This is all kinds of awesome for various reasons.

First, a minor personal one – I get to meet MCM in person, work with him for a week, and show him around in my hometown. Not only that, but Thursday Anna will arrive as well to help with the live dispatching, and she’ll be staying for 3 days. It’s like a meet-and-greet made in heaven, and I still can’t fathom that it’s actually going to happen.

Second, I always believed that livewriting is a great example of what can be great about webfiction. The audience interaction and input, the use of different media, and the ‘everything is possible’ attitude. Livewriting has those things in epic amounts, and I firmly believe that it can be a great stepping stone for readers do discover online fiction. Or, differently put, to learn to read online.

Third, De Vooruit is one of the biggest cultural centres in Belgium. It’s a building with a crazy rich history (at one point it was even occupied by Canadians when Ghent was freed in WOII, so MCM should feel right at home), and it does everything. There’s a concert hall, where once upon a time Courtney Love was seriously pissed at Kurt Cobain, while he just wanted to play his concert, and outside people were almost murdering each other to obtain tickets. There’s a theater hall, which is very beautiful, and where everything from modern theater, to movies, to poetry recitals and concerts can be enjoyed. There’s a million of other small rooms (my favorite is the Domzaal), each with their own anecdotes and various uses.

De Vooruit caters to a young audience, but also to an older audience. There’s classical and heavy metal concerts. They offer a strange and rebellious mix of culture, and it’s one of the greatest places in Belgium. And this is where we’ll be. Doing Webfiction. In the middle of the Cafe.

I still cannot quite believe it.

Lastly, the festival that we’re a part of is perfect for us. It’s a festival about audience interaction and deception. It mostly focuses on dance and theater, but there’s a lot of performance arts and auto-performance arts as well. We’re a little bit the odd one out, which will hopefully make us intriguing, and yet we’re quite central location wise. This is the kind of festival that attracts people who aren’t afraid to try something new, and that’s exactly the kind of people we want to attract.

So yes, I’m quite psyched and overwhelmed with all the awesomeness. Also, we get three days of free food :D.

I’ll be back later with more info on how it all came to be, with pictures (cross your fingers there will be pictures of magazines where we’re mentioned), and more practical info.

For now I point you all to the official #3D1D Website where you can find all practical information and can follow the story starting on thursday. For those of you who’d rather stay here, there’s a mirror on the Ergofiction site. And last but not least, the official event announcement on De Vooruit website, where you can watch the awesome trailer.

Readers don’t leave feedback. As a veteran fanfiction writer I was used to this. Like most of us, I had learned to be happy with the weekly coo of ‘I love this! Please write more!!’ and to push away worries when loyal readers took a week off from encouraging me. As writers we have to resist giving into the urge to whine, poke and prod people for more detailed and regular feedback because we know it basically makes us look like asses.

However, we also want to polish our craft and produce work that engages as many people as possible. It’s hard to do that without the guidance of readers. It’s even harder when advice from experts is contradicted by the Dan Browns and Stepenie Meyers of the world.

And this was my frustration. I couldn’t seem to get my existing readers and my webfiction colleagues to agree on what a good well written story was. Common sense seemed to suggest that when you have one group of readers who want more of X and one group who want more of Y you error on the side of the larger group … but which was the larger group? And how do you battle for position in any arena of publishing when commercially successful works appear to defy best practices pushed by gatekeeping editors?

Regular readers of Ergofiction might remember how these thoughts progressed … My study of reader and writer feedback behavior was posted here in July. That confirmed what I already instinctively knew as a reader myself: commenting is not the best feedback system for fiction.

Today I’m here to give you a preview of a possible alternative.

Welcome to fluffy-seme reboot

fluffy-seme is now running on a completely new analytics based platform. Instead of struggling to write out something interesting in a comment, and then praying that the writer doesn’t overreact, readers on fluffy-seme choose one of five ratings: Positive, Neutral, Negative, Skipped, Skimmed. The ratings interface is AJAX-based, meaning that readers never have to navigate away from the story to tell you what they think. It’s just one click and keep reading.

But you’re thinking to yourself: so what? There’s probably a WordPress plugin that will do something like this already. That’s when the real programming work began, so let’s look at something that WordPress can’t do:

fluffy-seme analyzes and charts ratings data for you. Because chapters are broken out by scene and each scene is rated separately, writers can examine audience reaction to every facet of their story, follow engagement trends across chapters, and study whether their hooks are keeping people coming back or driving them away.

Hmmmm... this scene at the beginning of chapter three might need some work...

In a month or so we should also have Google analytics integration so that writers can compare rating data to real traffic numbers. Of course the story navigation bar has a feedback form for those readers who really do want to tell you how awesome you are in words :)

And since we were designing a platform especially for fiction publishing, might as well make it easy to manage multiple stories at once:

It’s so annoying to have dig through a whole 2,000+ word chapter just to find a little typo… So story edits can be easily made to individual scenes:

When updating, writers can either post their whole chapter and have the system divide it into scenes for them (this is really neat actually ^O^) or add individual scenes manually to existing chapters.

We’re currently in private alpha and there’s still so much work to do before we’re ready to open the platform up to the world. Right now we’re looking for opinions to help keep development on the right track, so if you’re excited by what you’ve seen here come test drive the model story display (now playing my new erotic spy thriller The Freelancers ^.^), answer five questions about your User Interface Experience, or tell us about your concerns on the projects Get Satisfcation group.

How does a novella of only 32,000 words become so influential that it spawns an entire subgenre of science fiction? First published in 1895, H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine was almost certainly the first work of fiction to deal with the concept of time travel. Not only has the story hugely affected science fiction, but it may also have given physicists reason to think in more than three dimensions. Wells introduces the concept of time as the fourth dimension at the beginning of this novella and from there he also goes on to discuss the idea of the Earth as a dying planet.

Many of the themes brought up in The Time Machine are still perfectly valid 116 years later. The disparity between the beautiful, leisured but uncaring race, the Eloi, and the mechanically inventive but brutal Morlock could be easily said to parallel the disparity between art and commerce in today’s world. And, of course, with the climate change and extinction scenarios currently being played out, the thought of a dying world is never too far removed from any educated 21st century person.

As a keen sci-fi fan myself, I have to look back at the other novels I have read over the years that have used Wells’ ideas and taken them further. Just about every sci-fi novel uses the concept of time travel, even if only by projecting the story into a future. With his depiction of the society of Eloi and Morlock as a dimorphic racial product of humanity, Wells also set the scene for many fantasy tales, although fantasy obviously takes in many more influences than strange new worlds.

I’m a big fan of Wells’ writing. Even though he was active in my least favourite period of English fiction, he manages to overcome the Victorian tendency to use seventy-three words where one will do. The language of the novel is a little stilted but still enjoyable. The film versions of The Time Machine probably make you expect an adventure story and indeed, there is an element of adventure in the novella, but Wells’ main concern is a discussion of the direction that mankind is heading.

So what writer would you count as most influential? If you write sci-fi then Wells has to be one, but who else? Or if you are not a writer yourself, what writers have massively influenced the authors you read? Do you search for the early influences of your favourite writers and try to understand what they saw in them? I’d love to hear your comments.

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Paul Callaghan is a freelance online-writer and marketer. He welcomes the chance to discuss any of your writing needs such as website copy, articles, blogging,email campaigns, SEO, business letters, editing, proofreading etc. You can see samples of his writing at www.callaghanwrites.blogspot.com

James Joyce’s Ulysses is the magnum opus of this great Irish writer. In the novel, Joyce expands the use of stream of consciousness that he began in Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man. Ulysses was, however, written before he became so wrapped up in stream of consciousness that he gave us the nearly unintelligible Finnegan’s Wake.

The novel plots a single day in the life of Leopold Bloom as he makes his way though Dublin in 1904. That sounds fairly straightforward, but Joyce manages to connect this simple idea with the whole of Homer’s Odyssey and includes a myriad of puns, alternate meanings, allusions, deep characterizations and a fair chunk of humor. The novel is over 260,000 words, and uses a lexicon of more than 30,000. Just think about that for a moment. Does your vocabulary run to that much?

Ulysses is generally regarded as one of — if not the — most important Modernist novel. Joyce was not a prolific writer and this work took him at least seven years to finish. It was first published as a serial before being published as a complete book in 1922. The edition on Gutenberg is based on the pre-1923 print versions. This will allow you to take some small part in the still ongoing ‘Joyce Wars’: the academic discussions around the definitive text of Ulysses. If it wasn’t enough that the story itself attracted the controversy of being involved in an obscenity trial that led to it being banned in the United States for a time (Episode 18 is the problem), there is also controversy over the changes made, by editors, to Joyce’s reputedly poor spelling and punctuation in various editions.

I have already read Joyce’s Ulysses several times — and probably still don’t understand a majority of the references — but I really enjoyed the Gutenberg version. Somehow this Irish exile writing nearly a century ago seems to reach me better from the glow of my PC screen. The print editions I have picked up over the years have always been second-hand or from the library, and are usually filled with ‘helpful’ notes from previous readers. The ebook is well set out and its use of a decent sized font and hard line breaks are much appreciated.

There can be no doubt that Ulysses is a work of genius. A professor at university told me that it was the “greatest prose writing in the English language”, but despite that academic endorsement it’s still fairly accessible to mere mortals like myself. So what do you think? Is it the greatest twentieth century novel? If not, what would be your suggestion?

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Paul Callaghan is a freelance online-writer and marketer. He welcomes the chance to discuss any of your writing needs such as website copy, articles, blogging,email campaigns, SEO, business letters, editing, proofreading etc. You can see samples of his writing at www.callaghanwrites.blogspot.com

The start of a new year is a time for change and renewal. What resolutions have you made?

My resolution is to spend more time on personal projects. For me, 2011 is a year to focus on fiction writing and editing and publishing. I let my writing slip down the priority list in 2010 and so I need to force myself to focus. This is going to be tough: I have the attention span of a five-year-old.

What does this mean for Ergofiction?

I love this ezine. I think we’ve done really well in 2010. Sure, we had a few bumps along the way, but overall it’s been a great year. We’ve had some insightful guest posts and articles, not to mention the fun search term challenges!

But in light of my resolutions, Ergo is going to undergo a few changes. Most notably, I’m officially passing the torch back to Jan.

I’ve hijacked the ‘zine for long enough, and it is time for new voices and directions. So if you’ve been thinking about joining the crew or having your say on Ergo, now’s the time! Either leave a comment below, or email ergofiction[at]gmail[dot]com to get in touch with Jan with your ideas and suggestions.

And never fear: I’m not disappearing entirely! I will likely pop up behind the scenes now and then to tinker away, and if you’re dying to get in touch with me you can always find me at amharte.com.

There may be a few hiccups in the transition, so please bear with us.

In the meanwhile, happy holidays everyone. Mmmm… mince pies.

Seven weeks ago, when I was planning this series of reviews, I thought that A Christmas Carol would be the ideal classic to talk about this week. It would seem that I am not alone in thinking of this story at this time of the year. Scrooge, Tiny Tim and the ghosts have leapt to the number one position on the top 100 downloads. It has even beaten the Kama Sutra into second place.  Imagine that, Victorian melodrama is more downloaded than Oriental eroticism on a popular website. ‘Tis surely the season of miracles.

The ebook version on Project Gutenberg is the 1847 edition of the first impression that was published in 1843. Dickens had argued with his publisher over the earnings from his previous works and so he self published this work. He did not make as much money from the novella as he had hoped due to high production costs and despite the critical and popular acclaim.  There’s something about this little anecdote that truly inspires me as a 21^st century writer and soon-to-be self publisher.

If your ebook reading device supports images, I highly recommend getting the version with the original illustrations by John Leech. I particularly love the picture of Scrooge’s Third Visitor, the Ghost of Christmas Present. The Santa Claus-like figure demonstrates his pagan roots as a Green Man, rather than his corporate identity as a red and white soft drink seller.

Dickens was reflecting a Victorian nostalgia for a decidedly festive English Christmas. Apparently the holiday had become very solemn since Cromwell’s time of Puritan austerity, and there was a desire to return to the midwinter celebration of yore. But at the same time Dickens also showed his own concerns for the appalling conditions in which the working classes of Victorian England were forced to live and work. Whenever Margaret Thatcher made one of her regular demands for a “return to Victorian values”,  it was Scrooge’s outrage that Bob Cratchit should want a whole day off for Christmas that came to my mind.

And that is really the major strength of this story. It has totally infused our English speaking cultures through constant print editions and the various film, animation and even Muppet interpretations. Christmas without Dickens? Bah, humbug!

So what secular traditions do you have at Christmas that could be traced back to A Christmas Carol? Is it the office party of the Fezziwigs? The feasting? The giving to crippled children? Do you wear a version of Scrooge’s nightcap in a fetching shade of red? Do you find yourself saying “Gawd bless us everyone” in a dreadful Cockney accent?

Merry Christmas to everyone reading this and especially to those of you who have contributed to the fascinating discussions that have sprung up in the comments of this series.

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Paul Callaghan is a freelance online-writer and marketer. He welcomes the chance to discuss any of your writing needs such as website copy, articles, blogging,email campaigns, SEO, business letters, editing, proofreading etc. You can see samples of his writing at www.callaghanwrites.blogspot.com

Poetry in all forms is filling every corner of the web. Some places you might like to go visit are,

Alba. A Journal of Short Poetry.   The word alba means morning light, the light at dawn, and is taken from the title to a short poem by Ezra Pound. Although Alba appeared previously in a print version, it is now an electronic journal, publishing a new issue on a semi-annual basis. We feature short poetry exclusively, usually no longer than 12 lines. We have a bias toward free verse although we are open to tanka, haiku, sedoka, sijo, cinquain, and other forms. Editor: Harold Bowes

Bear Parade. Bear parade is electronically published collections of poetry and short fiction, and is free for everyone. Submissions – bear parade does not currently accept unsolicited submissions. If you send us something we will not make fun of you, but we may not respond.

CutBank Reviews. Critical reviews from the poets and editors who bring you CutBank, the literary journal from the University of Montana.

Electroninc Poetry Centre. The EPC was founed in 1995 and serves as a central gateway to resources in electronic poetry and poetics at the University at Buffalo, the University of Pennsylvania, and on the Web at large. Our aim is simple: to make available a wide range of resources centered on digital and contemporary formally innovative poetries, new media writing, and literary programming. The EPC itself makes extensive resources available through its E-Poetry and Author libraries. These libraries provide curated lists of resources on a focused range of authors for personal use, research, and teaching. Additionally, the EPC curates lists of links to similar digital and literary projects, related book publishers, literary magazines, and other resources.

Alice Blue Press. We’re a confused collective of marble designers who, after discovering a set of encyclopedias, decided to stick our pinkies into the asphalt parking-lot of words. We seek innovative poetry and prose, work that quivers nervously for attention, work that teethes endlessly on doorknobs. We could toss out a grocery-list of writers—from Spicer to Borges, or O’Connor to O’Hara—but that would confuse you. The best way to understand our editorial preferences is to read the journal. alice blue is published on a hidden mountain-top between Portland, Oregon and Boise, Idaho.

Commonline. Welcome to Commonline, an electronic journal of accessible literary musings and bemusings. We publish poetry, micro-fiction, interview, review, reader letters, and reader comments. Publishing since 2007 our goal is to promote contemporary accessible art, especially literature, hence “Commonline.” The journal strives to provide a literary recourse for the common person. The journal’s content is archived by month, author, and subject.

Enjoy.

Who do you recommend?  Anyone, even your own site. Go on, spread the love.

Not convinced that the footsteps were even real, he allowed himself to fall backwards again, backwards into that warm world of embracing sleep. He craved for the darkness to cover him like a blanket. If only. Even if the imaginary shoes munching the snow outside had existed, a swaddling embrace of black would make them easier to ignore. He had left the television on, his drowsy brain told him; perhaps its drawl was bleeding into his slumber. Like a giant moon eclipsing a distant sun, the snow-treading steps were dismissed from his mind. A longed-for coverlet sheathed his sleepy thoughts…

The bathroom, one door to the right of the bedroom, held steam from an hour ago which had since condensed into droplets on the mirror and shower doors. The faucet in the tub dripped in rhythm, and the drops fell to collide with the skin of the water beneath, which was already beginning to form a ring. There on the edge of the tub, tucked into a wet corner and standing sentry over the surface, was a glass tumbler partially filled with a dark oily liquid and two nearly melted cubes of ice.

As the cubes continued to dissolve and become water, the bronze colored liquid swirled about thickly, around and around, filling itself into the gaps of the water and creating elaborate, yet miniscule storm systems of clear and copper colors. But both refused to dilute. The two substances encircled each other; they were performing a dance, but with no one there to watch.

~ * ~

Outside, the dim morning light almost didn’t exist at all. The sky was a stark canvas of steel gray, darkest at its edges. Tall trees with clinging snow stood out brightly against such a backdrop. They were as shining daggers pointing skyward.

Thin strands of smoke rose from chimneys on roofs in wiry, lilting tendrils, reaching for that canvas, as if to try and paint it anew. Pulled up into the atmosphere by backwards gravity, these fuzzy grey smoke-strings were signs from early morning furnaces. Sprawling homes were warming. Day was coming. Lives were beginning again.

A trail of prints led through the snow, from the iced over street to the front of the white bungalow where there was a pause. From that quiet, inexplicable halt, they drew around the side of the house and through a patch of shrubbery and at last to a space under a great, jagged oak tree in the back yard. At the end of the trail, sitting on haunches atop an ice-coated firewood box, under the oak and a window casement, was a man in a bright white dress shirt. Its top buttons were undone and it was un-tucked and disheveled, yet it stood out as crisp and new in the dreariness standing behind him and all around. His hair was shiny black, his eyes too, surrounded by bluish whites, and his skin was a deep brown. Drawing down his right arm was a thick line of dark red, pressed into the white shirt, blooming there, and gleaming on his skin where the sleeve was also unbuttoned. The line ran, spiraled, all the way past his elbow to his wrist, then to his finger tips—where it dripped mechanically into the snow beneath him, creating ever-brightening dimples of what looked like oil color. He remained motionless, his dark polished eyes caught in an electric gaze at the pane of glass before him. His view was mingled with the serrated lines of tree branches. They seemed to cut the glass into a thousand puzzle pieces.

He had tried the front door, locked. Had even tried the back, but it was locked as well. As with all the times before, the light seemed brighter now, the pain more intense. It was always brighter in these ticking minutes, always more extreme. There was a steadfast and unrelenting buzz in his mind and it was getting louder. Like metal grating on metal, it seemed, and as with all the times before, it was as then: eternally growing stronger.

With his wound ever-worsening, and the edges of his sight blurring to black like the boundaries of two binocular lenses, he did all that he could do in this, the next to last moment: he lunged forward, through the pane of still glass, towards that noise, towards that infernal buzzing inside his own head.

~ * ~

Entirely awake and with pounding in his temples, Sebastion jerked upright, the bed sheets twisted in his fists. That jarring crash was not pre-recorded; it was not from the television. The loudness was out of nowhere, yes, but it was real, and it could not be ignored. His eyes were wide with hysteric questions and his mind raced towards answers, all terminating in one too-real conclusion: It was six-oh-four in the morning, and there, on the edge of the night, still too early to be morning and too late to be simple darkness, there was a stranger in Sebastion Redfield’s home.

~ * ~

Window splintered into shards. As he lunged forward they pierced his face, matted in his hair, and slid across his bronze arms, tearing his skin, drawing on it countless tiny rivulets. A few pieces of cold broken branch came with him. The pain he could ignore, for a moment, but the sound was deafening. He could not ignore that.

Landing as he did, onto a mattress covered in bluish bedspread, where glass tinkled against pieces of itself and onto the floor surrounding, he was sure that the sound would overwhelm him. And there he would stay, laying crumpled and face down in a pile of glass and branch, until noise did him in, causing his mind to cease function and implode.

But after just one breath of hopelessness, he was driven up from his silent position—smearing blood against the bedspread with his hand and his arms. He was compelled towards the bedroom door, towards that noise that could not be identified but could now be more or less pinpointed. The front of the house was a static squall mixed with the slur of automated dullness.

He lurched forward into the rest of the house, intent on finding the source and ending it. Down the hall, dimly lit, banging against wall and doorjamb, his focus became that noise, that unrelenting squeal. It became louder as he approached and he could stand it less. The pain was shadowed by it. Everything was worse.

~ * ~

Sebastion’s mind had seized. His door, drawn closed but not shut tightly, quivered as something passed it on the other side. He could see it from where he sat frozen, immovable: the light from the semi-darkness of the hall broken for a moment as the something crossed it and kept moving. He realized he could not breathe. His last breath had been a hundred years before, at that second when the rear bedroom window had been shattered.

Instinct took hold. All he could do was roll toward the edge of the bed. There was a space between it and the street-facing wall of the room—the wall beyond which, only moments earlier, he had imagined a peaceful street dusted in snow—one with no footprints leading up to his bungalow, one with no strangers lurking in foliage and breaking windows in the early morning peace.

Continuing his roll, only three quarters of a revolution, all the way over the edge of his mattress, he braced himself with his left arm, hand-heel falling nearly soundless to the rug below. He came to a gentle but all-at-once stop beside the bed, on the padded carpet. His eyes, gaping holes, could barely readjust; there was even less light down here. It was a narrow space, between the bed and the wall, so he could not lay full on his back. Instead, he was on a slant, one shoulder on the floor, and one pressed against the cold wall. Blood was rushing to his head and he couldn’t even force an exhale. His body felt like a rusted tangle of gangly metal limbs that would squeak and give him away if he even tensed. He froze again, nearly sure the little noise he had made had been heard by the figure moving down the hall. That figure heard everything, sensed everything, knew everything, and would turn crisply, then come rushing back toward Sebastion and find him in his secret place. The cool air from under the bed, to his immediacy, pressed in on him and his mind became clouded. What do I do? his brain finally hollered. What do I do?

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Born on the prairies, Jason McIntyre eventually lived and worked on Vancouver Island where the vibrant characters and vivid surroundings stayed with him and coalesced into what would become his novel, On The Gathering Storm. Before his time as an editor, writer and communications professional, he spent several years as a graphic designer and commercial artist. Jason is the author of more than two dozen short stories, several novellas and full-length fiction.

This has to be one of the most popular stories in the world. A quick look through Wikipedia shows that it has been translated into languages including Manx, Cornish, Esperanto and Latin. I was surprised, when I first started these reviews, that it wasn’t even in the top twenty downloads on Project Gutenberg. However, with the Christmas season almost upon us, Alice has forced her way into the top ten where she belongs.

Carroll’s surrealist story about a little girl who falls down a rabbit hole and encounters a menagerie of weird and wonderful creatures became an iconic classic of fiction right from its first release in 1865. It has never been out of print since. I wonder whether Harry Potter, or any other fantasy, will still be bestselling over a hundred years after its copyright expires.

The Reverend Charles Dodgson, the given name of the Oxford mathematician who took the pseudonym of Lewis Carroll, based his story on a tale he told during a rowing boat trip with the real Alice and her two sisters. The ten year old Alice Liddell begged him to write down the story, but it took him two years until he did so. So perhaps there is still hope for all us procrastinating writers.

There is a magnetic innocence about the way that the book came together. How many people would allow a bachelor priest-academic to develop a friendship with their young daughters in these days of fear and suspicion? There have been various suggestions over the years that Dodgson’s interest in the girls was not truly innocent but there seems to be no evidence that he misused his position of trust.

As a writer of speculative fiction I return to this ebook frequently. It really does set the benchmark for the whole fantasy genre. I have also had discussions with some people about the logic of the book. I have been told that the story is reflective of Dodgson’s mathematical expertise and contains absolutely no fallacies. Not being a mathematician myself I find it difficult to reconcile the idea of a “grin without a cat” or a game of croquet with flamingos and hedgehogs with any form of logic. I appreciate much of the symbolism in the book but I feel that its success lays firmly in Carroll’s subversion of the logical process. So what do you think? Is Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland logical or nonsensical? And does it really matter when such a fantasy is being laid out for us to enjoy?

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Paul Callaghan is a freelance online-writer and marketer. He welcomes the chance to discuss any of your writing needs such as website copy, articles, blogging,email campaigns, SEO, business letters, editing, proofreading etc. You can see samples of his writing at www.callaghanwrites.blogspot.com

Top Web Fiction Weekly Top 5 The Antithesis Adrian’s Undead Diary Spots, Space Marine Dragon Wars Anvil of Tears As at Dec. 15th, 00:00 GMT

News

The Red Penny Papers are having a celebration for serial fiction, which includes a contest/giveaway. All you have to do to win a signed book by one of the RPP authors is comment on one of their serialized stories. Which is something every dedicated webfiction fan would do anyways, so it’s an easy-peasy contest :)

On a sidenote, have you seen the artwork for their books? Awesomeness all around! Even with digital books, I’m still such a sucker for pretty covers…

All the more reason to enter the contest I’d say!

Your Recommendations

We invite readers to recommend their favorite webfiction by either tweeting with the hashtag #WebFicWed or leaving a comment below! Short stories, completed novels, or ongoing serials — anything goes. What have you been reading?