Wednesday, January 12th, 2022
Join us thrice-weekly as we post new scenes from this production, written by Chantelle Tibbs– our Defenestrationism.net co-editor.
Check out the project and full script:
https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
Please support her project: https://gofund.me/e9a991c0
Check out the project and full script:
https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
by 
by Monday, January 10th, 2022
Join us thrice-weekly as we post new scenes from this production, written by Chantelle Tibbs– our Defenestrationism.net co-editor.
Check out the project and full script:
https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
Please support her project: https://gofund.me/e9a991c0
Check out the project and full script:
https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
by 
by Friday, January 7th, 2022
Join us thrice-weekly as we post new scenes from this production, written by Chantelle Tibbs– our Defenestrationism.net co-editor.
Check out the project and full script:
https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
Please support her project: https://gofund.me/e9a991c0
Check out the project and full script:
https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
by 
by Wednesday, January 5th, 2022
Check out the full script: https://defenestrationism.net/blood-run/
by 
by Saturday, January 1st, 2022
— Featuring —
Photos of the Authors’ Favorite Chair
(Click Here for Fan Voting)
(read the Finalists)
Douglas Cole has published six collections of poetry and The White Field, winner of the American Fiction Award. His work has appeared in several anthologies as well as journals such as The Chicago Quarterly Review, Poetry International, The Galway Review, Bitter Oleander, Chiron, Louisiana Literature, Slipstream, as well Spanish translations of work (translated by Maria Del Castillo Sucerquia) in La Cabra Montes. He is a regular contributor to Mythaixs, an online journal, https://mythaxis.com/?s=douglas+Cole. He has been nominated twice for a Pushcart and Best of the Net, received the Leslie Hunt Memorial Prize in Poetry and recently won the Editors’ Choice Award in Prose from RiverSedge literary journal. He lives and teaches in Seattle, Washington. His website is https://douglastcole.com/.
Annie Dawid’s fifth book, PUT OFF MY SACKCLOTH, was just published by The Humble Essayist Press and is available on Audible, read by the author. It was a runner up in the Los Angeles Book Festival 2021 autobiography category. Her poetry chapbook, ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD, was published in 2017 by Finishing Line Press. Her three volumes of fiction are: York Ferry: A Novel, Cane Hill Press, 1993, second printing, winner of 2016 International Rubery Award in Fiction. Lily in the Desert: Stories, Carnegie-Mellon University Press, 2001 And Darkness Was Under His Feet: Stories of a Family, Litchfield Review Press, 2009.
James Dorr specializes in dark fantasy/horror, with forays into mystery and science fiction. His The Tears of Isis was a 2013 Bram Stoker Award® finalist for Superior Achievement in a Fiction Collection, with his latest book, Tombs: A Chronicle of Latter-Day Times of Earth, a novel-in-stories from Elder Signs Press. Dorr has been a technical writer, an editor on a regional magazine, a full time non-fiction freelancer, and a semi-professional musician. He currently harbors a Goth cat named Triana, and counts among his major influences Ray Bradbury, Edgar Allan Poe, Allen Ginsberg, and Bertolt Brecht.
Ilhamul Azam is a young writer from Bangladesh. When he isn’t writing, he loves to write. He intends to portray literary traditions of modern Bengali literature through his writing.
When Stephen Page is not writing, reading, spending time with his spouse, communing with nature, or walking his dog, he is making noise with his electric bass. He loves accidentally on purpose losing his cell phone and dog-earing pages in books. He is part Apache, part Shawnee, part Mexican, part English, part Scottish, and part Irish. He graduated from Columbia U (magna cum laude & writing honors) and Bennington College. He has 4 books of poems, dozens of short stories, countless poems, essays, and literary criticisms published. He is the recipient of The Jess Cloud Memorial Prize for Poetry, a Writer-in-Residence from the Montana Artists Refuge, a Full Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center, an Imagination Grant from Cleveland State University, a First Place Prize in Poetry from Bravura Magazine, and an Arvon Foundation Ltd. Grant.
Rachel Friedman has recently embarked on a career as a freelance writer. She has published a number of articles, most notably in the Hack Library School magazine. She lives in Southern California with her family.
Back to the 2022 FLASH SUITE Contest
by 
by Friday, December 31st, 2021
Oh my, my, my–
Fan Voting for the 2022 FLASH SUITE Contest
starts in six minutes, as the poll opens at the stroke of
12:01 Eastern Standard Time.
At that time, you may vote here ,
and– whenever we get around to adding the link–
you may also vote
from our Retro Navigation Menu
<—————— here,
or somewheres nearby.
Thanks for surfing through,
all you fantastic Lovers of Literature.
We do this every year, so
remember us next time.
home/ Bonafides
by 
by Friday, December 31st, 2021
!What excellent traffic for our ongoing FLASH SUITE Contest!
READ THE FINALISTS, here.
In but the 30 days since our finalists were announced,
Defenestrationism.net has received 4,252 hits from 1,720 unique IPs,
for a daily average of 140 visits.
That’s before Fan Voting even begins– and it’s bound to be a hot one,
so vote early and vote often.
Fan Voting starts one minute after the New Year,
and you need not sign in, register or share any information at’all.
However, one vote for your favorites won’t cut it–
last winter’s contest had almost 650 votes.
So vote early, vote often.
If you’re surfing through to check our
then you have but mere hours left to submit your polished work,
until it is no longer January 1st, anywhere on Earth.
Our recent traffic numbers have also had a boost from two external links to one of our favorite special publications,
Tara Campbell’s “Angels and Blueberries“
— one link is from the Reedsy.com blog entry on Flash Fiction,
and another from schoology.net —
so congrats to Tara, her work on Defenestrationism.net is both being studied by elementary school students and aspired to by professional writers.
I wonder which she’s most proud of?
And how ’bout you, dear Lovers of Literature–
which would your wildest literary ambitions prefer?
read the finalists of the 2022 FLASH SUITE Contest
more contests on Defenestrationism.net
check another of our special publications
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home/ Bonafides
by by Thursday, December 30th, 2021
by Rachel Friedman
read the suite from the beginning
The woman came back to his forge on the first day of the following month, clutching a brown leather purse and wearing an even more elaborate cloak as a disguise. Paul was not surprised.
“Is the collar ready?” she asked. She sounded nervous and happy about the prospect.
“Yes,” Paul said, with an odd note to his voice.
“What is it?” the woman demanded.
“People are always told that magic will always give you what you’ve requested, if it is worked correctly,” Paul said, in the same strange tone. “I am a very good mage-smith, and what you asked for was what I have made. You should have listened to the tales.”
“What do you mean?” the woman said. There was an edge to her voice.
“There are many types of things that can be called foul, that can be twisted against their nature.” Paul smiled grimly. “There are such things as human beasts, you know. I understand that you are angry that your cousin inherited the family seat and title instead of you, Lady Glyde, but that still does not mean that you are permitted to kill him. Not even if he had a magical accident as a child.”
Lady Glyde’ s purse fell from her nerveless fingers. Her cloak flew off in her flight, revealing a handsome fair-haired lady, whose rather stern face was distorted by sudden terror. That was all that Paul had time to see before she had vanished through the smithy door. There was a strange ringing sound, and the collar that he had just finished forging rose up into the air and followed her. There was a brief, horrified scream and then silence.
Paul sat down on his bench and tried not to shake. He had been a mage-smith long enough to know what he would find when he finally walked outside, but that didn’t mean that he would like it. The tales warned you to be careful of what you asked for. Why did so few people listen?
more FLASH SUITE Contest
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by by Wednesday, December 29th, 2021
by Rachel Friedman
read the suite from the beginning
Paul was beginning to think that he had severely undercharged his newest client for the collar. Getting prime-quality steel might have been one of his more minor concerns, but he hadn’t anticipated it being an issue. Unfortunately, the mage-smith several counties over had been hired to build a steel cage for one of those rare fire-breathing swamp beasts, which meant that he needed all of the prime iron that he could get. Naturally, this had made a limited and expense resource even more so.
It was difficult to make a collar. Metal was malleable in a way, but it would only bend it so far. If you wanted to produce something that was uncanny or abnormally strong, you had to use all of your skills in magic to persuade it, and magic and metal did not naturally mix. Sometimes sacrifices were involved, and the problem with a sacrifice is that no one wants to pay for them.
Given the especial difficulty with collars, it was not particularly surprising for Paul’s wife to arrive at the forge to find him passed out from lack of blood.
“I wish that there was something else that you could feed into the meal,” she said after about a week of this. “This isn’t good for you, and I’m running out of bandages.”
Paul watched as her skilled fingers bound up his latest wound. Those who married mage-smiths usually had a feel for the work, if not the talent, and Meg was no exception. She would no more attempt to stop him than he would to retire, but she could still be unhappy about certain aspects of the situation.
“Don’t worry about it,” he told to her. “I’m almost done. And of all things to sacrifice, a mage-smith’s blood is the one that I can most afford to lose.”
She didn’t ask him what he meant. After all, there were sacrifices of every type. Some mage-smiths had even become mental and used people in their work. Their artifacts came out powerful and dark, and no one wanted to use them unless they too were insane.
“Just be careful,” she said.
Paul gripped her hand with his bloody one. “I will.”
more FLASH SUITE Contest
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by by Tuesday, December 28th, 2021
by Rachel Friedman
Paul was cleaning his forge when he became aware that he had company. Since his wife was currently tending to her sister and new niece, the only person that it could be was a new customer.
Paul was a blacksmith, and blacksmiths usually had customers. Metal held together almost everything in that land, and what is under strain will eventually break. However, there were many cheaper smithies than Paul’s. A smith who can listen to the whisper of the earth and craft metal into absolutely anything is far rarer, and consequently can charge more for his or her work. Such smithing is dangerous, and the cost can also help keep fools away.
“Do you want something uncanny, or merely strong?” Paul said. It was always best to learn straightaway what the customer wanted, especially if they were unsure of it themselves.
“Both,” the woman said. She wore a long cloak with a hood that covered her face, as if that would successfully conceal her identity. The richness of the fabric alone betrayed her, as did the fact that she had made no attempt to disguise her voice. A long blond braid snaked down from her hood, increasing the futility of her attempt to remain incognito.
Paul didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t want to antagonize a noblewoman and besides, her personal proclivities had nothing to do with him. “Both may be difficult,” he said instead.
“I know. That is why I came to you, Paul of Sariol. I need it made, and you can make it, regardless of your attempts at modesty.”
Paul tried to keep his voice even. “It’s not modesty. Such a virtue is good in its own way, but it can be fatal when dealing with the magic of iron. I merely spoke in warning.”
“Very well. I need a collar to bind and kill a Beast, and you must help me.”
“What type of Beast?”
“It is a foul thing that has been twisted away from its nature.”
“I see.” He did. He did not meet many poor souls who had been so mutilated by magic, but he knew of their type well enough. There were times when death was indeed a blessing. “Very well, I shall make a collar for this Beast. In exchange for forty pieces of gold.”
“Agreed. You will be paid when our contract is fulfilled.”
Paul wished to argue, but caught himself in time. Mage-smith or not, he was still a vulnerable peasant. “Very well. I’ll forge it within a month. Do we have a deal?”
He extended his hand, and she shook it.
Paul was beginning to think that he had severely undercharged his newest client for the collar. Getting prime-quality steel might have been one of his more minor concerns, but he hadn’t anticipated it being an issue. Unfortunately, the mage-smith several counties over had been hired to build a steel cage for one of those rare fire-breathing swamp beasts, which meant that he needed all of the prime iron that he could get. Naturally, this had made a limited and expense resource even more so.
It was difficult to make a collar. Metal was malleable in a way, but it would only bend it so far. If you wanted to produce something that was uncanny or abnormally strong, you had to use all of your skills in magic to persuade it, and magic and metal did not naturally mix. Sometimes sacrifices were involved, and the problem with a sacrifice is that no one wants to pay for them.
Given the especial difficulty with collars, it was not particularly surprising for Paul’s wife to arrive at the forge to find him passed out from lack of blood.
“I wish that there was something else that you could feed into the meal,” she said after about a week of this. “This isn’t good for you, and I’m running out of bandages.”
Paul watched as her skilled fingers bound up his latest wound. Those who married mage-smiths usually had a feel for the work, if not the talent, and Meg was no exception. She would no more attempt to stop him than he would to retire, but she could still be unhappy about certain aspects of the situation.
“Don’t worry about it,” he told to her. “I’m almost done. And of all things to sacrifice, a mage-smith’s blood is the one that I can most afford to lose.”
She didn’t ask him what he meant. After all, there were sacrifices of every type. Some mage-smiths had even become mental and used people in their work. Their artifacts came out powerful and dark, and no one wanted to use them unless they too were insane.
“Just be careful,” she said.
Paul gripped her hand with his bloody one. “I will.”
The woman came back to his forge on the first day of the following month, clutching a brown leather purse and wearing an even more elaborate cloak as a disguise. Paul was not surprised.
“Is the collar ready?” she asked. She sounded nervous and happy about the prospect.
“Yes,” Paul said, with an odd note to his voice.
“What is it?” the woman demanded.
“People are always told that magic will always give you what you’ve requested, if it is worked correctly,” Paul said, in the same strange tone. “I am a very good mage-smith, and what you asked for was what I have made. You should have listened to the tales.”
“What do you mean?” the woman said. There was an edge to her voice.
“There are many types of things that can be called foul, that can be twisted against their nature.” Paul smiled grimly. “There are such things as human beasts, you know. I understand that you are angry that your cousin inherited the family seat and title instead of you, Lady Glyde, but that still does not mean that you are permitted to kill him. Not even if he had a magical accident as a child.”
Lady Glyde’ s purse fell from her nerveless fingers. Her cloak flew off in her flight, revealing a handsome fair-haired lady, whose rather stern face was distorted by sudden terror. That was all that Paul had time to see before she had vanished through the smithy door. There was a strange ringing sound, and the collar that he had just finished forging rose up into the air and followed her. There was a brief, horrified scream and then silence.
Paul sat down on his bench and tried not to shake. He had been a mage-smith long enough to know what he would find when he finally walked outside, but that didn’t mean that he would like it.
The tales warned you to be careful of what you asked for. Why did so few people listen?
more FLASH SUITE Contest
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