Another question for Edward Ashton

Q: Are titles easy or hard for you? Do you start with the title or the story?

A: Ugh—titles are the worst. Ninety percent of the time, my working title is just the first name of my protagonist. A quick glance through my bibliography will tell you that in many cases I never move past that. There are a few stories where I feel like I really nailed it (“The Sky is Blue, and Bright, and Filled with Stars” is probably my personal fave) but in many more I think my titles are not so much finished as abandoned in despair.


Edward Ashton’s story “Unifiers
in Metaphorosis Friday, 15 January 2021.
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More about Edward Ashton

Edward Ashton lives in upstate New York in a cabin in the woods (not that Cabin in the Woods) with his wife, a variable number of daughters, and an adorably mopey dog named Max, where he writes—mostly fiction, occasionally fact—under the watchful eyes of a giant woodpecker and a rotating cast of barred owls. In his free time, he enjoys cancer research, teaching quantum physics to sullen graduate students, and whittling. You can find him online at edwardashton.com or on Twitter @edashtonwriting.


Edward Ashton’s story “Unifiers
in Metaphorosis Friday, 15 January 2021.
Subscribe now for e-mail updates!

It came from Edward Ashton

Edward Ashton’s story “A Bear, or a Spider, or an Elephant” was published in Metaphorosis on Friday, 9 August 2019. Most of my shorter pieces start with an image that gets stuck in my head, and won’t go away until I figure out something to say about it. In the case of “A Bear, or a Spider, or an Elephant,” that image was a night sky, clear and cold, deep black and packed tight with …

A Bear, or a Spider, or an Elephant – Edward Ashton

“The night sky is beautiful,” Seven says. “Deep and dark, blue-black and starless. It has a certain ineffable purity to it, don’t you think?” Mara glances up. This world is a young one, snugged tight against the galactic core. The stars above her are so fat and bright and crowded together that this can barely be called a proper night at all. She looks back to Seven, one eyebrow raised. “Not here,” he says, his …