S. L. V. Stronwin
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About S. L. V. Stronwin
S.L.V. Stronwin was born in Upstate New York, but has been itinerant for some time, finding home in the Central Coast of California, Baja Arizona, the far woods of Vermont, and the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. At present, the author writes what he reads: subversive high fantasy, eldritch weird fiction, scientific nonfiction, and stuff about plants. He has one cat, a genteel and tuxedo-bound fellow named Sokka.
Vampirism, knight-errantry, space stations, murderers, and unfaithful lovers all abound. This is a work that presents and proffers the dreamscapes of fantasy, horror, romance, and all of the strange spaces within.
For fans of genre-busting fiction à la Alan Moore, Cowboy Bebop, and collections like Neil Gaiman's Trigger Warning, George R. R. Martin's Quartet, and GRRM's Tales of Dunk and Egg.
The lady of Adimardis is dying. She knows it, her family knows it. Casimir knows it in his heart, though he shudders to admit it. Neither the priests nor the surgeons were of any help. But there is an old song, one that sings of a healing spring.
No one really believes in such things, and perhaps Casimir needs merely to distance himself from the imminent reality of his failure. The failure to protect his fair lady, his one oath.
So, the countryside then, to a long-abandoned castle, to pursue the fleeting promise of a song.
This story and its companions appear in 'Uplift - Short Stories and Optimism in Dorian' :: Stronwin's first collection of absurdity and prose.
The cities are ruins, roamed by gangs and violent opportunists. Those who wish to survive would be wise to take only what they need, and to keep their urban scavenging to a minimum.
And the trees of the dying wild make for better cover from the changed and hostile skies of the new world - better than the crumbling homes of Ottawa and her suburbs, at least.
Gauthier and his quiet companion have their sights set on James Bay, far and away from the old cities. Maybe there they can hope to live a little while longer.
But drug use and disappearances fester within any small town, beneath the masks of constancy and wholesomeness. And America's water utilities are old, her pipes corroded, her treatment plants understaffed, outdated, and easily broken into.
That Old West nostalgia filters out the children of single mothers, the mentally ill, debt-burdened students, and those who would expand their consciousness with mind-altering chemicals.
As if that weren't enough, the old things, motiveless by any human ethic, stare down from above.
For fans of out-of-the-box strange fiction, Twin Peaks, American Gods, Stephen King's epic horror classic, It, and Danielewski's debut novel and ergodic ode to sanity, House of Leaves.