Who Are Those Three Writers?

We are those three writers: Bastet, Gravesport, and TRIOprime. The name of our blog is more than just catchy, it is uninspired. At one point it was supposed to be a placeholder, but the three of us here at Those Three Writers could not be bothered to come up with something flashier after the curtains went up.

We write sci-fi, as well as other genres. If you look a few inches to the left at the starlit backdrop you can surmise where our priorities lie. That’s right. We are aiming for the top! The sky is the limit? Hah! Our number one priority is to have our stories spread across the stars. For the time being, Earth seems to be the only planet with intelligent life, so we’ll have to settle for its seven continents (or rather eight if you know about that).

Allow me to digress: once a month Those Three Writers will hold a writing challenge. Bastet, Gravesport, and TRIOprime will each offer up one (1) theme that needs to be included in a shorty story. The short story should be sci-fi. At the end of the month, those three writers will post their short stories, as well as those that readers have submitted. Yes, that’s right. You the reader are encouraged to participate with us!

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You can find January’s submissions below:

Bastest: Act Two: Snow

Gravesport: The S.N.O.W. Angels

TRIOprime: Goodbye, My Darling

January’s themes were as followed: soldiers (Bastest), an introduction (Gravesport), and snow angels (TRIOprime). Furthermore, January’s writing challenge had a 1,000 word cap. That’s right: flash fiction. Try not to blush!

Information about February’s writing challenge will be posted shortly. Keep an eye out for it! There will be terrific prizes that you yourself will be responsible for buying to reward yourself should you come out on top.

In any case, if you would like to read more about those three writers, head on over to About Us. We are three very interesting people. I mean, ho boy! We are so interesting.


Act Two: Snow

We emerge from the pedicle with small pops as suction is broken. Arrayed in the four directions of planetary space, we survey our new surroundings. Nostrils wide we inhale the atmosphere. Eyes wide we scan the landscape. There is another burp behind me and Ash’p’ch is exuded. His sturdy aroma of calm falls over us. It wafts out as he stands in our center. I settle more firmly down onto my feet. My crest starts to settle from the tall stance of vigilance. I glance from side to side to check Etch’t’d and Ort’d’t’ ‘s position. M’sk’l’k’s scent seeps around from behind Ash’p’ch.

“Search,” says Ash’p’ch. He widens his stance and rises to his dactyls, keeping watch over the area.


The atmosphere is thin and wide and goes up and up. I know this planet revolves around its sun, but there is little evidence of it through the heavy cloud cover. As I begin casting back and forth across my given perimeter, I begin to feel the effects of the low temperature. My skin prickles in the cold and when the little breeze slips through my hair and around my neck, its crisp bite causes my feathers to fluff up. Continue reading

What Hilarity! (Story)


Dead, dead, dead.

He’s dead.


Ema’s laugh was both harsh and grating. Her vision was obscured with night and wet, the latter of which was born of the man’s blood and her own tears.


There was but one word to describe the assemblage of flesh that lay before her, a dozen, no!, a thousand cuts that reduced his shirt to scrap, his flesh to… to…

Ema did not know what torn flesh became, and she laughed all the more. Continue reading

Man’s Best Friend (Part 1)


The man, in all of his nudity, leaned back in the chair and stared at Marigold without interest. His shoulders were broad, but his chest and stomach were soft. The dark hair on his chest was thick, but thin and graying over his groin. He seemed oblivious to the small group of young women who sat before him. They—Marigold included—did not look so much at him as the lines that were his form. Their focus was on the paper in their laps and the man they crafted there.

And yet Marigold could not help but stare into his eyes, this man who would prostitute himself for their art. How had life led him to this most dehumanizing quest for silvers? Despite such thoughts, her hand offered him no pity and sketched his shame onto the blue paper. Continue reading

On Naming Places (Writing)

A small disclaimer. You are free to disagree. I do not mind.

What I do mind, however, is when I see rotten names in stories. Nothing can eject, deflate, and trample my interest in a novel, movie, or comic more than having its merry party or dour crew gallivant off to the Dark Forest or the Forgotten Space. It took me all of three seconds to think of those two locations. They contain about as much originality and depth as a Marvel film. Now, if you happen to be a fan of Marvel, substitute its name with that other studio. You know the one.

Suffice to say, the Dark Forest and the Forgotten Space are two names that I would avoid and that I would suggest you avoid.


Something you need to consider when naming a place, be it a town, a planet, a forest, or even a field, is that (surprise, surprise) someone gave it that name once upon a time. For instance, it is quite possible that the name New York has something to do with the existence and prominence of York back in England. So, if in your story you have an Old Dale, there damn well better be a Dale somewhere else. Or a Dale Alpha, a Dale Prime, a New Dale. Those who settled this New Dale or this Dale Alpha may even have business ties back in Old Dale. Those in Old Dale may have family in Dale Prime. It is your story. It is your universe. Why not live it up a little? Make a name mean something. Allow for your world to have a history. Continue reading

Ursula K LeGuin, My Hero

ursula K. le guin

Ursula K. Le Guin has had a huge influence on my life of imagination. Her fantasy worlds are incredibly satisfying.

However, A Wrinkle in Time came first. This awesome science fiction novel will always be my touchstone for science fiction and fantasy. Mrs. Kelly, my 5th grade teacher in Closter, NJ, read it aloud in class, and my life was never the same again.

Then, years later, Le Guin gave me Ged.   A Wizard of Earthsea carried me into a world with true magic. It had rules and logic, and talent was only a small part of mastery. There were layers of history and meaning which were only visible on rereading. Let me tell you, I reread this book to tatters.

wizard book cover

Tombs of Atuan. It was hard to believe, but I liked this one even better. I bonded with the priestess heroine living her incomprehensible life fettered to a religion of utter nothingness. OK, she needed to be rescued by a man, but she was strong and fascinating. I just ate her up. Continue reading

Goodbye, My Darling


“How long can I stay?”

“Now, be calm.  All your questions will be answered shortly.”

“But, she’s so young.  She’ll be frightened.”

“No.  You needn’t worry.  The transition is imperceptible,” the officer’s tone edged on impatience. “Save your questions till the conclusion of the presentation.”

Captain Chen touched his screen and the small room was flooded with wintery light.

An involuntary sigh came from the mother, an inner spasm of envy from the man. Continue reading

The S.N.O.W. Angels (Story)

“All right, all right. Listen up, you human pieces of garbage.”

“Well that was pleasant,” Aden said.

“I don’t have time to be pleasant and you do not have time to be snarky, soldier,” Special S-O Emil said. “I am going to be brief. No time to shake hands or sniff one another’s assholes.”

“I’m loving all of this positive imagery,” Aden said. Gy gave him a small shove and Braxton offered him a hiss of a hush.

“The four of you are trash,” Special S-O Emil continued, “but you are four pieces of trash ideally suited and equipped for this task.”

“And yet we don’t have enough time to sniff one another’s assholes,” Aden said. “I’m feeling really down, S-O.” Continue reading

First Act

We sidle out of the tube car. Cool air streams around us. It flaps my kilt and shuffles through my hair and feathers. The bright lights of the mini suns snap my eyes shut and the stupefying, boiling cloud of stench snaps shut my nostrils. People bounce and jostle all together, surprised. We huddle, and by nudging and bumping we are pushed forward into the atrium as other cars’ occupants are disgorged behind us into the Grand Arrival. I am thrust towards the center. I plant my feet, spreading my toes and stand tall up onto the high tips. Sturdy.

It’s enough. Now colors are streaming into view as my eyes get used to the light. Far above I can make out the faint shadows of the stars beyond the suns. Carefully I slit my nostrils open taking in the stench little by little until it stretches out into larger pools of odors making it more bearable. Open spokes of wide avenues are arrayed off the central atrium. Round blocks of the buildings soar towards the the light, creating a city full of sound and color and smell. Now, I can perceive distinct scent streams flowing from each avenue to collide in the center of the Arrival Atrium.

“Bsht’t!” I turn my head searching down through the crowd, ignoring others that are also far upright. It’s M’sk’l’k. “Whither do you wend?” He edges closer until our skin touches. Wide eyes raised to mine in question, then turning and searching the wide open space. Ort’d’t shuffles in until he is touching us both. So they stand side by side, his gaze now on also me. Etch’t’d isn’t far behind, edging into contact with her crest raised. And suddenly my coterie has coalesced. It’s a comfort to have their familiar scents and skins surround me, and I feel more capable. Around our little pod others mill by, nudging and sidling and wriggling through and around each other. They cohere around other principals. Pods grow to packs, to groups, to legions, spinning and milling as they find direction and head slowly towards the particular perfumes that draw them. Whole departments and inquiries and technologies are created as I watch. Phratries that will never be broken are being born in front of me. Continue reading