Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, R.I.P. I grew up on this series. Each year I bought the new collection, scoured used book stores for past years; I discovered writers through them—they were the reprint market to which all short stories and poems aspired. They were a field guide as well as a gathering of flowers. And I am not, not pleased to see them go.
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Active Entries
- 1: Wish they'd drop the knife in the peep-show parking lot
- 2: And then we shall dance on your graves
- 3: I'll never see my mom's guitar again
- 4: Finally, time to write the book on you
- 5: I stay quiet, but I'm seeing ultraviolet
- 6: All that skin against the glass
- 7: It's morphogenesis
- 8: On Fortuna's wheel, I'm running
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