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Most people called her Phoenix. Her former crew used “Captain” before that and “Sir” afterward. Her hair was silver – not white, but genuine, metallic silver, a long fall against her pale blue skin, the color of a shadow on a piece of willow ware, that made her seems ageless despite the century that lay upon her, and all those decades of pirating.
They said she had been the best slideboard rider of her time, and perhaps the best battleship pilot of all time, back before her parents and lover were killed and she turned rogue.
They said she had done terrible things in her pirate days.
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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
(fantasy, short story) A few weeks after my grandmother’s death, her quilt began crawling from her bed in the early hours and roaming downstairs. You’d hear the rustle as it went past the door, and in the morning find it curled somewhere, like a dog that had died of a broken heart in the night.
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