bride from the bottom of the ocean and I love it a lot.
Euan, who has not bathed in days, still smells like the sea and when he steps into the bathroom, she emerges at the scent, her wet head cresting the water so only her eyes are visible over the tub.
The Oysterman’s wife looks at him as if she wants to kiss him or curse him, kill him or crawl inside him and curl up into the shell of his spine.
— ELOU CARROLL, “PEARLSKIN, OR THE OYSTERMAN’S WIFE”, IF THERE’S ANYONE LEFT, VOLUME 3
elou carroll 