Kato Thompson lives in Maryland where she writes and takes pictures of interesting things. She has a background in microbiology and life sciences. When she isn’t taking care of children or writing or taking pictures, she is learning about the art of winemaking at her family’s vineyard. She shares her work at www.katothompson.com.
It was Full Night, the climax of the two-week Festival of Threll, and the narrow streets of Thranrak heaved with the devout, the curious, and the avaricious. Freya Adinyan plunged past the torch-lit processions and the bustling market stalls, her heart pounding in time to the drums. Tonight she was determined to leave Thranrak and the world of man behind. She forced her way through the mass of festival-goers crowding Ascension Square, towards the tower…
Q: Do you have any pets? Do they influence your writing?
A: I have two dogs, Krypto and Jubilee. They are named after super heroes. They absolutely influence my writing. For one thing, they don’t give two shits about it, and this helps enormously, especially on bad days, when I think my work sucks beyond belief. My dogs always remind me that life is not about achievement, and that beauty and love can be found everywhere, even in old tennis balls and saggy bags of dog food. I like making their tails thump on the floor after I’ve been wrestling with metaphors. I substitute their names and the word “puppy” in poems and song lyrics. It always makes me feel better. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s puppy? Thou art my Krypto and my Jubilee.” They wag their tails and I feel like a genius.
K.G. Anderson is a Seattle-based journalist, arts reviewer, humor columnist, and technology writer. She worked on the launch of Apple’s iTunes Music Store, wrote a book about the iPhone, and served as president of the board of Northwest Folklife. She shares a house full of books and cats with bookseller Tom Whitmore and lives for the warm summer months and gardening.
“I want you to know your options,” Dr. Foss said, handing the card across the table. The paper was crisp; the edges bit into Adelaide’s fingers. “Thank you.” Her voice seemed to come from the walls around her rather than her throat. Adelaide dropped the card into her purse and returned to the PET scan results. Her skeleton glowed before her in 3D, a ghostly smudge of purple, grey, and the traffic cone orange of…
Q: Does a nameless horse make you more or less nervous than a named horse?
A: All horses have names, even if those names are not known to humans.