Last night’s FICTION: IMPOSSIBLE, starring Zig Zag Claybourne is now up on YouTube for perpetuity!
If you missed the livestream, you can check it out at your leisure!
Let Ziggy’s dulcet tones lull you to sleep at night, or keep you company whilst doing dishes!
Catch up on the entire Fiction: Impossible playlist here!
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Author of the Khumalo Series!
Who is ZIG ZAG CLAYBOURNE??? OF COURSE YOU ALREADY KNOW!
But if you don’t, I’ll tell you again, with GREAT GLEE AND WHIMSY AND HUMOR AND WISDOM AND AWE.
Oh, wait. I’m just describing Zig Zag’s writing now!!!
And THIS MAN? ZIG ZAG? He’s gonna be our next guest star on FICTION: IMPOSSIBLE. Stream his glory live—Monday night, December 22nd—at 7 PM EASTERN! On my Twitch channel: twitch.tv/csecooney
And now for the official writ:
Named by Book Riot as one of the “6 Black Indie Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers You Should Be Reading,” Zig Zag Claybourne is the author of the newly released fantasy Amnandi Sails and its prequel Breath, Warmth, and Dream. Other novels include The Brothers Jetstream: Leviathan, Afro Puffs Are the Antennae of the Universe, and By All Our Violent Guides. His stories and essays have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Apex, Realm (formerly Serial Box), Galaxy’s Edge, Strange Horizons, The Year’s Best African Speculative Fiction, and numerous anthologies. Claybourne is a frequent speaker at libraries, conventions, and learning institutions. zzclaybourne.com
I’m just saying, I love this guy.
I love him as a human, as a leader/teacher/poet/master of the SFF community, and as an artist. Even his Facebook posts are art. Even his Bsky posts. He’s just like that. He just walks the Earth like one of those giants you read about other people standing on the shoulders of.
Oh, and?
Sometimes I dress up like his books:
Do join us—either live, in the chat! Come with questions! Come with enthusiasm! Or watch later on YouTube!
You wanna catch up with previous Fiction: Impossibles? This is where they usually land:
https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwOu4S8cPElCGzAPECHgrHE3zNuToNwCP&si=evmuzuUn5VvXSLT8
Yours Truly,
C. S. E. Cooney
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My virtual event with “Solaris Presents” THE BRAVERY OF HOPE with Caskey Russell just ended. How delightful and pleasurable! How smart and kind he is!
I finished his book THE DOOR ON THE SEA, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.
I hope it is a movie. I hope the book and audiobook sell a billion copies. I hope there is ALL THE FAN ART! (Mostly of Raven eating salmon and crapping on people.)
Anyway–for those of you who missed it–WEEP NOT! You can watch the replay! It’s free for all! An hour of entertainment for when you’re doing dishes or folding laundry or falling asleep.
HERE’S THE LINK:
And if you want: Caskey Russell recommended some of anthropologist Swanton’s work on Tlingit sacred texts, which I googled as he was talking about it. Here’s the link to that too:
https://sacred-texts.com/nam/nw/tmt/index.htm
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Crossposted from my Substack newsletter.
Dec 09, 2025
It is dove-blue dawn, and I’ve just come from the monstrous turquoise tome that is my handwritten journal, having bulleted out the events of the last several months, possibly in an effort to explain to myself why it had been so long since my last entry.
The list did the work; I was satisfied that it wasn’t laziness, at least. I would like to do better. More handwritten journal entries, more letter-writing, and more writing and reading poetry. These carved-out pleasures. These slow-glass tasks. Things that take space and can’t be crowded. Things that require fewer piles at the periphery.
Meanwhile, awards eligibility posts abound, as they should at this time of year. A friend (Cat Valente? Amal El-Mohtar? One of “them goblin girls.”) once called such posts “good housekeeping,” which tickled my fancy at the time. I would’ve been in my mid-twenties, and learning more about the chores of a career, versus a life in art.
But housekeeping? I could do that. Somewhat cheerily, even. If sloppily.
What’s the best, best line from Howl’s Moving Castle? It’s about Sophie, housecleaning: “She was remorseless, but she lacked method.”
Re-framing an awards post as a necessary chore, rather than an unsightly boast was helpful.
(Just like re-framing a selfie as an act of, I don’t know, honesty, self-expression, feminism, the female gaze. That was helpful. One would hear a lot of grumbling about solipsism and self-concern and “kids these days.” But that was long ago, at the start of smart phones. Ha—like Charlotte from A Little Night Music: “Dear Miss Armfeldt, do regale us with more fascinating reminiscences from your remote youth.”)
I suppose I could just stick the “awards post” housekeeping here, in the middle.
The only thing that came out this year from me was Saint Death’s Herald.
THE THUNDER SAY TA-DA!
This fall has been a waterfall of travel: Phoenix for my Mima’s 95th birthday, New Mexico to house/dog/cat/guinea pig-sit for Tiffany Trent, New Orleans for Penny Shaw’s wedding, Philadelphia for PAX Unplugged; and of welcoming guests to New York: my aunt and uncle and cousins in September, Will Alexander for his Sunward tour, Jessica Wick’s visit to see Patrick Wolf in concert for his Stations of the Sun tour; and of events—readings, panels, running games.
Then, in late November I was hospitalized for acute pancreatitis.
I say “late November” like it wasn’t just a few weeks ago.
I feel like it was a life-changing event, but of course it’s too soon to say.
Let’s say then, I have been intent on making life changes. And the follow-up appointments aren’t done yet. So… we’ll see. How kind everyone has been. How sweet and urgent and supportive. How I love this community of friends and family and far-away folks I only know through the net. (The great spider weaves us all.)
Tonight my mother arrives—at midnight, the Witching Hour. The heat turned off in our apartment last night. The hot water tap ran icy cold. Of course, on the coldest day of the year. When else should it fail? I hope it returns for her visit. If not, the electric blanket! The hot water bottle!
I’m more than a third through writing the first draft of Saint Death’s Doorway. Such a different experience from writing either of the first two books in this series!
I’ve been trying to make it as LUDIC as possible, and taking delight in the weird process of writing rather than, as I’ve done in the past, being tortured by it. Ah! Writing in my 40s! What a difference!
I challenged myself to write a locked-room murder mystery/courtly politics drama thing. But then it got MUCH weirder than that. Keeping myself entertained, at least!
My friend Carla recently brought me a Literary Oracle Deck, with each of the cards being characters and their archetypes. (For example: Jo March as “Passion.”_
The one I drew for Saint Death’s Doorway? Frankenstein’s Monster as “Creature.”
It was such a perfect card for this absolutely bonkers book that I laughed out loud. And yet, for all my knotty plotty machinations, I’d never even CONCEIVED of the major Mary Shelley vibes running through this book.
But of course they must! As they must through any major work of necromancy in fantasy and horror! Ha!
Thank you, Saint Mary Shelley, Maker of Monsters. You deserve a Secular Saint candle for this one. And a prayer of your own.
As for upcoming events, dear New Yorkers and New York-adjacent. There’s next week:
Where? Barrow’s Intense Ginger Liqueur NY Tasting Room: 86 34th Street Brooklyn 11232 (Industry City)
When? Tuesday December 16
What Time? 7-9 PM
Readers: Yours truly C. S. E. Cooney, Georgia DAy, David Gerrold, and Keith R. A. DeCandido
When? Thursday December 18th
What time?
December 18th, 7 PM GMT / 2 PM EST—MY TIME! / 1 PM Central / 12 Mountain / 11 AM Pacific
Join Caskey Russell of the AMAZING The Door on the Sea and myself as we explore the “Bravery of Hope” in Fantasy worlds in crisis.
Where? Crowdcast! Watch FREE wherever you are in the world. Live or on catch up geni.us/SPCSECCK
About the Author:
Caskey Russell is from Seattle Washington, and has lived in Oregon, Iowa, Wyoming, and New Zealand. He is a father, a professor, a musician, and an enrolled member of the Tlingit Nation (Eagle / Kooyu Kwáan) of Alaska.
About Door on the Sea:
The first in a new fantasy series inspired by the folklore and culture of the Tlingit tribe of Alaska, The Door on the Sea is the Indigenous answer to fantasy epics such as Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle and J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, in which a bookish young man must lead a mismatched crew on an adventure to retrieve a weapon that could save the future of their people.
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Carlos and I are SO happy that our game—NEGOCIOS INFERNALES—is available at PAX Unplugged this year at Studio2! Booth 2951! They have the NICEST, most HELPFUL staff! We love working with them!
We’ll also be running our games through GAMES ON DEMAND in the RPG section of PAX U: Rooms 106-107, on Friday from 2-6, and on Saturday 10-2, 2-6!
Please tell your friends!
Where to buy it online
— Our distributors at Studio 2
— Our publishers at Outland Entertainment
About our game NEGOCIOS INFERNALES
Published by Outland Entertainment, August 2025, NEGOCIOS INFERNALES is a light, GM-less, collaborative TTRPG with no pregame prep. Use a spooky Oracle deck—la Baraja del Destino—to decide your fate and inspire mayhem.
Short Description
The Spanish Inquisition INTERRUPTED by aliens! You play wizards who bargain for weird powers from aliens you think are devils. Use your “magic” to save your country & if there’s time, your own soul!
Long Description:
The nation of Espada is about to begin something like Earth’s Spanish Inquisition. Some well-meaning aliens, however, arrive in time to stop Espada from going down the path of zealotry and religious persecution. Players play wizards who think they have sold their souls to the aliens in exchange for powers. The core of the game is the “Deck of Destiny” (“La Baraja del Destino”), a custom deck of 70 cards. Much like a fortune teller reads cards to tell the future, the players interpret the cards they draw to determine their magos’ successes, failures, and fates. Together, the magos quest on behalf of Reina Resoluta to save Espada—or, depending on the luck of the draw, just to save their own skins. Great for new roleplayers and old hands alike! Create, collaborate and laugh your heads off with us!
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There is No Lovely End, Only Lovely Here
For Patty Templeton
by C. S. E. Cooney
On the occasion of her November 5th 2025 birthday, however the hell years old/young we are
they will say of us, maybe nothing
we’ll be tree fodder, or thrift store jewelry by then
all our book collections gone to the dump
it’s possible the future holds no lasting legacy, no literacy
no cavorting like ghouls in the graveyard, no naughty pearls
no goblin concerts or burlesque, or maybe
it does, but we’ll never know it, because always
for such as us, the end means the end
but here and now, I say of us
we are a surpassing loveliness, a goofiness
a joie de vivre with a side of deviltry
you, particularly, are sharp-honed as carved bones
bare as the skelly onesies you wear
you grin like a jack o’ lantern, you write like wildfire
and you dance like giants stomping the world’s largest rain puddles
if you are sometimes bitter, you are also loyal
when you know you’ve failed, you apologize
as you live, you strive, and as you strive
you carve a space for yourself where you can also thrive
double-fisting your knives, guarding your edge jealously
and you send good goddamn gift boxes in the mail
we are none of us perfect, but our friendship is perfect
your hospitality like a hearth in my ribcage, however far away
were I a holy aspergillum, I’d shower you in blessing spunk all day
funky with radiance, in clunky black boots and torn fishnets,
you’d walk to some southwestern cafe, where you’d tip the barista
like a former barista, and order something warm as autumn leaves
and you’d think of me.
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For those of you who missed last night’s livestreamed panel with some of the Shakespeare SlayFest’s creatives, please enjoy this listening whilst doing laundry, dishes, or going on walkies with your VERY GOOD DOG.
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There’s a poetry festival in New Jersey I’ve never even heard of. But now I want to go to it. This big deal poetry festival. Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival. Carlos said he went once in the 90’s. I have FOMO. For something he did in the 90’s. I met a poet tonight who used to help run it. Looks like there’s a lot more to it these days: https://www.njpac.org/series/dodgepoetry/ Maybe there’s not even a festival like there used to be. But it does remind to me to see what the Nuyorican Poets Cafe is up to.
I’ve been having more thoughts like that recently. Things I want to do. Idle fantasies.
Like, I want to go bowling. It happened suddenly, like the way I hated salt and vinegar chips until one day, I just wanted them. Like, my mouth watered for them. Bowling. I mean, I’ve never actively desired to go bowling before. I’ve been a few times over my four decades, and I generally had fun, but I never actively sought it out. And now I want to.
But I don’t want to go Manhattan bowling. I want to go New Jersey bowling. Or Westerly bowling. (The last time I did that, we all got dressed up in costumes and face paint for my friend’s birthday, and bowled like that. Just a bunch of grown-up goofballs partying in bowling shoes.) I just want to go somewhere where they’ve had a bowling alley for, I don’t know, 50 years at least. And you take your kid there for a birthday party. And there are bowling leagues. And a cup of coffee doesn’t cost NINETEEN DOLLARS. Or whatever the going rate is. Not that I drink coffee. But you see what I mean?
A friend of mine’s husband was a part of a stand-up comedy night in Manhattan, and we went to see it while a friend was visiting a couple weeks ago. All three of us had had varying degrees of experiences with stand-up comics, very few of them good. But, you know. THIS time might be different. And we’d all been watching Dropout TV, which really gives you high hopes and expectations for improv and comedy and gaming and just joy in general.
And the stand-up night was… fine. Just fine.
My friend’s husband was the best part, we thought. Didn’t punch down. Wasn’t just flat-out depressing. Or mean. Or meh. He just talked about fun, queer, sexy stuff–the comedy of self, of family, of identity–and it was nicer than being made fun of.
That’s the thing about stand-up comedy: half of it is belittling the audience for not being a better audience, or for being weird-looking. More than half maybe. (Even Dropout’s new stand-up show “Crowd Control” is not innocent of this.) (Not that it needs to be; comedy is many things, many flavors.) (It’s just, I don’t like most of the stand-up that I’ve seen for the aforementioned reasons.)
But I don’t regret going. It broke the pattern of NOT going out. It was something new. Something at night. I like that.
I’m off to a friend’s wedding in New Orleans this weekend on a whirlwind visit, then taking an early, early flight back, and–if all goes well!–hopefully be in time to see the Shakespeare SlayFest that my play is in. Mine is the last show in the line-up, so I may even have some wiggle room to be late. But I hope I’m not.
I was telling Carlos that there are times I feel like I’m having a very “New York Moment.” And I can never tell when I’m going to have one, usually. It often has to do with seeing a show. Or, in this case, being in one. I say this as I’m having a Queens moment: writing in my blog at night, looking out the window, thinking of the city that never sleeps, about 7.1 miles to the west.
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Tonight! 7 PM! On my TWITCH TV channel–https://www.twitch.tv/csecooney–I’m hosting guests of the SHAKESPEARE SLAYFEST! (@shakeslayfest on Instagram, if you want to follow!)
Our guests tonight will be playwright Martin Jude Farawell, artistic director Grant Cartwright, & filmmaker Cheryl Eagan-Donovan!
We’ll be talking about this FREE FESTIVAL: Sun, Nov 9, 2-5 PM. As of now, it is SOLD OUT!
The Shakespeare Slay Fest is FREE! To donate to make future Slay Fests possible–and to mount the current iterations as full productions DONATE HERE!
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Dear friends, DEAR READERS, dear EVERYBODY,
Happy eve of All Hallow’s Eve. It’s a blustery, silvery one out there today.
I’ve been looking forward to this day for more than a month, because my best friend Mir and I have been trying to find a way to see each other in her busy, busy schedule and tonight is the NIGHT!
We are going to the Great Jones Spa, which my friend Judy the Engineer introduced me to earlier this year. I love it because it has WATERFALLS. And a HOT TUB. And Mir is a MERMAID, so I like to give her water things whenever I can. Especially when she’s been working one billion hours a week.
Also, because… one of the reasons Mir’s so busy is that she’s DIRECTING MY PLAY!
Well, that and she ASLO works two incredible jobs: at LaMama Experimental Theatre Club as Community and Educational Coordinator; and at DVP—Dances for a Variable Population—as Program and Events Manager. (DVP, by the way, has one of my favorite mission statements of all time. I love what they do.)
Oh, Mir’s full name is Miriam Grill, by the way. The Notorious, Infamous, ILLUSTRIOUS Miram Grill. She’s a hotshot director. Yeah, baby. And a genius. So that’s awesome.
Mir and I went to high school in Phoenix together lo these 20 years ago. Then we both had many adventures and lived many places. Me, in Chicago and Rhode Island. Her, in China and Taiwan.
Back in the 20-teens, Mir moved to NYC to go to graduate school at Columbia University for Directing, and I moved here to marry Dr. Doctorpants (Carlos Hernandez). So for the last eight years, we’ve FINALLY been living in the same city (and country). We even lived together during the heart of the pandemic, which was hilarious—in its idiosyncratic, often difficult, but very dear way.
But even living in the same city, it’s STILL super hard to see each other, because these little islands with their little boroughs are actually QUITE VAST and MISCHIEVOUS, and they often like to tangle with the space/time continuum IMHO.
But back to my play!
I wrote Hey Nonny Nonny! off a prompt from the Red Bull Theatre short play festival, on the theme “Defiance.” While it didn’t make the cut there, it still brought me great delight to defiantly take the only four female characters from Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, and give them a little something more to do.
(Something more interesting than wallowing in virginal victimhood and furious helplessness.)
Call it a missing scene. Call it a feminist revision. Call it an invocation of Diana the Huntress 400 years later. As you like it.
Hey Nonny Nonny! is one of six new works in this year’s Shakespeare SlayFest—Season 2: SKULLDUGGERY.
In 2024, the SlayFest won New York City’s “BEST SHAKESPEARE FESTIVAL” award. This year, it’ll be held at the Atelier at TheatreLab NYC.
It’s sexy. It’s subversive. It’s SKULLDUGGALICIOUS. What can I say?
It’s also free. Tickets have SOLD OUT. This is great. You know what’s also great? DONATIONS! If we get enough, we can mount FULL PRODUCTIONS, not just staged readings, NEXT YEAR.
Here’s the SlayFest LinkTree, for all information plus donations!
Now, I know you’re sad that you won’t be able to make it this year. Well, some of you can’t. Probably most of you. That’s okay. Like Delia Sherman likes to say, “We cannot live all lives”—a phrase I’ve found VERY USEFUL as an adult, and also as a New Yorker.
But I wanted to say that one of the other playwrights from the SlayFest—Martin Jude Farawell—as well as Grant Leopold Cartwright, the SlayFest’s Artistic Director, and the FABOOSHIEST Carla Kissane, Producing Director—will be joining me on my TWITCH CHANNEL this coming Monday FOR A PANEL!
You know all the info from our previous invites—but Imma tell you anyway!
WHEN: Monday, November 3rd
WHAT TIME: 7 PM – 8 PM EST
WHERE: twitch.tv/csecooney
I can promise you the panel will be be lively and informative, and possibly HILARIOUS. I’ve not yet met ANY of my fellow playwrights, so it’ll be a treat for me to chat with Martin.
Also? I ADORE Carla and EVERYTHING she does. And I’m pretty sure I love Grant too, though I’ve only met him a few times. But I mean, come on. WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE???
I hope to see you there on Monday night! If not, I’ll report back after the SlayFest and tell you ALL!
Yours Truly,
C. S. E. Cooney
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C.S.E. Cooney 