T. Frohock

Women weren’t always told to fear trans women. Prior to trans women, the monster used to be black men or Jewish men, or any minority, because—I’m sure you can see where this is going—these minority men are after one thing: women. Not all men, mind you, just minority men, so women should be scared of minority men ...

Once, I said I did not like a thing (it was a book). And someone who LOVED that book told me all the beautiful things about the story. Then I reexamined the book through the other person's eyes, and I saw a thing I, too, could love.

I’ve been following the A.I. fad as it’s developed, and I’ve discovered a whole new reason to fear our robot overlords, because they are, after all, us.

Sing to the tune of Killing Butterflies (with apologies to Lewis Blissett):

Killing Bots on Tumblr

All the bots we've seen They just make us scream Now they're in our dreams Open up Tumblr Now it never stops Full of little bots

Bots, scams, some things are meant to be torn apart Links, malware, some things are meant to be broke

Killing, killing, killing, killing, killing, killing bots Killing, killing, killing, killing, killing, killing bots Killing, killing, killing, killing, killing, killing bots We stay up all night killing bots (I'm killing, I'm killing, I'm killing, I'm killing)

/end

An excerpt from a new novel I'm working on:

I knew Rebekah Barrow was dead long before I saw the hearse’s brake lights flash. My house was a half mile from her driveway, but the road was straight; all that stood between us was the camelback bridge crossing the Dan River. The drive itself was tucked between a thick strand of oak, birch, and of course, the chinquapin trees from which the property took its name. Snaking between those trees, the long black car rolled glossy as a beetle.

Just as I’d suspected she would, my friend Kaye-Lynn, who had a police scanner she listened to the same way normal people listen to the radio, kept me informed of the events as they happened. She called at a few minutes before seven and left a voice message to tell me they were doing a wellness check on my Rebekah Barrow, as if working for the old woman gave me ownership over her.

I was awake, but I didn’t answer the phone. Just sat in my arm chair and listened to her sharp voice cutting into my answering machine.

I got scared then. What if they found her alive? Or in a coma? I yearned for a cigarette and regretted that I’d quit smoking three years ago. It took me a bit but I calmed myself. Brunswick and Kallam didn’t become the force behind the town of Wright’s Corner by being careless.

The next time Kaye-Lynn called, I answered the phone and surprised myself with my even voice. Kaye-Lynn said they’d radioed the ambulance about eight mile back while it was still on McConnell Church Road. One minute it was screaming along, lights and sirens blaring, and the next, it went quiet and dark as it turned around in the parking lot of the Antioch Baptist Church. Looked like it was sulking, Kaye-Lynn said before she hung up at half past seven.