A fallen king traverses an underworld river while attended by dubious council

Science is poetry Alice

After three years, it's time for the hero to emerge from the underworld

poem

} November, 2018. My wife and I were on our honeymoon, touring the largest and greatest cities of Japan. Having visited Tokyo and Kyoto, we were now in Osaka, the final leg of our trip. There was so much

Cyberpunk. The word conjures visions of cyborgs and neon streets, high-tech mercenaries and corporate fortresses. A world of high tech and low life, where life is cheap and thrills are fast, where megacorps

The 22nd century brings an era of technological wonders—and horrors. Cybernetics and genetic engineering. Mass surveillance and social credit. Full body cyborgs and nanoscale engineering. And the pinnacle

The 22nd century brings an era of technological wonders—and horrors. Cybernetics and genetic engineering. Mass surveillance and social credit. Full body cyborgs and nanoscale engineering. And the pinnacle

Misha Burnett and I are working on a free collection of essays for writers. Titled Pulp on Pulp, this collection offers practical advice on creating fun, fast-paced fiction. This collection is aimed

Today when people think of science fiction and fantasy, chances are, they think of two separate genres. Science fiction, the genre of starships and computers and technology. Fantasy, the genre of knights

Image Source This, This , This & This turned into this blended image by myself Welcome to Electricdreams 2.0 edition1 So I thought long and hard about what my first post on hive would be after a long

We live in a crazy world. A world filled with outrage, manipulation and deception. A world where spin doctors and professional liars hijack your brain to further their agendas. A world where politicians

Conventional wisdom states that characters should be flawed. Nobody can relate to perfect people. Flawed characters are more believable, more likely to gain the reader's sympathies. But the conventional

"Narcissa come kiss us" the horrid horde flattered she knelt beside a puddle unaware of the hazard she glimpsed her reflection in her eyes were wings the fluttering flock obliterated the notion

Will we stay, linger just a little longer? Or will we leave, and vanish like the northern lights? Perhaps the truth, we dread to hear, but how do we go on from here? Our love began with a perhaps, with

The battle ended shortly thereafter. Or maybe after a lifetime. Perhaps both. Panting, his muscles aching at a point beyond fatigue, Bayani finally lowered his weapons. His sword and knife were soaked

They smelled the burning before they saw the smoke. In the ash was the sweet scent of cooked meat, and a blacker undertone of charred flesh. “No,” Bayani whispered. “No.” Alejandro gripped his shoulder.

Several hooded figures sat, huddled, in a circle. Their robes, made of the finest black widow’s silk, made a faint swashing sound as they brushed against the wooden planks. They sat in silence until one

The Maestro led the way, and Bayani followed. The conquistadores, mounted on their horses, tried to keep up. But the jungle was a poor environment for horses, and the Hesperians had to lead their mounts

The men traveled all night and most of the day, resting only during sun-scorched afternoons. Not so long ago, Bayani would have complained about the schedule, the pace, the long hours. But each time he