Good company: Three anthologies

I’ve been lax about posting anthology acceptances/publications lately, but I wanted to call attention to three recent ones in particular that have been published within the furry fandom — not just because they feature my work, but also because I love their concepts.

anthrocenturyAn Anthropomorphic Century features stories from 1909 (“Tobermory” by Saki) to 2008 (my story “The Wishing Tree”), all involving anthro characters. It’s not often you get the chance to share a table of contents with authors like Philip K. Dick and Peter S. Beagle, so it was fun to have my lighthearted trickster-raccoon story added to the range of styles and voices.civcover

Civilized Beasts is, as far as I’m aware, the first all-poetry anthology from furry, and I’m hoping that “2015 Edition” subtitle means more will follow in the series. This charity anthology benefits the Wildlife Conservation Society, and it includes my poems “Pulse,” “Why I am Sometimes Jealous of the Cat,” “Panthera tigris,” “Hermit Crab,” and “Canis,” plus poems from twenty (!) other poets, all celebrating the diversity, beauty, and wisdom of the creatures with whom we share the planet.catscover

The most recent of the three, Cats and More Cats, is… well, just what it says. Cats of all kinds, domestic and wild, starring in stories from a variety of authors. Again, it’s an honor to have my story “The Emerald Mage” included in the same pages as work from Andre Norton, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough, and especially Clare Bell (whose book Ratha’s Creature made a big impression on me when I read it somewhere around age 10 or 11). Mary E. Lowd’s “Magtwilla and the Mouse” is also a poignant read.

So if you’re tired of reading about humans all the time (and really, we are tiresome sometimes, particularly in election years), give these a try. There’s so much variety in each of these anthologies, you’re bound to find something to enjoy.

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In honor of the day…

It seems every country has its bizarre nonsensical traditions, but we here in America don’t get to point and laugh, not only because that’s rude, but because we take meteorological reporting from a large rodent hauled out of a hole by some guy in a top hat.

In honor of the utter weirdness of that, here’s a take on what it would be like to be the groundhog in an anthropomorphic world. (If the poem looks familiar, it’s because I posted it here before a few years ago, and it’s also appeared in the now-defunct magazine Allasso, but I figured my newer followers may have missed it, and it’s timely. So here you go.)

 

February 1: Groundhog Goes to the FoodMart

Mrs. Fox, pushing her cart
in her best Sunday dress, string of pearls
at her red throat, reminds him
of the tenderness of spring chickens,
gives him a smile, white and sharp.

The Rabbit family crowds the cereal aisle.
As he chooses a plain cylinder of oatmeal,
Mother Rabbit says hello, steers the small talk
toward the petunias she’s planning
to brighten up the burrow,
the rows of cabbages and carrots
Father’s mapping out for the field.
The kits tug on Groundhog’s overalls, eyes bright,
whispering to him, one more snow,
one more afternoon of sledding, one more fort,
one more snowbunny with mittens for ears.

Sleepy-eyed Bear shuffles in, only nods
when anyone speaks, gets in line
with a quart of milk and a canned ham.
His bleary gaze meets Groundhog’s,
and he adds a can of coffee, economy size.

Groundhog waits in line, stares at the tabloids
while the chattering squirrel cracks gum
and rings up the shoppers ahead.
He feels their eyes on him, all watching as if
he could melt the gray slush outside with a glance,
could give them warmth and new life on a whim.
Even in this harsh fluorescent light,
he will not look at his feet.