An article by Douglas Smith on selling to foreign short fiction markets.
In 2049, nobody can have kids. Well, almost nobody. And nobody knows why. So I’m a real rarity. A real girl. Most kids are just robots. Good enough to fool the maternal instinct. Good enough to stop the riots. Good enough to play with. Sometimes.
When Tracy S. Morris was four years old, she wrote her first “novel” in crayon on the back of a newspaper and gave it to the postman along with an antique silver dollar so that someone could turn it into a novel. She is still waiting to hear back.