Another question for Jennifer Shelby

Q: What’s your favorite story?

A: My current favorite story has to be the “overcoming the monster” story. I’m writing this a few days after my first shot of the coronavirus vaccine and it feels very much like the first step to overcoming the pandemic monster. This isn’t humanity’s—or my—first monster, and as much as I’d like it to be, it won’t be the last. Having a supply of these stories in my memory and on my bookshelf keeps me inspired, grounded, and hopeful.

Jennifer Shelby’s story “Free Hugs
in Metaphorosis Friday, 16 July 2021.
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More about Jennifer Shelby

Jennifer Shelby hunts for stories in the beetled undergrowth of fairy-infested forests. She fishes for them in the dark space between the stars. As part of her ongoing catch-and-release program, this is Jennifer’s second story in Metaphorosis. You can also find her stories in Cricket, Kaleidotrope, and many fine anthologies. Her first novella, Slipstreamers: Plague of the Dreamless is now available from Engen Books., @jenniferdshelby

Jennifer Shelby’s story “Free Hugs
in Metaphorosis Friday, 16 July 2021.
Subscribe now for e-mail updates!

July 2021

MetaphorosisBeautifully written speculative fiction from Metaphorosis magazine.

All the stories from the month, plus author biographies, interviews, and story origins.

Table of Contents

  • Singot — E.C. Fuller
  • Souls Like Sea Glass — Josie Smith
  • Free Hugs — Jennifer Shelby
  • The Art of Unpicking Stitches — Jennifer Hudak
  • The Nocturnals III — Mariah Montoya

Cover art by Carol Wellart.

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It came from Jennifer Shelby

Jennifer Shelby’s story “Zsezzyn, Who Is Not a God” was published in Metaphorosis on Friday, 12 June 2020. My toddler has a toy turtle which lights up and projects stars onto the ceiling. Like most kids her age, she’s nervous of the dark and often turns it on when I’m putting her to bed. One night I blocked out several of the stars with my hand and she started to cry. As I tried to …

Zsezzyn, Who Is Not a God – Jennifer Shelby

A lone man watches over the universe, and the pen he wields contains the power to erase from existence all he deems unworthy. His daughter, Zsezzyn, plays at his feet. She likes to watch him work — the steadily deepening crease on his brow, the scales on which he measures a balance of right, wrong, and the gray that lives between. One day, he will bequeath his pen to her, and this cave where the …