Seeming, Episode Two

Sennett slipped into her apartment, trying not to wake Mason and April. She knew they didn’t like sleeping in their own rooms when she was gone at night. Sure enough, she found them both asleep on the sectional couch in the living room.

No one had expected Councilwoman Montgomery’s daughter to be on duty that night, so no summons had come for her. She was thankful because she would have hated to ignore it. She’d had no intention of being stuck on guard duty while the bitch who killed her mother stalked around the station.

Though, for all the good it had done her, she might as well have gone in.

She made her way her bedroom, intending to change her clothes, grab a caffeine bracelet and some khlav then head up to the police station on Level 10. Maybe someone had found some sort of lead. Maybe she’d get extra lucky and it would be the kind of someone who shares leads with uniforms.

“Mommy?” April called, rising sleepily from the couch.

“Hey, Baby,” Sennett said, “I’m in here.”

April came into her room, just as Sennett had finished tucking her uniform shirt in. She picked the girl up and set her on her hip. “You don’t have to leave again, do you?” April asked.

“I’m sorry, but I have to,” Sennett said, “I have to find the bad girl before she hurts somebody else.”

“But what if she comes here, and you’re gone?” April asked. She set her head on Sennett’s shoulder.

“You know what to do if that happens, don’t you?” Sennett asked. It had never happened, thank God, but no police officer was so dumb as to not have a backup plan for her family.

“Go into the closet with Uncle Mason and stay there until you come,” April replied. She played with the purple cuff on her wrist, decorated with bunnies and moons.

“That’s right,” Sennett said. She kissed April on the forehead and set her on the ground. “How about you and Uncle Mason make strawberry pancakes for breakfast?” she asked.

“Can I have cherry milk?” April asked.

“Yeah, okay,” Sennett agreed. She was jealous as she watched April run into the living room to wake Mason. She wished that a cup of cherry milk would make her feel better, if only for a little while.

She went to the kitchen to heat up a cup of khlav and a hatsu. Mason joined her there a few minutes later and started fussing with the simulator.

“How do you eat those things?” he asked, looking at her pastry.

“They’re delicious and filling,” Sennett replied.

“But they’re filled with rats,” Mason said, scratching his head.

“They’re not filled with rats, rats are from Earth,” Sennett said, “They’re made with soto.”

“And what’s a soto? It’s a rat from Khloe,” Mason said.

“How are you making jokes right now?” Sennett asked.

Mason looked over at her, looking so much older than his 19 years right then. “I’ve got to stay here and take care of April. Cherry milk isn’t going to distract her for long. If I don’t make jokes, I’ll freak out.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Sennett said. She gave him a hug and held on a little longer than normal. “Why would anyone want to kill her?”

“I’d start looking at the marshal from the Foundation Party,” he said, “He’s been the one running his mouth about how we need to do away with the council altogether.”

“Right,” Sennett said. She made herself let go. “I’ll be home when I can, but I don’t know when that’s going to be.”

“That’s cool. We’ll just hang out here and watch videos,” Mason said, “You worry about catching this bitch.”

The transit wasn’t as busy as most mornings. Sennett managed to find a seat and settled in to nibble on her breakfast and try to distract herself with her news feed. It didn’t work, but it gave her somewhere to look beside into the frightened faces of her fellow passengers.

An older man sat down next to her. “Ma’am?” he asked, “Excuse me, Ma’am?”

“Help you?” Sennett asked, looking up.

“You’re a peace officer, right?” he asked.

“That’s what my badge says,” Sennett said.

“Right,” he said, “Do you know anything? About what’s going on, I mean.”

“Only what everyone else knows,” she said, taking a bite of her hatsu.

“Oh, okay. So, um, should we be worried? I mean, do we know who attacked the councilwoman?”

Sennett sighed. “Sir, we live in a great big station hanging in the middle of space. On that station, every day, we hunt down thieves, loan sharks, killers and your garden variety asshole who just wants to get drunk and punch someone. The only difference today is that the person who was killed was someone we all know. So, I think, we shouldn’t be any more worried today than we are any other day.”

“Oh,” the man said. He got up to find another seat.

Level 10 was busy. Detectives sat at their desks, either working or doing very good impressions. Officers came from locker rooms, or supply rooms, either going on shift or coming off. Interns and office assistants bustled around, doing all the random odd jobs that no one noticed unless they weren’t done. All looked normal, same as it had been yesterday morning. The only difference this morning was that everyone wore a black band either over their badge or on their upper right arm. It was an ancient tradition, dating back to America on Earth, but an honored one. She had one on her own arm. It was nothing, weight wise, would barely have registered on most scales. She wondered if she was the only officer who felt it’s immense weight.

Sennett went to the clock in screen and clicked her name from the list on the left-hand side. It popped back to the right, indicating that she was about to be in the field. Just as she turned to check in with her sergeant, though, Commissioner Stone poked her head out of her office. “Montgomery,” she called, “Can I see you?”

She nodded, hoping she wasn’t going to be sent home before she learned anything.

The commissioner’s office was comfortable. A white desk with a sleek metal chair sat in the center of the room, with large screens on every wall. Two of Sennett’s fellow officers, Joyce and Amanda, were already there.

When the door closed behind Sennett, Commissioner Stone said, “Thank you for coming. Before we begin, Sennett, I want to extend my sympathy for the death of your foster mother.”

“Thank you,” Sennett said, but she bristled. She and Mason had never much cared for the ‘foster’ disclaimer when it had come to their mother.

“Last night, Councilwoman Sonya Voit was nominated as the new head of the council,” Stone continued, “Needless to say, she was in contact with me not long after. Her first concern is the safety of the station while we find the killer. As such, she is asking a lot of us. Doubling shifts, increasing the detectives that are investigating. Especially now that the IHP has left.”

“Where did they go?” Amanda asked, “Isn’t the whole point of the IHP that they’re supposed to protect humankind?”

“I wasn’t privy to their reason’s for leaving,” Stone said, her tone frosty. “They received a message from their higher ups, and left.”

“Great timing,” Sennett said, “All the times they’re in here interfering with our cases, and now when we could use a hand they’ve taken off.”

“No sense complaining about what we can’t fix,” Stone said, “Now, the council has also asked for some officers to help guard them. That’s what I’d like the three of you to do.”

“Do we think that the rest of the council could be targeted?” Joyce asked.

Stone shrugged. “You know as well as I do that Councilwoman Montgomery didn’t have any personal enemies. But with all those anti-council rallies recently I think it’s a good idea to at least be cautious. The council members are at their office on Level Two. Move out.”

“Commissioner, I was really only checking in,” Sennett said, quickly, “I was gonna go home if I’m not really needed, and if you’re sticking me on security guard detail-,”

“Montgomery, don’t lie to me,” Stone said, “We all know you were out last night, making trouble for the detectives.”

“I don’t think I made any trouble for anyone,” Sennett said.

“I don’t think that’s your call,” Stone replied, “You’re a uniform, not a detective. You don’t follow leads, you follow orders. Now move out!”

“You knew she was going to do that,” Joyce said as they boarded the transit. “I don’t know why you even came in. If my mom had just died I’d be freaking the hell out.”

“I’d be celebrating, but that’s me,” Amanda said.

Sennett shrugged. “There’s a killer on this station. So long as she’s out there, my kid isn’t safe.”

They arrived at Level two. No one else got off with them. People didn’t come to this level without a specific reason. It housed the council office, the post office, the offices for the Current and Foundation parties and some housing for visiting dignitaries.

Sennett and the others made their way down the quiet path to the Council house. It was larger than most buildings on the station, though it looked similar to other buildings in structure. With room being limited, buildings were made in simple, square forms. Most were made of a light, plastic-like substance that had been designed for station buildings. It was a light gray in color, giving the whole station a uniform, standard look.

Five of the council members were already in the conference room. It had a set of Vue windows, currently set for what Sennett had been told were Earth cornfields. The walls were a gentle blue color, with creamy flooring. The whole room spoke of calm.

Councilwoman Sonya Voit stood at the head of the circular table. She was a slight woman, with short silver hair that curled around her head. She gave Sennett a sorrowful look when she came in. “Honey,” she said, “I didn’t know Commissioner Stone would send you. You should be at home.”

Sennett knew everyone in the room. There was Councilwoman Emma Mostevich, a tall woman with dramatic blond hair that hung down to her waist, who’d sent her toy cars every Christmas when she was a kid. Councilman Kevin Chan, who’d moved to the station from China on Earth before they closed their borders forever. He had come to dinner and gotten into loud arguments with Mom about weapons laws. Councilwoman Heather McAvoy, a heavyset woman, hadn’t liked Mom and made a point of sending gifts of loud toys whenever she had an excuse. Councilwoman Shannon Heart was a gorgeous woman with dark black skin who always wore her hair in a tight bun, strung with silver chains that glittered in the light. Sennett had greatly admired her until she’d learned Heart’s opinion of a man’s place. While she still bristled at being stuck here instead of looking for the killer, she was less inclined, just then, to walk out on these people. They were her family.

“Thank you, Councilwoman,” Sennett said, “but right now, I’m needed.”

Sonya raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t argue further.

The door opened again. Godfrey Anders stumbled in. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, “I had to close the shop up, and there was this-,” He stopped when he saw Sennett.

“It’s fine, Councilman Anders,” Sonya said, gesturing to a chair. “Have a seat, and we’ll get started.”

“Can I ask why we have police officers here?” Godfrey asked, sitting down while he gave Sennett a dirty look.

“They are here to protect us. There will be an increased police presence all through the station,” Sonya said.

“Until we catch this assassin, our first priority is the safety of our citizens,” Councilman Chan said.

“And we’re sure an increased police force is the right way to do that?” Godfrey asked, “No, never mind, I understand. Pretend I didn’t say anything, please.”

“If we can focus, please,” Sonya said, “we have a busy day, today. The IHP has left the station, and I’ve been getting reports from Station 83 and 7 that they’ve left those ones as well. In addition to that, we have meetings with Howard Stoat and Saul Mai. We’ve got a meeting with Commissioner Stone about the assassination. And, if we have time, we need to look into the matter with the mail.”

“What’s going on with the mail?” Godfrey asked.

“No one’s been getting anything from Earth,” Councilman Chan said.

“For how long?” Godfrey asked.

“At least six months,” Sonya said, “But, as I said, that is not the first priority today.”

“Did the IHP give any indication as to why they were leaving the stations?” Councilwoman Heart asked. “Isn’t it their job to protect humans in space?”

“They did not share any information with us before they left,” Sonya said, “And, as we have no time frame for them coming back, we must rely on our own police force.” She gave the officers a smile, “I have every confidence in them. Honestly, I doubt we’ll even notice the IHP are gone.”

“Except for the fact that they handled security on Level one,” Councilwoman Mostevich said. “They also patrolled around the station. Do we have enough officers to take over those jobs and still patrol inside?”

“What if we had some citizens keep an eye on lower crime areas?” Godfrey asked, “Or even academy cadets? That way the more experienced officers can focus on the larger tasks.”

“Great idea,” Sonya said, “We’ll suggest it to Stone.”

From the table came the voice of the secretary. “Council, Marshal Howard Stoat is here for his meeting,”

“Thank you, Francis. Send him in, please,” Sonya said. “And if anyone hears something reliable about the IHP, bring it up as soon as you can. I don’t like not knowing things.”

The door to the conference room opened. Howard Stoat, the marshal of the Current Party came in. He was a tall, slender man, with a neat beard. He wore an earpiece in one ear, and a wrist cuff tucked under his jacket sleeve. He saw Sennett when he came in, and winked at her.

“Marshal Stoat,” Councilman Chan said, “Good to see you. Have a seat?”

“Thank you,” Howard said, settling into a chair. He looked, as he always did, as though he belonged right where he was. “Good to see you all today. Are we still waiting for Saul?”

“No,” Sonya said, her face suddenly dark, “Because the two parties are so different, it seemed better to meet with the two of you alone. That way, we’re hearing all that each party has to tell us.”

“That was thoughtful of you, thank you,” Howard said, but Sennett noticed that he frowned, for just a moment. He must have thought the same thing that she did. To divide the marshals, when they stood together on a subject for once, would weaken their position.

“The council was created on the ship here from Earth, did you know that?” Howard asked, “Six people, out of the 100 that originally came, were put in charge of running the whole thing. As those six members either passed away or retired, they were replaced by the other five.”

“Thank you, we all took sixth-grade History and Government,” Councilwoman Heart snapped.

“I bet it didn’t mention this,” Howard said, “The council was only ever supposed to be a temporary situation. Their job was to keep order on the station, but their second job was to decide upon a system of government. Instead, they simply kept replacing people as they left, with no outside opinions allowed.”

“You’re here now,” Councilwoman Heart said, “Aren’t you an outside opinion?”

Howard raised an eyebrow at her. “Councilwoman, I beg your pardon, but it took me a year and a half to make this appointment. I think it would make all of us feel better if there was some transparency in the way council members are selected. You make all of the decisions about our lives, and we have no say who is on the council and who isn’t. I see that Godfrey Anders has joined your ranks. Maybe some people might have had an issue with a man who just arrived on Station 86 a few years ago being in charge. Maybe we would have preferred someone who had lived more of his or her life here.”

“Maybe some would have preferred someone who didn’t have a Khloe wife, too,” Godfrey muttered.

Howard raised an eyebrow. “Someone from your own party might have made that objection, Councilman, not mine. But I know you. You oppose artificial births, food modification, human mechanical adaptations and I am not comfortable with you on this council, sir. I am very afraid that science will take a step backward if you’re making decisions, you should forgive me for saying. If you had been voted on, if the majority of people on this station had said they wanted you making our choices, I would maybe shut up about it. No one got that chance, though.”

“What are you suggesting?” Councilwoman Mostevich asked.

“Voting rights,” Howard said. “Elections. Not even right now, but when the council loses another member. Let the people chose who will sit with you.”

The council members looked around at each other. Finally, Sonya said, “That is something we will have to discuss. It may seem like a reasonable thing to you, but-,”

“But there is a reason we’ve never done that,” Councilwoman Heart said, “The people have a tendency to vote for the very worst reasons. Fear, manipulation, greed. I remember hearing stories from Earth about people voting for a leader because they felt like they could have a beer with them.”

“I was elected based on voting,” Howard said, “I don’t think most of the people who voted for me feel like they want to have a beer with me.”

“Thank you,” Sonya said, “I appreciate that you came to us. Perhaps a step toward compromise would be speaking to the marshals more often. Get the people’s opinions. What do you all think?”

“It would be a good idea, I think,” Councilwoman Heart said, “Assuming you can stop the protests, Marshal Stoat. We won’t talk to people who are screaming at us.”

“That’s fair enough,” Howard said, “I’ll talk to the people of my party, see what I can do.”

He got to his feet, giving the council a quick bow. “Thank you for your time. And, if there’s anything the Current Party can do to help you in this trying time, you know how to reach me.”

The door opened again, and Marshal Saul entered. He was younger than Howard, with a bit of stubble on his chin and a well-defined upper body. Sennett, like most of the straight women on the station, thought he was good looking. She was sure that was how he’d gotten elected.

The two gave each other curious looks. “I thought we were meeting with the council together,” Saul said, just the hint of accusation in his voice.

“That’s what I thought, too. But, what can we do?” Howard asked. He clapped Saul on the shoulder, and said, “We’ll meet up after and compare notes, alright?”

“Sure, yeah,” Saul said, but he didn’t look convinced.

As Howard left, Saul started to take a seat at the table. “Actually, we’d prefer if you stood,” Councilman Chan said. His voice was suddenly cold.

Saul looked confused but did as he was asked, clasping his hands behind him. “My esteemed council,” he began, but Sonya held her hand up. “Stop. I’m afraid you’re not here to discuss politics with us.”

“I beg your pardon?” Saul asked.

“Saul Mai, do you know a young lady named Elizabeth Conrad?” Councilwoman Mostevich asked.”

“Of course, she’s my goddaughter,” Saul said, looking confused.

The council members, except for Godfrey, nodded at each other as though this confirmed their worst assumptions.

“Do you mind telling me what all this is about?” Saul asked.

“Elizabeth is ten years old, is that right?” Councilwoman Heart asked.

“She is. Council members, I’m not fond of games. Why don’t you all stop hopping around and tell me what’s going on?” Saul demanded.

Sonya got to her feet. “Accusations have been brought to our attention that you, Saul Mai, had sexual relations with Elizabeth Conrad.”

Saul turned pale. “That’s not possible because that never happened,” he said.

“I think it’s very possible,” Sonya said, her face dark, “I’ve seen the proof.”

She tapped the table before her. A screen appeared that was out of Sennett’s line of sight. But she could hear the noises just fine. A little girl, whimpering with ill-hidden pain, and a man grunting.

“Sonya, what is this? This isn’t real,” Saul cried, “You’re part of my own party! You voted for me!”

“And I am sickened by that now,” Sonya said, “We find ourselves in a particular position. What you’ve done isn’t technically illegal. When we founded Station 86, we thought that mankind had evolved past that sort of illness. It seems that we were wrong. Still, we can’t arrest you for something that wasn’t illegal when you did it. We can and will arrest you if we find that it happens after today. I suggest, if you don’t want this to become public knowledge, you quietly resign as marshal of the Foundation Party.”

“This is outrageous!” Saul cried.

“We don’t have time for your lies,” Councilwoman Mostevich snapped, “You’ve seen our evidence and you have two choices. Resign, or we’ll inform the rest of your party of this. Let them decide what to do about you.”

Saul looked back and forth at the faces of each council member. Finally, he landed on Godfrey. “You must know this isn’t true,” he said, “They’re just doing this because people listen to me! Godfrey, are you really going to let them do this?”

Godfrey was looking at the table, a hand over his mouth. “I, I can’t-,” he said. He looked up at his fellow council members. “You should have warned me that this was going to happen today.”

“I’m sorry, there wasn’t time, under the circumstances,” Sonya said, “We can’t let this happen again.”

“Go back to your home now, Mr. Mai,” Councilwoman Mostevich said, “Consider the choices before you.”

Saul looked like he had much more to say. But instead, he turned, and left.

After the door closed, Sonya set a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder. “I am sorry, dear,” she said, “We should have warned you.”

“You’re right, though, there wasn’t time,” Godfrey said. He still looked as though he wanted to throw up. Sennett wondered if he was regretting his decision to join the council right then.

“We do have to move on, now,” Councilman Chan said, “We have much to discuss.”

 It was hours later when the meeting concluded. Sennett felt as though she was losing her mind. She’d not come into work to guard people sitting in a secure room, she should be hunting down the killer. She tried to stretch her back without being noticed, being accustomed to walking for her shift and not standing in one spot.

As the council members rose to depart, Sonya said, “I’ve sent a request to Commissioner Stone for two more officers to join us. They’ll escort you all home.”

“What about you?” Godfrey asked.

“I was just declared the head councilwoman less than twenty-four hours ago,” Sonya said with a chuckle, “I believe it will be weeks before I see my house again. Good thing there are bedrooms here.”

“Someone should stay with you, Councilwoman,” Sennett said and regretted it at once. The last thing she wanted was to blow her whole night, watching Sonya while she did tedious paperwork.

Much to her relief, Sonya said, “I’m fine. There are guards here at all times, and everyone coming in or out of this level is monitored. Actually, if anyone else wants to stay with me, I wouldn’t think that a bad idea.”

Councilwoman McAvoy chuckled. “Sonya, no. And I’m not going to be shepherded to my house, either, thank you.”

Some of the other council members shook their heads. Councilman Chan looked concerned, though. “I think it’s a necessary precaution, Heather. At least for now.”

“Kevin,” Councilwoman McAvoy chuckled, “I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself.”

“Thorn was a grown woman, too,” Godfrey said quietly.

Sennett’s heart jumped, hearing her mother’s name in his mouth.

“No,” Councilwoman McAvoy said, folding her keyboard closed with a snap. “Have a good evening gentlemen, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left, with no one else making an attempt to stop her.

“Officer Montgomery, will you escort me to my home? I think we live near each other,” Godfrey said, tucking his keyboard and screen into a canvas bag.

She wanted very badly to refuse, but as she couldn’t think of a polite way to do so, so she just said, “I didn’t know we lived near each other. I’m in section four of Level eight.”

“I know, I’m in section three. It’s right on your way,” Godfrey replied.

“That works out well,” Sonya said, “Sennett, perhaps you could also escort Councilman Anders here tomorrow morning?”

Sennett suppressed a groan. “Of course, Councilwoman,” she said.

They left the office together, making their way towards the transit “Sorry to spoil your afternoon,” Godfrey said, “Maybe you’d rather just let this person kill me?”

“I want to be hunting the bitch that killed my mom, not babysitting you,” Sennett said, “At this rate, I’m only gonna get a chance at her if she comes after you. Though, that might be a win-win for me.”

“What’s your problem with me?” Godfrey snapped.

“Really?” she replied, “You don’t consider yelling at me about ‘unnatural food’ poisoning our kids, artificial births making us less human to be in any way offensive? It’s not like you even have kids, I do.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about kids or the future of the human race,” he said, “You and your party, on the other hand, would rather trade our humanity for a quick fix for dinner.”

“Ignoring science and technology isn’t making you more human, it’s just making you backward,” Sennett said, “Is this why you asked me to take you home? So you could harass me?”

He took a deep breath, and said in a quieter voice, “I wanted to ask you a favor, actually.”

Sennett raised an eyebrow. “You picked a fascinating way to start off,” she said.

“Look, I’m sorry, but this is important,” he said, “I know what you just heard about Saul is, well it’s terrible. And I know you want to tell your party about it. But, please, if I could ask you to wait-,”

“Why do you think I would tell my party?” Sennett asked, “I know you don’t think much of police, but we do have a code of honor. That’s what’s keeping me from beating you, and what will keep me from even being tempted to share anything I heard in there.”

“Oh,” Godfrey said, “Well, I’m sorry that I offended you, then. But, I don’t know how much I believe that he raped Elizabeth,”

They boarded the transit. Godfrey took a seat, while Sennett stood in front of him, scanning the crowd. The car they were in was all but empty. “Why?” she asked, “You saw the proof.”

“I saw a video,” Godfrey said, “But I also know the man.”

Sennett leaned against the wall. She tapped her wrist screen and started scrolling through messages. April had sent her roughly seventeen drawings.

Just as they reached Level Three, her emergency program went off. “All officers, Councilwoman McAvoy has been attacked on Level 7.”

Sennett stood up straight, glancing at the indicator that showed what level they were on. “Four,” she muttered, “By the time we get there, she’ll be gone.”

“I don’t know what you want to do about it,” Godfrey said, but Sennett was already pulling a small disc from her belt. She tapped the center of it, and it grew in size until she could comfortably stand on it. She waived her wrist screen in front of the window on the transit, opening it. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Godfrey by the arm and pulling him onto the disc.

“Wait, what the hell are you doing?” Godfrey cried.

“Not letting her get away,” Sennett muttered. She tapped her heels on the disc, working the controls to lift it out of the window and up through the air.

“Oh, shit!” Godfrey cried, clinging to Sennett’s arm, “Why wouldn’t you just leave me behind on the transit?”

“I was told to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Sennett said, maneuvering onto Level Seven, “Don’t be afraid.”

“That’s asking a little much at this point,” Godfrey said. They landed, and Sennett grabbed her disc off of the ground before taking off at a run.

Officer Clark was already there. She was on one knee next to Councilwoman McAvoy, who was sprawled out on the ground.

Sennett looked around. She saw scared people, hiding behind trash bins or lying belly down on the ground, their hands over their heads. She didn’t see what they were cowering from, though.

Suddenly, there was a popping noise. A woman, dressed all in black with a cloth over her face, appeared behind Godfrey. She pulled him out of Sennett’s reach, pushing a gun into his temple.

© 2026 Nicole Luttrell. All rights reserved.

You can download Seeming right now for free on Smashwords.


And, get Station 86 Volume One, in paperback for the first time, on October Second.

Seeming, Episode one

In the year 2099, a company called Galitech launched the first space station meant for recreational use. They shipped up food, sand, sea water, a whole lot of booze and somewhere around a thousand employees. What they created was called Station Center. It floated just beyond the moon and was advertised at the ultimate vacation destination.

Once everyone was convinced that the whole thing wasn’t going to devolve into some terrifying human behavior experiment, the overcrowded Earth started looking skyward. In 2104, what was later called the Summer of The Stations, 99 space stations intended for residential use were launched.

At first, they were populated by the brave and the bored. Celebrities thought it was posh to move off planet. Eventually, moving to space was the equivalent of moving to another country.

In 2117, something happened that mankind had pretty much assumed was an inevitability. We made First Contact. A race of people called the Khloe found a random station, Station 86. The thing that surprised people most was that they weren’t really all that different from us. While it was true that their skin was red and their hair hard and crystal-like, they were a far cry from the ‘alien’ everyone had in mind. Even so, it was a day that no one would forget, least of all the children on the station, including a little girl named Sennett.

The Khloe people weren’t the last to find us. A few years later they were joined by a race called the Ma’sheed. They caused quite a sensation because they glowed. They sent envoys to stations and lost no time becoming friends. Finally, the Toth quietly made contact. A tall and exceptionally calm race, it was sometimes hard to tell them apart from an Earthian. The only real difference was that their nails and eyes were black.

Over time the four races got along with varying degrees of success. Because Earth was too far away, Station 86 became the political outpost for inter humanoid relations.

These are the stories of Station 86

  Godfrey Anders leaned across the counter of his food district booth, scowling at the tablet in his hand. He’d been trying to write this letter for twenty minutes, and so far all he had was ‘Dear Dad’. He took a deep breath and shook his mane of dark curls out of his face, then tried again.

I know we haven’t really talked since Ki and I got married, but…

No, what the hell would that do? It was his dad that wasn’t talking. He backspaced, and tried again.

I miss you, and Ki would love to come meet you.

That was a lie. As much as Ki would love to see Earth, she had no desire to meet a man that she called, ‘that racist asshole.’ No sense starting this out with false expectations.

I‘ve just found out that I’m terminally ill, and…

No, that would just make him think he’d been right all along. It wasn’t bad enough that his only son had run off to space to open a glorified food truck, but then he’d gone and married an alien. In the mind of Michael Anders, a terminal illness was exactly what Godfrey deserved.

He wished people were in the habit of writing letters on paper still. Hitting the delete button wasn’t nearly as satisfying as crumpling up a page when writing became difficult.

Across the aisle from him was a screen, on which the news was playing. With no customers to distract him, Godfrey turned his attention to it.

“The station is all geared up for the homecoming of Head Councilwoman Montgomery this afternoon,” the news anchor said, a large grin on his face. “Down here at level one, security has been tripled due to recent anti-council protests. But that’s not going to stop anyone from having a good time! There are no less than 15 hospitality stands, where citizens can buy drinks, frozen yogurt, klav and a vast collection of other treats.”

“Excuse me,” said an older woman at the other side of his counter. Godfrey turned to her with a smile. She pointed to the sign above his head. “Do you really have fresh fruit from Earth?”

“The seeds are from Earth,” Godfrey said, “and the soil is. But the fruit was grown right here on Station 86, in my own little greenhouse.”

“But it’s real?” the woman asked, “It’s not simulated?”

“Nope, not simulated,” Godfrey said.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “How do I know it’s real?” she asked.

Godfrey laughed. He took a yellow apple from a basket next to him and grabbed a small knife. “You can tell by the taste.” He cut a wedge of the apple for the woman. “Try this, and tell me it’s not real.”

The woman took the slice, still giving him a distrustful look. All around them, people were milling around on the market level of the station. It was right in between the lunch and dinner hour, so no one was particularly interested in the food isles. Instead, they passed by, mostly men laden with shopping bags, running errands while the kids were at school.

The woman took a bite of the apple slice. As soon as she did, her eyes lit up. “I haven’t had an apple like this since I was a kid,” she said.

“I told you,” Godfrey said with a chuckle. “Simulators just can’t reproduce that taste.”

The woman started to reply but was interrupted by shouting.

They turned to see a young girl, her hand partway in the pocket of a man’s jacket. Holding her arm was a police officer that Godfrey recognized, Sennett Montgomery.

Godfrey guessed that some might have found Sennett attractive. She kept her long hair set in thousands of small braids, corralled in a metal band. She was tall, with dark brown skin and brown eyes. He, however, was too put off by the amount of tech she wore to find her very attractive at all. She had the three circular circles on her temple that indicated a virtual screen. On her wrist, she wore the receiver, a thick silver band that reached nearly halfway to her elbow.

“Let me go!” the girl cried, as the man moved away, looking disgusted. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Sennett snapped, giving her arm a shake. The girl wrenched left and right, trying to get out of Sennett’s grip.

Sennett shook her head and pulled the girl along with her. As they passed Godfrey’s stall, the girl thrashed, kicked the front and knocked his tablet to the ground.

“Hey!” Godfrey cried. “Can’t you keep your prisoner’s under control, Officer?”

Sennett scooped the tablet off of the ground, and looked at it, still holding the girl by one hand.

“It’s not bad enough you’ve been poisoning my plants, you’ve got to let pickpockets smash up the front of my stall?” he snapped, “I’d like that back now.”

“You made your complaint about me, it was looked into, and no evidence was found,” Sennett said, “So you can shut up about your greenhouse, I haven’t touched it.”

She took a step, just outside of his outstretched hands. “Well, what’s this?” she asked, “Are you applying to the council?”

She held the tablet up to show him the application form. Apparently, it had opened when the tablet fell.

“That is really none of your business,” Godfrey said, snatching the tablet from her.

“You’re a Foundation Party member, though. Isn’t it the Foundation Party leader that’s trying to overthrow the council?”

“Saul Mai just wants the council to be more transparent,” Godfrey said, “And if you don’t want that too, you’re a fool. No one has any say on who’s selected, the council chooses their own members. No one even has an idea of what happens during their closed-door meetings. I would think the Current Party would have a problem with that, too.”

“So your way to fix that is to be one of the people doing things with no transparency?” Sennett asked, “Yeah, that seems like pretty common Foundation Party doublespeak.”

“Yeah,” the girl said. Godfrey noticed for the first time that she was wearing the four intertwined circles of the Current Party as a pin on her jacket. Godfrey himself had the four overlaying squares of the Foundation Party on his own.

“You’re under arrest, “Sennett said, giving the girl another shake, “You don’t get a say.”

She continued on, dragging the pickpocket along with her.

A few hours later, Godfrey was closing up when his wife, Ki, arrived. She looked tired, still dressed in her uniform from the hospital.

Even tired, Godfrey thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She’d been the first person he’d met on the station, and her red skin had caught his attention right away. Her hair was a brilliant red, hard a stone, and chipped short to her head.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a tired peck on the cheek.

“Hey,” he replied, “Do you still want to go down to level one and see Councilwoman Montgomery come home?”

“Yeah,” Ki said. She pressed a button on the side of the counter, letting loose three scrubbers. They scooted across the counter and the stove range, cleaning all of the surfaces. “It was just a day. David and the new Ma’sheed girl both pulled no-shows. Then, some kid at the college accidentally melted half her lab. No one was seriously hurt, but the ER was full of whiny college kids and freaked out parents.”

“So we’ll stop by a stall with some booze first thing, then,” Godfrey said, pulling a tray of clean dishes from the washer. Soon enough they had the whole shop cleaned up. They pulled the front shutter down and made their way to the transit station.

The transit had fascinated Godfrey when he’d moved there, five years ago. People moved from level to level on a set of train cars that traveled in a corkscrew formation along the outer walls. The clockwise trains went down, the counter-clockwise trains went up.

They obviously weren’t the only ones interested in seeing the head councilwoman’s return home. There was a line for the first train, Godfrey and Ki ended up having to wait for another. A group of college kids was waiting as well.

“Hey, check out the Cherry skin,” one of them called. Her fellows chuckled. Godfrey looked over at them and was saddened to see that they were wearing Foundation pins. “Won’t your parents be ashamed to hear about this,” he called, “when I tell them about it?”

When the kids looked unimpressed, he said, “Kathy, Rodger, I know your moms will have something to say about this.”

Realizing that they’d been recognized, the kids slunk a little farther away, shooting Godfrey dirty looks occasionally.

“Little punks,” he muttered, pulling Ki close. She rolled her eyes and said, “Kids are kids, no matter the planet.”

They boarded the transit and took their seats. He pulled out his tablet and started scanning through the news. “Take a look at this,” he said, pointing out an article to her. “There’s a new poll out that says Saul Mai’s got the highest likability ranking of any Foundation Party leader in the past decade. He’s more popular than most of the Current Party leaders, too. Even that new guy they just voted in, Howard Stoats.”

“Is it normal for Foundation Party leaders to be unpopular?” Ki asked.

“Well, it’s always been the smaller party,” Godfrey said. He sighed, and added, “I know we’re in space, but there’s still a place for tradition, and history. We’re out here to assure that our cultures live on forever, all of us.”

Ki sniffed. “Honey, you know I don’t understand this obsession Earthians have with political parties. It just gives everyone something to fight over.”

“No, it gives the people the numbers we need to get our voices heard,” Godfrey said.

They reached level one, the docking level. Godfrey hadn’t thought it possible that it could be any more crowded than it normally was, but somehow the people of the station had managed it. The hospitality stalls were packed, and any surface that could be sat upon was in use. Kids, clinging to parents or perched on shoulders, shouted everywhere. He was sure that everyone who lived on the station was there, from every planet. He kept a good hold of Ki’s hand, especially when they passed a collection of officers. Their blue uniforms were meant to resemble American police officers on Earth, and they did a horribly good job as far as he was concerned.

“Come on!” Ki cried, pulling him forward.

“I’m coming,” he said, laughing at her excitement. “It’s a big ship, we’re not gonna miss it.”

Ki looked back at him and knocked into someone holding a child. “Oh, sorry,” Ki said.

The woman turned. It was Sennett, now dressed as a civilian in jeans and a hoodie, holding what Godfrey assumed was her daughter, April. She looked very much like her mother, but with a head full of fluffy, dark hair. She was a cute kid, but Godfrey noticed that Sennett had her teched out as well. She wore decorative wrist cuffs and had an earpiece in one ear. Godfrey couldn’t even imagine what a four-year-old needed an earpiece for.

“No problem,” Sennett said. Next to her stood a man who looked to be a couple years younger than her. He was pale, well built, with dark hair that was shaved close to his head. Like Sennett, he wore the three metal dots on his temples. He also wore the Current Party pin on his jacket.

“What are you doing here, Hypocrite?” Godfrey asked, “After bitching about the council?”

“Wanna watch your mouth in front of my kid?,” Sennett said.

“Councilwoman Montgomery’s our mom, Dumbass,” the boy said.

“Mason, could you shut up?” Sennett asked.

“Well, that makes sense,” Godfrey said, “Not only are you a cop, but you’re a cop with connections. That’s why you’re getting away with poisoning my plants.”

“Give it up,” Sennett said, “I’m not doing anything to your damned plants.”

“Well, they’re not dying on their own,” Godfrey replied.

“Oh, why don’t you take you’re damned lame accusations, and-,”

She was interrupted by cheering. A massive screen behind them lit up. The Councilwoman’s ship was nearly home.

Godfrey grinned. He supposed it was nothing major. The head councilwoman was in and out of the station several times throughout the year. But there was always this pomp and circumstance, this celebration when she returned.

The ship was sleek, thin and silver, meant only for short trips between the stations. The screen changed from the exterior view to an image of the Councilwoman. She was older, with gray hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She was smiling at all of them.

“Hi, Grandma!” April cried, next to Godfrey. Councilwoman Montgomery must have heard her because she laughed.

“Hello, everyone,” she said, “It is good to see home again. I’ve got to stop going away so long.”

The crowd let up a cheer.

Then the screen went black. The next moment, it sounded as though several large things hit the side of the station, just outside of the loading docks.

From the front of the room, Godfrey heard yelling. The screen remained black. Several IHP agents, dressed in black suits, began to move towards the docking bay and their ships.

“What is this?” Sennett whispered.

“Everyone, please remain calm,” said a voice over the loudspeaker. “All officers and IHP agents are now on duty. Report to your squad leader or immediate supervisor for orders. All civilians please return to your homes, now.”

From the front of the crowd, someone yelled, “The councilwoman’s ship’s blown up. She’s been killed!”

“Are we under attack?” Ki whispered, pulling Godfrey closer.

“No,” Sennett said. She’d set April on the ground, and was looking at her receiver. “That ship couldn’t have been taken down by anything besides station mounted weaponry. It had to have come from the station.”

© 2026 Nicole Luttrell. All rights reserved.

You can download Seeming right now for free on Smashwords.


And, get Station 86 Volume One, in paperback for the first time, on October Second.

How we create in dark times

Man, I could really use some precedent times.

I don’t need to tell you how dark things are getting out there. You know, you have eyes.

I hope you also have plans to vote in the midterms in a few months here.

As many of you know, my personal life hasn’t been great either. The darling husband is still recovering from his stroke in December of 2024. We had to move out of my dream apartment, my soul cat Harper passed, and Haunted MTL closed in 2025.

And my favorite wine bar closed. I know it doesn’t seem like much compared to everything else. But that was where I went when the husband was in the hospital, and the house was too quiet. Basically, it was one of the things keeping me going through all the other rough shit. And then it was gone.

2026 has been a lot brighter. We moved into a new house, and it’s lovely. We have a new roommate. The darling husband gets a little better every day. And, thanks to the move, I was able to bury our girl in our own yard, where I can visit her every day.

Now, I’m decompressing from what was certainly a Tower Card year. I’m getting into a groove that has space for being a caretaker and a creative. I’m also learning to work within the way my body is changing now that I’m in my 40’s.

Writing can come back to the foreground of my life now. But even while I walked through a rough year, I kept writing. So today, I want to talk about how I did it. What kept me writing? How did I fit it in when I barely had time to shower?

Let’s talk about it.

I need the brightness

Writing is bright for me. It’s the best thing. The thing I want to do more than anything else. And when everything felt like it was falling apart around me, writing was how I handled it.

Writing my weekly blog posts, getting in a little writing time on my novel, and especially journalling. These were things I could do while the husband napped, attended physical therapy, or slowly learned to use his smartphone again. They were things that made me feel like me. If only for a little while.

Today I have a thousand things to do. I’m writing this on Sunday, and I have a hundred other things I need to do today. But I’m taking the time to write this, because it’s fun. Because I want to. Because it makes me feel bright.

Prioritize

When you have a thousand things that need to be done, you’ve got to realize that you’re not going to get it all done. Sorry, that’s just how life works. Especially when you’re a full-time caregiver. If you think you’ve got the perfect day planned in which you’re going to get everything done, something’s probably going to break. Or someone’s going to get sick. Or you probably forgot a doctor’s appointment.

Again.

So when you’re making the to-do list for the day, list your goals by priority. For me, I start with the things that need to be done to keep everyone (including my plants) alive and well. Doctors, meds, meal planning, watering schedule, doggy nail clippings. These are always the first things on my to-do list.

Then come the things I need to do to progress on my current projects. This will look different all the time. Sometimes I’ve got a blog post that’s due. Or I need to get words on the page for the current book. Or I need to get short stories submitted.

Then, I worry about things like house cleaning or laundry. Unless I’m completely out of clean underwear.

You’re going to run out of time. You’re going to run out of energy. Prioritize like hell, and make sure the most important things get done.

Time management, realistically

Time management should also be looked at as energy management. I spend some time every Saturday to see what can get done when.

Look at your schedule for the week. What days do you have work? When are you doing your grocery shopping, picking up meds, scheduling doctor’s appointments, going to the bank?

When do you have days that will not be productive for good reasons? For instance, this week was Mabon, one of the eight sabbats in the wheel of the year. We also have a local Fall Festival on Saturday. I plan for those beautiful, life-affirming days. No progress will be made on any projects that day. I’ll be living life, taking pictures, and loving on my family.

Make sure you’re planning for rest times. Make sure you’re not planning to be productive every minute of the day. Plan in time for joy, for rest, for unproductive loafing. Plan for bubble baths and movie nights.

Measuring in minutes

I want to write most days. Some days I can carve out a whole hour to work on my current book. Sometimes I can fit in ten minutes.

My homecare is usually shoved into minutes. And you know what? It gets done.

Take ten minutes to pick up your home. Spend ten minutes writing. Stretch for ten minutes. Read for ten minutes. Will it be as good as if you took an hour a day? No, of course not. But it will be a damned sight better than if you didn’t do anything at all.

Art inspires people

When it’s hard to keep going, we remember our why. This is my why. I’ve said over and over that art gets people through hard times. In my darkest times, books have saved me. It happened again last year, reading We Used To Live Here while sleep-deprived, caring for my husband when he came home unable to even sit up by himself. We watched Futurama and Shrek. We indulged in stories, and it helped heal both of us.

I want to be that. I want to write the story someone reads while sitting in the emergency room. While waiting for a doctor to call. While waiting for a job offer that might or might not come. I want my stories to be the bright few minutes in someone’s dark day. And when I feel too tired to open my laptop, this is the why that drives me to at least get in a few hundred words before I go crash out.

What’s your why?

So that’s it. There’s nothing magical. I mean, I am a witch, and I do believe that a cup of tea and a good candle can help most things. But most of it’s just making a plan, making the time, and making it happen.

What about you? What keeps you writing during hard times? Let us know in the comments.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. You can support us by liking this post, sharing it and commenting. You can also support us on Ko-fi.

Station 86 Volume 1 is coming! You can get your very own copy on October Second.

You should read I’m Glad My Mom Died

Usually, when I talk about a book here on Paper Beats World, it isn’t really a book review. It’s a review of what we, as authors, can learn from books. And I love doing that. Trust me, I’m not going to stop doing that.

However, there are books I want to talk about just for the story itself. Or, if I think it’s just a good book that more people need to hear about. So, sometimes I’m going to just talk about books I think you should read, and why I think you should read them.

Today, we’re going to talk about Jennette McCurdy’s memoir, I’m Glad My Mom Died. If you’re not already familiar, McCurdy is best known for her work as Sam on the shows iCarly and Sam and Cat.

Those shows were a fair bit after my time of Nickelodeon watching, though I have a few younger relatives that watched them. Enough that the damned theme song got stuck in my head more than once while listening to this book.

The audio version is read by Jennette, by the way. After listening to it, I think this is the superior way to experience the story. At least, if you want your heart to be ripped the whole way out of your chest.

As you can imagine, the book is about Jenette’s childhood. Or lack thereof, if we’re being honest. It was a dark, lonely, chaotic childhood. After reading it, I’m glad her mom died too.

You should read I’m Glad My Mom Died if-.

If you’re a former Mormon

I don’t know if Jennette’s still a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But she was raised in the church. In case you don’t remember, I was also raised in the church.

Actually, Jennette’s one of the few people I’ve ever heard of who experienced Mormonism in the same way I did. Let me explain.

Most people who are Mormon are very devout. It’s a high-control religion. You don’t miss church. And church is an all-Sunday event. I went to Church every Sunday with my grandma. I went to Young Women’s group on Wednesdays and Girls’ Camp in the Summer. There were Temple Trips and conferences. It’s a whole thing that everyone in the family is supposed to participate in.

My mother was not involved. She wasn’t a member of Relief Society. She constantly ignored the Word of Wisdom, drinking coffee and smoking. We always had caffeinated soda in the house, which was not allowed before Mitt Romney was caught sipping a Pepsi on the campaign trail. She was, for all intents and purposes, a non-practicing Mormon.

The same can be said of Jennette’s family. They went to church sometimes. They don’t seem to follow the Word of Wisdom. Her mother went frequently and got blessings from Priesthood Holders when she was battling cancer. But her consideration for church waned when she got healthy, and her daughter started her acting career. This leaves Jennette with a sort of religious psychosis that feels very familiar to me. The way she describes the Still Small Voice basically giving her OCD feels very, horrifyingly, familiar.

If your parents had mental illnesses

I don’t want to armchair diagnose anyone, but it’s pretty clear that Jennette’s mom was suffering from some mental issues.

I mean, I think anyone who forces their kids into acting has an issue. But this is something different.

Through the book, Jennette talks about her mom physically threatening her dad with a knife. She talks about her insisting on showering her children well into their teenage years. About how her mom essentially starved herself and still thought she was fat. How their house was a hoarder’s house, with rooms so full of things that they couldn’t even be used, and everyone slept on mats in the living room.

These are things that are hard for a child to understand. Even harder to experience. Why don’t they have a room like their friends? Why can’t they go to school? Why can’t they have a damned shower alone like a normal person?

It’s bleak. And if you lived through that, this book might make you feel less alone.

If you’ve suffered through an eating disorder

This was one of the hardest parts of I’m Glad My Mom Died.

Because her mom was obsessed with her body, and her desire to keep her thin and looking childlike for as long as possible, Jennette started calorie counting at a very young age.

This led to years of different eating disorders. Anorexia turned into Bulimia. I hated hearing this. I hated thinking of the young woman who played such a vibrant, confident character hating herself.

This is another situation that can feel isolating. Even though way too many people suffer from an eating disorder in America. Jennette tries to handle it herself. Then she talks to a therapist. But the first therapist doesn’t work for her. And it takes her a long time to find another one.

There’s a lesson here, though. So long as you’re still breathing, you can keep trying. If you’re currently suffering through an eating disorder, keep trying. Find the help you need. Try again. You’re loved; you deserve to eat and fuel your body. You deserve to stick around.

If you were personally horrified by Quiet On The Set

I mentioned earlier that I didn’t watch iCarly as a child.

I did watch All That, though. And a host of other shows that brightened some dark days.

I was kind of an indoor kid.

Realizing the abuse of the kids involved made me want to puke. It also made me want to do some things to some people in Hollywood that, for legal reasons, I shouldn’t type.

Jennette was part of that. Her co-stars were part of that. No kid should ever have to suffer through that sort of abuse. And yeah, I feel guilty because I was one of millions of kids who watched that show and made money for the abusers.

We aren’t to blame. We were just kids ourselves. But we owe it to these actors to understand what happened and do what we can to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t like parasocial relationships, but I do think we can all do our part. For starters, be nice to child actors on social media and remember that they’re kids.

If your parents ever crushed your dreams, but you got them back.

As I mentioned before, I listened to I’m Glad My Mom Died. I did that for the most part in my kitchen while cleaning up or cooking. And since the weather’s started to cool, some of that time I had my windows open.

So my neighbors got to hear me actively cussing out Jennette’s mom.

As a child, Jennette wrote a screenplay. Maybe it was good, maybe it wasn’t. That doesn’t matter. She was a little kid, and she wrote a little screenplay. That’s great!

When she brought it to her mom, her mom was disappointed. She wanted Jennette to be focusing on her acting career. This line’s going to stick with me. Jennette’s mom told her. “You have a cute little peach butt. I hate to think of you getting a writer’s watermelon butt.”

Bitch, who do you think writes all these shows and movies for actors with their peach butts to be on?

My personal feelings aside, I hate the thought of a child having their dreams shot down by the adults in their lives. Most of the time it’s done out of misguided love. A desire to protect kids from the harsh realities of most creative careers.

And yeah, the reality is harsh. I sure as hell don’t make enough money to live on from my writing.

But that’s not the damned point! The point is that the kid had a passion. And if she’d taken all the time and energy she was committing to acting (which she didn’t want to do) and put that towards writing, she might have more than two books out by now!

That’s honestly the biggest takeaway from I’m Glad My Mom Died. And it’s why I really think you should read it. Jennette went through Hell. But she healed. It took years. It took hard work, and I’m sure it still takes hard work to this day. But she healed, and she got back to writing. She got back to herself. And we can too.

If you haven’t already, you should read I’m Glad My Mom Died. It’s dark, unflinchingly honest, and damned inspiring.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. You can support us by liking this post, sharing it and commenting. You can also support us on Ko-fi.

Station 86 Volume 1 is coming! You can get your very own copy on October Second.

What I’m reading, Fall 2026

It’s not technically Fall until September twenty-second. But the pumpkin spice has been flowing on social media since the first. So, why not dive into my Fall reading list a little early? After all, I actually finished all the books on my Summer reading list, and early too. Currently, I’m reading Sisters in Hate by Seyward Darby and listening to I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy. I’ll be reviewing that last one next week, but here’s a spoiler. I’m also glad her mom died.

So, here’s what I plan on reading this Fall. Hopefully with some sort of warm beverage and no one asking for my attention. And you can always follow along with what I’m reading on Goodreads.

Halloween by Silver RavenWolf

Can you believe I’ve never read a Silver RavenWolf book before? This one seemed to be the place to start.

This is a book full of recipes and spells for Halloween. It’s also got history behind certain traditions. I’m super excited to crack into this book and indulge in some crafts, both of the spell and glue stick variety.

Please Remain Seated by Marcus Kliewer

This is only being released in audiobook format. Which is quite fun, I think. This is a collection of short horror stories ranging from the sky to the sea, as the description said. It’s an interesting premise for a short story collection. And after being emotionally devastated by the last two books by this author, I’m super excited.

Mazywood by Tananarive Due

This appears to be a book about Black female rage, set in the present and the past. I am so here for it. Especially after reading (devouring) The Reformatory.

The grandson of a famous Black actress goes to her cabin and is presumably accosted by terrifying ghosts. This book doesn’t come out until the 22nd, and I cannot get my hands on it.

Building 903 by Lois Lowry

You know, the same Lois Lowry who wrote Number The Stars and The Giver, among others. This one is about twins who live in a safe and highly regulated dystopian future where everyone is ruled by tyrannical and faceless leaders, and reading is forbidden.

I don’t like how precient this is. But I hit that pre-order so fast.

The Rednexorcist by ‘Frank Sloane’

Actually, this is a novella by Grady Hendrix. I don’t know why he wanted to use a pen name for this one. Maybe it’s some contractual issue; who’s to say?

This looks like a fun romp through possession and wild ghost battles. I think this is going to be fantastic. Keep an eye out at Weird Wyrlds, where I’ll be reviewing it.

Mary by Nat Cassidy

I got this book in a Blind Date With A Book. And it took me a while to realize that, um, something is off with the cover.

Look close. When you see it, you can’t unsee it.

This book is about a woman reaching menopause, going through a lot of changes. Some of the changes might be homicidal. But you know, who’s going to argue with her?

How To Survive a Horror Novel by Mallory Arnold

This is another Blind Date With a Book surprise. And the copy I got has the cutest etching on the sides!

This book is about a group of horror writers summoned to the mansion of one of their own who recently died. Hijinks and murder ensue. How exciting!

The True Secret of Writing by Natalie Goldberg

You know I have to sneak in a Goldberg book in the Fall. This one started as a seminar that she gave, which I have never gotten to see because I’ve sadly not met her yet.

Yet.

I’m sure I’ll be talking about this book after reading it. I’m sure I’ll be learning a lot. And probably crying. She always makes me cry.

Mary Magdalean Revealed by Meggan Watterson

Did you know that Mary Magdalean had a gospel? And that the Catholic church has known about it for a very long time?

I’ve got a whole thing with Mary. I love Her. I honor Her. And as a Christian Witch, she’s a big part of my practice. Honestly, I’m kind of furious that so many of our female Christian leaders have been hidden from us. I’m willing to bet that this book is going to make me more furious.

11/22/63 by Stephen King

There’s just something about a good thick horror novel that just screams Fall to me. This one is a historical fiction about the tragic assassination of JFK. I’ve seen the mini-series. I’ve never read the book. I’m excited.

Now it’s your turn. What are you reading this Fall? Let us know in the comments.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. You can support us by liking this post, sharing it and commenting. You can also support us on Ko-fi.

Station 86 Volume 1 is coming! You can get your very own copy on October Second.

Let’s talk about Book Goblin

Hey everyone. Um, I think we need to talk about something.

A popular writer on Instagram, Elisabeth Wheatley, recently announced that she’d rewritten several of her popular novels, taking out the spicy scenes. These scenes are now ‘fade to black’. Here’s a link to her detailed post about this decision. She says she’s doing this because she’s uncomfortable with oversexualization in our society, especially since the birth of her daughter. I want to highly recommend that you go read her own words on the situation before you start getting opinions.

Because my God, people have opinions. People are losing their damned minds in her comment section. They’re getting rid of her books. They’re roasting her on Threads. Let’s not do that. Instead, let’s have an actual discussion about this situation. Here’s what I think.

Now, I do need to start with some disclaimers. First off, my opinions are my own and don’t represent the opinions of any organizations I belong to.

Second, I haven’t actually read Wheatley’s books. I don’t like romance; we’ve established this. Spicy or not, I want dragons, ghosts, and sci-fi fun. Not meet-cutes and accidental love in arranged marriages. I am 100% following her for Book Goblin content. I love that character.

Third, I have only ever written one spicy scene in any of my books. And that one was meant to physically upset my male readers with the mental image of having someone’s tender man bits suddenly surrounded by sharp, sharp crystals. (Sorry, guys. To my male readers, did it work? Was that scene in Nova as upsetting as I wanted it to be? Let me know in the comments.)

Fourth, I am myself a Christian Witch. So I love Jesus, and take ‘As it harm ye none, do what thou wilt’ to heart. I have no moral issues with sex scenes or adult consentual porn in general. If everyone’s grown and having a good time, it’s alright by me.

All that being said, I am going to come to Wheatley’s defense here. Unless she posted somewhere and I missed it, she’s not endorsing other writers taking the spice out of their books. She’s not shaming other authors. She’s certainly not shaming readers who like spice. She is saying that she’s uncomfortable writing it, and her morality is pointing her in another direction.

This is something I honestly wish more people would practice. We all have our own moral compasses. For instance, I recently stopped eating beef. I don’t eat lamb or octopus either. Cows and sheep are too innocent and trusting. And octopuses are a bit too smart for me to feel comfortable eating them.

I am not saying you should stop eating beef. I’m not going to rail against the sins of Burger King or throw red paint on a McDonald’s CEO. I made a personal decision. Wheatley also made a personal decision.

However, I’m also going to come to the defense of some of the people criticising her. Right now there’s a push towards conservatism in our society. And that really scares me. Censorship scares me. I don’t like the thought of an artist censoring themselves because they’re afraid someone is going to disapprove. It feels gross. I’m worried that if we start down that path, the list of things we can’t write about is going to get longer and longer. Which means the list of things we can’t read about will get longer and longer.

I hate the puritanical restrictions on women especially. They say that we should hide ourselves, cover ourselves up. They say that we’re not allowed to feel sexy or enjoy sex and our bodies on our own terms. They view sex as something we endure, that we give to our husbands, rather than something that should be enjoyed by everyone involved. They compare us to chewed gum, licked cupcakes, linty duct tape.

Viewed through this lens, alongside the tradwife movement, I understand why people are very concerned about a well-known author removing sex scenes from her books.

In the end, though, I think the people who are angry aren’t really angry at Wheatley. I think they’re angry and scared at overall changes and bad actors within the community and the world at large. I don’t think that it’s about Wheatley’s choice specifically. And in fact, I think that she handled this situation very well.

First of all, she’s made it clear that if you want the spicy original versions, they’re still available. And if you bought the spicy version of the ebook and want the fade-to-black version, she’s apparently sending those out for free; you just have to email her. She’s not doing this to force you to buy the same book twice. She’s giving options. As I mentioned above, she’s not forcing her morality on other people.

I honestly love that she came out on Instagram and posted about this. She started out giving very clear information for her readers to either have the spicy version or the fade-to-black version of her books. She has not, at least as far as I’ve seen, responded to any of the hateful comments people have been leaving her. She said her piece, and left it at that. Good for her.

In the end, I think everyone’s getting a little too worked up. We shouldn’t be dogpiling on a woman just trying to live by her own moral compass. There are plenty of people out there who want to censor books. Who want to tell us what we can and cannot read, wear, and do. Let’s save our anger for them. They actually deserve it.

And if Elisabeth Wheatley sees this, I’m with you, Book Goblin. We don’t write the same genre. But we’re both just out here trying to tell our stories and live our lives. For Bookhalla, sister. For Bookhalla.

As always, I want to know what you think. Leave your (polite) thoughts below.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. You can support us by liking this post, sharing it and commenting. You can also support us on Ko-fi.

Station 86 Volume 1 is coming! You can get your very own copy on October Second.

Twelve years of Paper Beats World

Tomorrow is August 29th. This is the twelfth anniversary of Paper Beats World.

I’ve been yapping about writing, reading, and politics for twelve years now. And somehow, you’re not sick of me yet.

Before I sat down to write this, I went back to read the anniversary post for last year. And, I have to be honest, I forgot how rough last year was for me. Yikes. We were still deep in stroke recovery; we’d just found out we were losing our dream apartment, and Haunted MTL had gone under. I didn’t know this at the time, but we had less than a month left with my soul cat, Harper. I felt like I could barely catch my breath between punches.

Today, things are much brighter. We’ve settled into our new home, a sunny little house on a hill. I actually kind of love having a roommate. I grew tomatoes and put up a pool, two things I couldn’t have done at the apartment. While I’m writing this, the Darling Husband is playing a video game. We worried he’d never heal enough to be able to do that. J.M Brannyk and I started a new horror review site.

Things are looking up in my life. Some of this is my doing. Some of it, frankly, is yours. Some is just the passage of time and the opportunity to heal.

I still miss Harper. I miss our apartment. I miss the little wine bar that closed. There is no going back during times of loss. That’s the lesson I took away from 2025.

But there is going forward. There is experiencing new joys, new patterns, new dances. There is rebuilding. That’s the lesson I’ve taken from 2026 so far.

I’m going to keep focusing on the joy, while also bitching about the wrongs in the world and doing what I can to protect my community. (Speaking of which, are you registered to vote? Midterms are coming up, folks; make a plan today.) I’m going to keep reading good books, writing good stories, and drinking good coffee. How about you?

So, what am I going to be working on for the next year? Well, as I’ve been bitching about saying all year, I had no actual drafts written at the start of 2026. Through a series of coincidences, I found myself rough drafting. And now that it’s August, I find that I’ve almost finished the rough draft for, wait for it, AA the novel! Will it be ready and in your hands anytime soon? Maybe 2028? That’s what I’m hoping for right now. This year I’m launching Station 86 in physical form, and eventually as an audiobook. I’m sad to say it, but you probably won’t see a new book from me until at least October 2027.

It’ll be worth the wait, though. I promise.

I can never say this enough. I am so thankful that you’re here, reading this. So long as you keep showing up, I will too. Here’s to another year of reading and writing together. Love you, guys.

Why Scion Works

Is this post actually going to be on time? Oh my heavens, I don’t know who I am anymore!

Launching on September first, Scion is the latest novel by James Islington. He’s probably best known for his Hierarchy series, and this is his first science fiction book. I received an ARC from Saga Press. And it was a fantastic read.

Our main character is an assassin named Azure. He lives in a dystopian future where people have discovered how to live forever. Of course, that comes at a premium cost. So, rather than outlawing the practice, the people vote to make it legal to assassinate ‘Lifers’.

The allure of crowdfunding the legal assassination of a wealthy asshole is almost enough to make this book not so dystopian after all.

Azure is one such legal assassin. He’s one of the best at what he does, thanks in part to his extensive body modifications. So he’s surprised when he’s assigned instead to protect someone from assassination. He soon learns the reason he was selected for this task. And it’s life-altering.

So let’s break down Scion today, and see why it works.

The first scene is a masterclass

A scene should accomplish something. Maybe it’s to move the story along, give important information, or show us something about a character. The best scenes do multiple things at once. And the first scene in Scion is a perfect example.

We start right in with Azure penetrating the defenses of a target’s magnificent home. He’s face to face with a bioengineered monster and fighting for his life.

This is a great way to get the reader’s attention. It also introduces the reader to some of the advanced tech in this world. On top of that, it introduces us to Azure, his remarkable abilities, and his delightfully sarcastic personality.

Well done, all around.

The world is vast

We only see so much of Azure’s world. In fact, it feels like we’re just looking through a keyhole into a limitless universe. You just can’t see everything there is to see.

There is so much wild technology. So much culture, music, food, drugs, and people! And we just don’t get a lot of details about any of it.

The detail we do get is astounding. It alludes to a deeper, more complex world.

I love when authors do this. It’s something I’m trying to learn. You don’t have to give all the details when you’re worldbuilding. I mean, you can if you want to. Some writers really love that sort of thing. But if you give just enough detail, the reader’s imagination will usually fill in the rest.

The main character was likable.

I liked Azure. He was bitingly sarcastic, professional, and weirdly respectful.

All of this was strange for an assassin. But then, assassinations are legal. So maybe that helps.

I love that he’s kind and respectful, even when murdering someone. I love how well he stands up for his boundaries. He clearly cares about the people in his life, even if distantly. And he always wants to do the right thing.

Even if he’s murdering people.

I think it’s important for a character to have a set of moral standards they adhere to. Even if they aren’t exactly ones we agree to. And Azure has those moral standards. They make sense for the world he lives in and his place in it.

Well done.

The ending!

Finally, I want to talk about the ending, without giving it away. Because it’s interesting.

At the end of the story, Azure is faced with a choice. I think that readers might disagree as to which choice he should make.

I know which choice I would make. But, well, it isn’t as simple as that, is it?

It’s an ending that leaves the reader with questions. But good ones. It also leaves this world open. If Islington chose to write more in this world, I think he easily could. I also think he should. I’d certainly read it.

Overall, Scion was a fast-paced story that invites readers to play along and fill in the blanks themselves. It’s witty and fun. I’d certainly recommend checking it out when it releases on September first.

As though we need another reason to count down the days to September.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. You can support us by liking this post, sharing it and commenting. You can also support us on Ko-fi.

Station 86 Volume 1 is coming! You can get your very own copy on October Second.

The weight of a woman’s pen

“I’m a writer. I don’t cook and I don’t clean.” Dorothy West.

When I was a kid, my grandmother had a hysterectomy. I don’t mean when I was a teenager. I mean when I was a kid, like ten. And my mother sent me to stay with her for a week during my Summer vacation to take care of her. When my mother had a hysterectomy a few years later, I took care of her, too.

My writing has always come after caring for someone or something. I’ve written while potatoes boiled, at laundromats, while in doctors’ waiting rooms and on the public bus. I’ve gotten up early to sneak in writing before anyone would need me.

I have always had weight on my pen. Weight that many women probably find quite familiar.

This won’t be news to most of you, but women’s aspirations are often put on the back burner. We work our passions while babies nap, while water boils and meatloaves bake. We are often the default caregivers of children, parents, and in-laws. So if we are to write, we’ll do so once everything else is done.

This happens to me all the time. As you might know, my Darling Husband had a stroke about a year and a half ago. He is physically and mentally disabled. He needs care, some days more than others. So writing often comes in stolen moments. I barely wrote the first year after his stroke; I just didn’t have the time or energy.

Men don’t seem to have this problem. Or, I should say, men are less likely to have this problem. Lots of modern men are good at this. If you’re a man and you do an equal share of the housework, make your own doctor’s appointments, take equal care of your kids and elderly relatives, and pick up after your damned self without needing a list, that’s awesome. You’re a competent adult, and we love to see it. I’m kind of assuming that if you’re a man and you’re reading this, you are in fact one of these competent adults because I generally assume my readers are wonderful people and I love you all.

Let me tell you, though, that is not always the case.

One of the most galling things about the division of homecare is hearing some (not all) creative men talk about their partners. And, I hate to say it, but the first one that comes to mind is my man, my hero, Stephen King.

In his book, On Writing, he talks about his wife, Tabitha. And he obviously adores her. He makes it clear that he was only able to write while they had three little kids and they were both working because she was picking up the slack around the house. However, he points out that she had writing aspirations as well.

Well, fuck that! Tabitha King is an author. She’s been a published author since goddamned 1981 when her novel Small World came out. And I only found that out literally five minutes before writing this sentence because I looked it up! She’s published eight novels! On Writing came out in 2000, at which point Tabitha had already published seven of her books. And he sure didn’t mention that!

Stephen wrote novel after novel while working full time and doing a shit ton of coke. She wrote novel after novel while working, raising children, caring for a house, and dealing with her coke-addicted husband. Not to mention being incredibly supportive of his career. Put some respect on her damned name!

Over and over I hear men in the writing field talk about how much they depend on their spouses so they can write. I don’t often hear women say the same thing. Yes, some husbands fit that supporting role. But more often you hear men talk affectionately about how much their wives support them, without sparing a thought for how they can support their wives back.

Even so, the weight on the modern woman’s pen isn’t as heavy as it used to be. Consider Shirley Jackson, one of the greatest horror writers of all time. We all know the sort of marriage she had. Imagine what she might have done if her pen were a little lighter. If she’d had someone to cook dinner and look after the children. What might we have seen from other famous women writers? How many more amazing works would we have if women didn’t have this extra pressure on their time?

This needs to stop. This pressure needs to be removed. We need our pens to be lighter. But if that’s to happen, we women need to start having some real conversations with our partners, and with each other. In that spirit, I want to speak directly to my fellow women right now.

If your partner isn’t sharing in domestic labor, it might be time to have a real conversation with them. That’s going to look different for every couple. But it’s better than doing all the work and growing resentful that your own dreams are being buried under laundry and vacuuming.

We also need to stop posting these dumb, weaponized incompetent videos of men. It just encourages other women to put up with bad behavior because ‘all men are like that’. The fuck they are. My husband is half paralyzed, and he still helps out around the house to the best of his ability. My roommate is twenty-four, and he does equal parts of the housework.

Now, let’s also talk about how we talk to and about ourselves and each other. We do not have to have perfectly clean houses. We don’t have to make meals from scratch every night. We don’t have to have everyone over for holidays, cook, clean, and be perfect hostesses. We can ask for help from our families. We don’t have to take care of everyone. We shouldn’t expect perfection from ourselves. And if you have friends or family members who expect that perfection from you, maybe that’s not your problem. Maybe it’s time to respectfully tell your mom, sister-in-law, or judgy friend to go to hell.

This is something I’ve really struggled with. Especially since my husband’s stroke.

This is about to get real real here, so please be kind.

For the first few months after my husband’s stroke, I barely slept, let alone wrote. He needed almost constant care. He couldn’t sit up, couldn’t feed or clean himself. I didn’t leave the house for more than fifteen minutes for months. I was scared to take a shower with the door closed. I was terrified to leave him alone.

People offered to help. To sit with him. To run errands for me. And I would just say that I was fine. I had it covered. Because I did have the necessary things covered. He was clean, fed, and cared for. The house was put together.

But I wasn’t writing. Hell, I wasn’t reading. I could barely let him out of my sight.

Then, I did something drastic. A friend needed a roommate. I needed help. So we moved in together. I let other people stay with my husband. I let other people cook and clean. We’re talking about hiring a housekeeper. I stopped doing every single thing for my husband, and only stepped in when he actually needed help.

More than all of that, I’ve come to accept that the house might just be a mess. And that’s okay. It’s not a moral failing. Right now as I write this, there’s a massive pile of clothes that need to be folded and put away. There are dishes in my sink. The lawn needs mowed. I’ll get to it, or someone will. My writing comes first.

It’s time to take some weight off our pens and see what we can really do.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. You can support us by liking this post, sharing it and commenting. You can also support us on Ko-fi.

Station 86 Volume 1 is coming! You can get your very own copy on October Second.

Station 86, the physical book!

Earlier this year, Grady Hendrix announced that he wasn’t coming out with a new book until 2027. As he usually graces us with a book a year, this bothered him. So, he published a novella under a pen name across the pond. That novella is called The Rednexorcist, published under the name Frank Sloane.

Yes, I ordered a copy. Yes, I’ll be reviewing it on Weird Wyrlds. (And by the way, I just reviewed Dead But Dreaming of Electric Sheep by Paul Tremblay. It’s a fun review, and a very fun book.)

I don’t have a novella to publish. I don’t have a novella written right now. And while I could write one, this would only delay the launch of the book I’m writing right now. And since I’m still working on the rough draft, I don’t really care to delay it any more.

Instead, I’m doing this. I’m launching Station 86 in physical form for the first time.

Now, I love a good physical book. My overly burdened bookshelves will tell you that. But Station 86 has always been, except for book five, a collection of novellas. So, of course I didn’t want to ask you all to buy a novella for physical book money. So, I’m putting them together. Seeming and You Can’t Trust The AI are coming out in Volume 1 on October second. Volume 2, which will include Virus and Station Central, will come out in February of 2027.

(Unrelated spoiler: that might not be the only release in 2027. Stay tuned.)

Eventually I hope to release an audiobook version as well. But I might need to get Kickstarter involved with that one, since I will not be using AI and will hire a voice actor.

I want to thank all of you for sticking around while I write new books. And while my posts have been super late. This year has been busy as hell, launching a new site and helping the Darling Husband recover from his stroke. But so far, it’s been a decent ride.

Stay tuned.

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