Podcasts about heiresses

Fifth Year Anniversary recap and future storylines.Hints and teasers of themes involving love and fortune. Series tagline: All they want is love. Everyone else wants their fortune.Other people (*referenced not specifically mentioned) and subjects include: Barbara Hutton, Doris Duke, John Jacob Astor VI aka “Jakey,” Prince Alexis Mdivani, Frank Shields, Madeleine Talmage Force Astor Dick Fiermonte, Enzo Fiermonte, heirs, heiresses, marriages, divorces, weddings, scandals, betrayals, sports, life changes, challenges, envy, listener interactions--Extra Notes / Call to Action:Mansions of the Gilded AgeInstagram: Mansions of the Gilded Age and The Gilded Age Society by Gary Lawrancehttps://www.facebook.com/groups/mansionsofthegildedagehttps://www.youtube.com/c/MansionsOfTheGildedAgeNew York Adventure Club www.nyadventureclub.comStories Among the Stones *formerly Power Privilege & MoneyFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/memoirsofthepastPast Perfect Vintage Radio – Amazon's Alexa, TuneIn Radio, myTunerRadio appshttps://www.pastperfect.com/radio/www.pastperfect.comCheck out and answer polls for As The Money Burns via social mediaX / Twitter – https://x.com/asthemoneyburnsInstagram – https://www.instagram.com/asthemoneyburns/Share, like, subscribe--Archival Music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.Opening Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance BandsSection 1 Music: These Foolish Things by Benny Carter, Album Perfect BluesSection 2 Music: Nightfall by Benny Carter & His Orchestra, Album Nightfall – Sophisticated Jazz ClassicsSection 3 Music: Top Hat, White Tie and Tails by Carroll Gibbons & Boy Friends, Album Sophistication – Songs of the ThirtiesEnd Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance Bands--https://asthemoneyburns.com/X / TW / IG – @asthemoneyburnsX / Twitter – https://x.com/asthemoneyburnsInstagram – https://www.instagram.com/asthemoneyburns/Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/asthemoneyburns/

Writer Laura Thompson returns to the podcast, bringing all the insights and cleverness that has made her one of our most popular guests. And this time her subject is 'the heiress', including some of the most celebrated women in high society and literature. In her book 'Heiresses: the Lives of the Million Dollar Babies', Laura tells an incredible story of social change and bad behaviour in high places.Although celebrated and pursued, the heiress could also be the target of scheming and manipulative men, and could never be sure if she was being admired and loved for herself or for her family's money. Some flourished, some fell apart and many lived lives of the highest drama. You can buy Laura's book, and all the books we feature on the podcast here, along with thousands of others in our special Scandal Mongers bookshop...https://uk.bookshop.org/p/books/heiresses-the-lives-of-the-million-dollar-babies-laura-thompson/2279252?aid=12054&ean=9781788548229&***We now have a Thank You button (next to the 'three dots') for small donations that help support our work***Looking for the perfect gift for a special scandalous someone - or someone you'd like to get scandalous with? We're here to help...https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/ScandalMongers*** If you enjoy our work please consider clicking the YouTube subscribe button, even if you listen to us on an audio app. It will help our brand to grow and our content to reach new ears.Please follow Laura here...https://laurathompsonwriter.substack.com/The Scandal Mongers...https://x.com/mongerspodcastPhil Craig...https://x.com/philmcraigTHE SCANDAL MONGERS PODCAST is also available to watch on YouTube...https://www.youtube.com/@thescandalmongerspodcastYou can get in touch with the show via...team@podcastworld.org(place 'Scandal Mongers' in the heading)Produced byPodcastWorld.org Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Download This month, Mike and Roger consider how to steal material for RPGs, and work out an example.

In the late 19th century, British aristocrats had a big problem. They were short on cash to fund their lifestyles and maintain their vast country estates. In our third installment of Love Week, we look at the economic forces that drove some British men of the time to marry American heiresses, dubbed "Dollar Princesses," forming a union of money, status and, sometimes, love. For more on Dollar Princesses, Mark Taylor's research paper is published here. Kristen Richardson's book is called The Season: A Social History of the Debutante. Related episodes: Why the publishing industry is hot (and bothered) for romance (Apple / Spotify) It's Love Week! How the TV holiday rom-com got so successful (Apple / Spotify)Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

A discourse on the families in the Torah -- including the children of Aaron, with regard to establishing the laws of inheritance. Also, back to halakhah - where sons inherit their father's estate, and the debate over whether daughters should be inheriting in the same measure as sons, and how the daughters of Tzlofchad prove to the contrary.

All they want is love. Everyone else wants their fortune. Fourth Year Anniversary recap and future storylines.Other people and subjects include: Barbara Hutton, Doris Duke, heirs, heiresses, marriages, divorces, weddings, scandals, betrayals, royalty, taxes, sports, life changes, challenges, envy, listener interactions--Extra Notes / Call to Action:Past Perfect Vintage Radio – Amazon's Alexa, TuneIn Radio, myTunerRadio appshttps://www.pastperfect.com/radio/www.pastperfect.comMansions of the Gilded AgeInstagram: Mansions of the Gilded Age and The Gilded Age Society by Gary Lawrancehttps://www.facebook.com/groups/mansionsofthegildedagehttps://www.youtube.com/c/MansionsOfTheGildedAge New York Adventure Club www.nyadventureclub.comStories of the Gilded Age *formerly Power Privilege & MoneyFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/powerprivilegemoneyInstagram: @powerprivilegemoneyWhat's Her Name Podcast by Dr. Katie Nelson and Olivia Meiklehttps://whatshernamepodcast.com/https://pod.link/1320638747The Queens Podcast by Katy Hearne-Church and Nathan Foster, https://shows.acast.com/queenshistorypodcastThe History Detective podcast by Kelly Chasehttps://historydetectivepodcast.com/https://pod.link/1522188386 Talking Billions podcast by Bogumil Baranowskihttps://www.talkingbillions.co/https://pod.link/1656293892 Ye Olde Crime podcast by Lindsay Valenty and Madison Stanglhttps://www.yeoldecrimepodcast.com/https://pod.link/1514461061Share, like, subscribe --Archival Music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.Opening Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance BandsSection 1 Music: These Foolish Things by Benny Carter, Album Perfect BluesSection 2 Music: Nightfall by Benny Carter & His Orchestra, Album Nightfall – Sophisticated Jazz ClassicsSection 3 Music: Top Hat, White Tie and Tails by Carroll Gibbons & Boy Friends, Album Sophistication – Songs of the ThirtiesEnd Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance Bands--https://asthemoneyburns.com/TW / IG – @asthemoneyburnsTwitter – https://twitter.com/asthemoneyburnsInstagram – https://www.instagram.com/asthemoneyburns/Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/asthemoneyburns/

If you're missing your weekly dose of the Roy family like us, here are some books that we think will help fill the void after the finale of Succession. As always, we'll end with what we're reading this week. Books and other media mentioned in this episode: Succession (TV) Gossip Girl (TV) Veep (TV) Taylor Swift Eras Tour Ann's picks: The Heiresses by Sara Shepard (buy from Bookshop) - Pretty Little Liars series by Sara Shepard Appointment with Death by Agatha Christie (buy from Bookshop) The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur (buy from Bookshop) - Yours Truly by Abby Jimenez (buy from Bookshop) Halle's picks: Pineapple Street by Jenny Jackson (buy from Bookshop) - The Nest by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney (buy from Bookshop) A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley (buy from Bookshop) - King Lear by William Shakespeare (buy from Bookshop) Trust by Hernan Diaz (buy from Bookshop) What We're Reading This Week: Ann: Going Zero by Anthony McCarten (buy from Bookshop) - Michael Chrichton books - John Grisham books - Robin Cook books Halle: Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano (buy from Bookshop) - Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (buy from Bookshop) Well-Read on Facebook Well-Read on Bookshop Well-Read on Instagram

After the drama and literal fireworks of episode 6, this episode follows our two still-separate families through the aftermath. Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury work to move through the scandal with soft diplomacy, public appearances, and a surprise ball… But it turns out that this brief period of peace is but the eye of the storm and another Bridgerton is about to face the consequences of her own decision. Oh…and there's fireworks in this episode too - wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Featuring: - A royally pissed-off royal - Mean Girls, Regency-style - Lady Featherington gonna Lady Featherington - The cut direct - Family dynamics - Edwina apologists vs Edwina critics - A family ball - A meeting of equals - A cliffhanger Here are is the media we talk about in this episode: - The Viscount Who Loved Me, a novel by Julia Quinn - It's in His Kiss, a novel by Julia Quinn - The Bridgertons, a book series by Julia Quinn - Bridgerton, a Netflix series - News Corp, a media empire - Pride and Prejudice, a novel by Jane Austen This episode's What Would Danbury Do letter comes from Ravenna, the titular character from Amalie Howard's Rules for Heiresses. You can find the book and other information here. If you would like to send us a What Would Danbury Do, simply record a voice memo on your phone with the letter and send it to us at bridgertonpod@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you! Our guest host this episode is the lovely and literary Diem Nguyen. You can hear more from Diem by following her on twitter for all her kpop opinions @diemnhunguyen. Don't forget you can find us on twitter and facebook @bridgertonpod and instagram @wwddpod and join the conversation using the hashtag #WWDDpod. You can also leave us a rating or review on your favourite podcast provider. People who leave reviews have riz. This episode was recorded on the traditional and unceded land of the Wurundjeri and Boonwurrung people. Our editor is Ben McKenzie of Splendid Chaps Productions. If you need production work completed, you can find them here: splendidchaps.com What Would Danbury Do is a proud member of Frolic Media. You can find great romance content and other fantastic podcasts by visiting the Frolic site.

The girlies recount the fascinating stories of two famous heiresses — Isabella Stewart Gardner and Patty Hearst. They discuss their tumultuous lives, their complicated legacies, and what happens when white women have an existential crisis. Digressions include a four minute segment about our tits, tradwives stealing valor, and which Instagram accounts you can't check if you're ovulating. Support the podcast on Patreon at patreon.com/binchtopia Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Nicki has an extensive experience in media, a degree in radio-television-film, and a passion for history. For four years, she worked on multiple History Channel documentaries and was a research consultant for USA's Mr. Robot. In her history podcast As The Money Burns, Nicki reconstructs the Great Depression through the lives of actual heirs and heiresses. She brings back to life the tales of the rich living through the Great Depression. She sets the stage by telling us about the summer before the 1929 crash. We learn about a number of young heirs and heiresses and the lives they live. There was so much that changed at the time, the newspapers started to follow the stories of the wealthy, and they were losing their anonymity. Taxation was on the rise, so were fraud, Ponzi schemes, and more. We hear about bank runs and how no matter how rich ones are, it's not hard, and maybe extremely easy, to lose it all.   The stories we hear are almost a hundred years old, they are as relevant today as they were then.  Only this week, I took a call from someone who's been reading my articles. His family tale is set between two continents and resembles so many of the stories we'll hear today talking with Nicki.   Someone once reminded me that it's not easy, but it's cheaper to learn from the mistakes of others.   Let's go back to the Roaring 20s and the Great Depression Era with my guest - Nicki Woodard.  https://asthemoneyburns.com/ TW / IG – @asthemoneyburns Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/asthemoneyburns/ ---- ⁠⁠⁠⁠Crisis Investing: 100 Essays⁠⁠⁠⁠ - My new book. To get regular updates and bonus content, please sign-up for my substack: ⁠https://bogumilbaranowski.substack.com/⁠ Follow me on Twitter: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://twitter.com/bogumil_nyc⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Learn more about ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Talking Billions⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Learn more about ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Bogumil Baranowski⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Learn more about ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Sicart Associates, LLC⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Read ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Money, Life, Family⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ - the book. NEVER INVESTMENT ADVICE. IMPORTANT: As a reminder, the remarks in this interview represent the views, opinions, and experiences of the participants and are based upon information they believe to be reliable; however, Sicart Associates nor I have independently verified all such remarks. The content of this podcast is for general, informational purposes, and so are the opinions of members of Sicart Associates, a registered investment adviser, and guests of the show. This podcast does not constitute a recommendation to buy or sell any specific security or financial instruments or provide investment advice or service. Past performance is not indicative of future results. More information on Sicart Associates is available via its Form ADV disclosure documents available ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠adviserinfo.sec.gov⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/talking-billions/message

All they want is love.  Everyone else wants their fortune.  Third Year Anniversary recap and future storylines. Other people and subjects include: Barbara Hutton, Doris Duke, heirs, heiresses, Wall Street Crash of 1929, Great Depression, 1932 & 1933 plots, Huntington Hartford, Evalyn Walsh McLean, Lindbergh kidnapping, Al Capone, General John Pershing, British Queen, Prince of Wales, Ivar Krueger, Hope Diamond, modern parallels, cryptocurrency implosions, Ponzi schemes, scandals, scams, bank runs, blackmail financial depression, historical cycles --Extra Notes / Call to Action:Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com Share, like, subscribe                                                                                                                                       --Archival Music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.Opening Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance BandsSection 1 Music: Swingin' The Blues by Benny Carter & His Orchestra, Album Perfect BluesSection 2 Music:Turkish Towel by The Savoy Havana Band, Album Fascinating RhythmSection 3 Music:Umtcha, Umtcha, Da Da Da by The Rhythmic Eight, Album Fascinating Rhythm – Great Hits of the 20sEnd Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance Bands --https://asthemoneyburns.com/TW / IG – @asthemoneyburns Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/asthemoneyburns/

This one's got it all: true crime, big reveals, legal drama, Uta Hagen. So if any of those things spark your interest, then this one's for you, dear listener. Because even though this real-life case of a wealthy heiress's mysterious coma initially seemed cut-and-dry, nothing was as simple as it seemed. Was Sunny von Bülow's coma the result of foul play? What was in that strange black bag her children discovered in their stepfather's closet? And did my lady really take insulin?Rob teaches Ray about the case of Claus von Bülow, who was accused of attempting to murder his wife to obtain her fortune; how the testimony of Claus's mistress was a linchpin in the investigations; why you probably shouldn't leave incriminating notes lying around if you're being investigated for murder; how to steal the scene in any movie; and why this case may have been one of the first modern examples of publicly sensationalizing the legal process in order to rivet audiences to their television screens. If you like what we are doing, please support us on Patreon.TEAMRay HebelRobert W. SchneiderMark SchroederBilly RecceDaniel SchwartzbergGabe CrawfordNatalie DeSaviaARTICLESEPISODE CLIPSAmerican Justice: Claus Von Bulow - Full Episode (S6, E13) | A&E"Reversal of Fortune" TrailerADDITIONAL MUSIC & SOUND EFFECTS”Happy Bee,” “Enter the Maze,” and “Aitrack”• Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)• Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0• http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/Additional Sound Effects from Final Cut Pro, iLife, and Logic Pro

Some stories shoot right past "trashy" and head straight for "disturbing," and that is the case of murdered socialite Barbara Daly Baekeland. Alicia recounts the troubling life and times of a family beset by mental illness and too much money, and the tragedy that unfolded as a result. Want early, ad-free episodes, limited series, Zoom hangouts, and more? Join us at patreon.com/trashydivorces! Sponsors Dipsea. Get 30 days of full access to steamy stories for free when you go to dipseastories.com/trashy! FX's Fleishman Is In Trouble. Streaming on Hulu on November 17. StoryWorth. Visit storyworth.com/trashy and save $10 on your first purchase! The Oak Tree Group. Mention Trashy Divorces for your free one hour financial preparedness conversation. Call 770-319-1700 or visit them on the web at theoaktreegroup.net. Further Reading: Savage Grace: The True Story of Fatal Relations in a Rich and Famous American Family, by Natalie Robins (Amazon.com) Women of Means: The Fascinating Biographies of Royals, Heiresses, Eccentrics and Other Poor Little Rich Girls, by Marlene Wagman-Geller (Amazon.com) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In this episode of the podcast, the two Finns Karri and Henrik discuss Paraguayan cinema. The film industry in this beautiful and proud South American land-locked nation has remained tiny, but it has finally garnered some due attention. The duo comes across elements of creative film-making, American influences, themes of poverty, affluence and integrity. Karri and Henrik analyse the Top 3 films from Paraguay, as determined by IMDb with the following formula: must be (mainly) filmed and produced in Paraguay, acted by Paraguayans, with over 100 ratings. 7 Boxes (2012) and The Gold Seekers (2017) (Paraguayan selection to the Academy Awards, unnominated) are two action and adventure oriented films from the directing duo Juan Carlos Maneglia and Tana Schémbori. The Heiresses (2018) is an award-winning drama film about a prestigious but troubled female couple running out of money. Films covered in this episode: 7 Boxes (7 Cajas, 2012) The Gold Seekers (Los Buscadores, 2017) The Heiresses (Las herederas, 2018) Hosted by Karri Ojala and Henrik Telkki. Edited by Karri Ojala. The Flick Lab theme tune written and performed by Nick Grivell.

Today I'm talking to Julie Faupel the co-founder of the largest real estate company in the Teton Region and a member of the top producing real estate team Graham-Faupel-Mendenhall consistently ranked in the top 100 teams in the US by the Wall Street Journal/Real Trends.  Julie's clients include, Fortune 100 CEO's, Government dignitaries, Heirs and Heiresses, Technology executives and other notable figures.  Julie's 20+ year career in the luxury space spans luxury hospitality, technology, marketing, fashion and real estate. As a result of her unique insight into what shapes consumer psychology in luxury buying, Julie is a frequent media expert and has been interviewed by:  Wall Street Journal, Forbes, New York Times, Luxury Daily and Leaders Magazine.  Julie is a member of the Young President's Organization where she serves the Global One chapter as Membership Chair. Last but not least, Julie is also the CEO and Founder of REALM, a real estate technology platform that serves elite real estate professionals. She and I talk about How to Create Culminating Career Opportunities.Jere interviews the world's most renowned and best real estate agents around the country and the world.These outstanding Agents tell their stories, how they got into the business, and what has made them successful in one of the oldest and most competitive industries.All of this on the “Jere Metcalf Podcast, Top Real Estate Agents tell how they do it.”www.JereMetcalfPodcast.comPowered byJere Metcalf Partners404.627.7789jere@jeremetcalfpartners.comJeremetcalfpartners.com 

Inheritance laws for females.

We're diving into the world of Heiressess, their haunting stories, and how the true (grim) fates of these women of means transformed fiction novels (as well as tv shows and movies). Books Shared In Today's Episode: Currently Reading: The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams Heiresses: The Lives of Million Dollar Babies by Laura Thompson The Magnolia Palace By Fiona Davis The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo By Taylor Jenkins Reid The Grand Design: A Novel of Dorothy Draper By Joy Callaway A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting by Sophie Irwin • Please note that all rights of each of the books mentioned in this episode stay with their authors and respectable publishing houses. All opinions are my own. By purchasing a book from these, or any other links on my podcast episodes or show notes, I will be making a small affiliate profit which helps me continue to make each week's episode. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/heather-s-woolery/support

Heiresses dream of royal romances with fairytale endings. As one marries her prince, another dances with a future king.#BarbaraHutton, #QueenElizabethII, #KingEdwardVIII, #PlatinumJubilee, #PrinceAlexisMdivani, #LouiseVanAlen, #PrinceofWalesLouise Van Alen marries Prince Alexis Mdivani despite her family's objections. Barbara Hutton goes to Buckingham Palace to bow before the King and Queen of England and meets the future British king David, the Prince of Wales. Could a royal romance bloom?--Date: May 15-20th, 1931Location: Wakehurst in Newport, Rhode Island; Buckingham Palace, London, EnglandEvent: royal marriage, bowing to King and Queen of EnglandCharacters: Barbara Hutton, David Prince of Wales – King Edward VIII – Duke of Windsor, King George V and Queen Mary of Great Britain, Franklyn Hutton, Irene Hutton, Helena McCann, Virginia Dawes, Mr. & Mrs. Charles Dawes,Historical mentions: Doris Duke, Viscountess Thelma Furness, Jessie Woolworth Donahue, Jeem Jimmy Donahue Jr., Queen Elizabeth II, Lady Jane Grey, King Edgar the Aethling, King Louis XIV, Thai King Bhumibol Adulyadej--Queens Podcasthttps://shows.acast.com/queenshistorypodcast--Archival Music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.Opening Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance BandsSection 1 Music: Everything Stops For Tea by Mario “Harp” Lorenzi, Album The Great Dance Bands Play Hits Of The 30sSection 2 Music: It Had To Be You by Carroll Gibbons, Album It's Got To Be LoveSection 3 Music: The Eyes Of The World by Louis Levy, Album The Great British Dance BandsEnd Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance Bands

All they want is love. Everyone else wants their fortune. Second Anniversary Bonus Recap and Future Storylines.Date: Great DepressionLocation: worldwideEvent: masquerade ballCharacters: Barbara Hutton, Doris Duke, Louise Van Alen, Prince Alexis Mdivani, Jimmy Cromwell, Cobina Wright, Alice Vanderbilt, Marjorie Merriweather PostHistorical mentions: Al Capone, Rudolph Valentino, Catwoman Julie NewmarArchival Music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.Opening Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance BandsSection 1 Music: I've Got An Invitation To Dance by Roy Fox, Album The Great Dance Bands Play Hits of the 30sSection 2 Music: Swinging at Maida by Benny Carter & His Orchestra, Album Jazz Age!Section 3 Music: Ooh! That Kiss! by Carroll Gibbons, Album Elegance 2End Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance Bands

Dearest reader,As the social season draws near and the second season of Bridgerton is ready to premier this week, we are rereleasing Katie's episode on Debutants and the London Season! Consider this your exclusive invitation to learn all about this bizarre ritual dating back hundreds of years and shockingly still happening in some capacity today, along with all of its problematic history of sexism, classism and racism. Please enjoy Katie's deep dive into the realm of the ultra-exlusive debutante social scene. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________In this episode, Katie is bewitched with the debutantes of the London social season. Since the late 1700s, Britain's most eligible young ladies have been presented to society during London's social season. Providing the framework for our favorite novels like Pride and Prejudice, debutante society hides a deeply problematic world of sexism, racism, classism, and more. In this deep-dive into the beginnings and evolution of this bizarre ritual, we explore the realm of the ultra-exclusive debutante social scene. For more information, and a list of all our sources, visit our website. Titles recommended in this episode: The Season: A Social History of the Debutante by Kristen RichardsonThe Husband Hunters: Social Climbing in London and New York by Anne de Courcy and Clare CorbettWomen of Means: The Fascinating Biographies of Royals, Heiresses, Eccentrics, and Other Poor Little Rich Girls by Margaret Wagman-GellarThe Bridgertons Series by Julia QuinnBelgravia by Julian FellowesThe American Heiress by Daisy GoodwinThe Debutantes series by Jennifer Lynn BarnesIf you're interested in purchasing the books mentioned in this episode, visit our bookshop.org affiliate shopLinks:The 10 Dos and Don'ts of Etiquette to Become a Lady in Regency EnglandDebutante balls and the persistent obsession with the purity of young womenQueer in the Regency: a Slice of Once-Hidden LGBT HistoryGender roles in the 19th centuryLove and Courtship in Regency EnglandThe London SeasonThe Racist History of PromThe Curious Plight of the Modern DebutanteThe History of British Slave Ownership Has Been Buried'Princess Seraphina' Steps Out at Vauxhill GardensA Survivor's Guide to Georgian MarriageSupport the show

Dearest reader,As the social season draws near and the second season of Bridgerton is ready to premier this week, we are rereleasing Katie's episode on Debutants and the London Season! Consider this your exclusive invitation to learn all about this bizarre ritual dating back hundreds of years and shockingly still happening in some capacity today, along with all of its problematic history of sexism, classism and racism. Please enjoy Katie's deep dive into the realm of the ultra-exlusive debutante social scene. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________In this episode, Katie is bewitched with the debutantes of the London social season. Since the late 1700s, Britain's most eligible young ladies have been presented to society during London's social season. Providing the framework for our favorite novels like Pride and Prejudice, debutante society hides a deeply problematic world of sexism, racism, classism, and more. In this deep-dive into the beginnings and evolution of this bizarre ritual, we explore the realm of the ultra-exclusive debutante social scene. For more information, and a list of all our sources, visit our website. Titles recommended in this episode: The Season: A Social History of the Debutante by Kristen RichardsonThe Husband Hunters: Social Climbing in London and New York by Anne de Courcy and Clare CorbettWomen of Means: The Fascinating Biographies of Royals, Heiresses, Eccentrics, and Other Poor Little Rich Girls by Margaret Wagman-GellarThe Bridgertons Series by Julia QuinnBelgravia by Julian FellowesThe American Heiress by Daisy GoodwinThe Debutantes series by Jennifer Lynn BarnesIf you're interested in purchasing the books mentioned in this episode, visit our bookshop.org affiliate shopLinks:The 10 Dos and Don'ts of Etiquette to Become a Lady in Regency EnglandDebutante balls and the persistent obsession with the purity of young womenQueer in the Regency: a Slice of Once-Hidden LGBT HistoryGender roles in the 19th centuryLove and Courtship in Regency EnglandThe London SeasonThe Racist History of PromThe Curious Plight of the Modern DebutanteThe History of British Slave Ownership Has Been Buried'Princess Seraphina' Steps Out at Vauxhill GardensA Survivor's Guide to Georgian MarriageSupport the show

Today I am chatting with Harper St. George. Harper's latest series is all about Gilded Age Victorian novels where American Heirs and Heiresses are in England partaking in the marriage mart. In this interview, we chat about this series, and about historical fiction recommendations. SHOWNOTES AND BOOK LINKShttp://WhattoReadNextBlog.comMusic from Uppbeat (free for Creators!):https://uppbeat.io/t/hartzmann/sunnyLicense code: 0RDRBKGH6NGQCAXR

Heiresses must always fight off fortune hunters willing to break their hearts for money.  But there is another heir who presents a whole other level of danger.#TinderSwindler, #InventingAnna, #DorisDuke, #BarbaraHutton, #PhilPlant, #PatioLamaze, #HarryWinston, #HopeDiamond, #JessieWoolworthDonahue, #personalinjurylawsuitEveryone gathers in Palm Beach for winter and lunch at the seasonal restaurant the Patio Lamaze.  Barbara Hutton and Doris Duke meet and mingle with another heir and Broadway playboy Phil Plant, who is far more dangerous than all the rest.Date: February 17th, 1931Location: Palm Beach, Florida – Patio Lamaze & Munn Villa LouwannaEvent: lunch & dinnerCharacters: Doris Duke, Barbara Hutton, Phil Plant, Franklyn Hutton, Irene Hutton, Nanaline Duke, Jimmy Cromwell, Walker Inman, Jessie Woolworth Donahue, James DonahueHistorical mentions: Evalyn Walsh McLean, Harry Winston, George Lamaze, Colonel William Hayward, Sarah Mae “Maisie” Caldwell Manwaring Plant Hayward, Morton Plant, Leland Hayward, Helene Jessmer (Helen Jesmer), Constance Bennett, Claire WindsorPresidencies of the United States podcast by Jerry Landry, http://presidencies.blubrry.com/Archival Music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.Publish Date: February 17, 2022Length: 20:33Opening Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance BandsSection 1 Music: On The Beach At Bali Bali by Billy Merrin & His Commanders, Albums The Great Dance Bands Play Hits of the 30s & Tea Dance 2Section 2 Music: Ain't She Sweet by Piccadilly Revels Band, Album Charleston – Great Stars Of the 20sSection 3 Music: Temptation Rag by Harry Roy, Album The Great British Dance BandsEnd Music: My Heart Belongs to Daddy by Billy Cotton, Album The Great British Dance Bands

Eine Lady, die ein Geheimnis lösen muss, und ein Gentleman, der ihr im Weg stehen könnte … Der mitreißende Regency Roman von New York Times Bestsellerautorin Madeline Hunter

Disclaimer: The cat got in during recording. Tonight, Amelia, Nate, and Row watch the Paraguay film The Heiresses on tonight's episode of The Gay Anarchist Yoga and Erotic Cooking Association. GAYECASocial Facebook & Twitter: @GAYECAPod Amelia Instagram: thenefariousnavigator Row Facebook & Twitter: susqueenrow   Music and Sound Effects by Pond5

Husband and Wife cover Numbers chapter 34: The Borders and Division of Canaan (cont.); chapter 35: The Inheritance of the Levites / The Cities of Refuge / The Law Concerning Bloodshed; and chapter 36: The Law Concerning the Marriage of Heiresses. We learn about brass monkeys' balls, how to get away with murder, and more incest. And with that, we have concluded the book of Numbers! Thank you for stopping by Sacrilegious Discourse - Bible Study for Atheists! Check out these links for more information about our podcast and merchandise: Our Homepage: https://sacrilegiousdiscourse.com/ Help support our podcast by purchasing some of our atheist and science themed merchandise here: https://sacrilegious-discourse.myshopify.com/ Links to find Sacrilegious Discourse - Bible Study for Atheists wherever you listen to podcasts: https://sacrilegiousdiscourse.com/subscribe-today/ Subscribe to receive updates on our episodes and great deals on our atheist merchandise via email: https://sacrilegiousdiscourse.com/subscribe-to-receive-email-updates/ Help support us by subscribing on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/sacrilegiousdiscourse Check to see if we're currently running a giveaway here and stop by to win some awesome atheist gear: https://sacrilegiousdiscourse.com/giveaway/ --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/sacrilegious-discourse/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/sacrilegious-discourse/support

Hello and welcome to Episode Forty Three of Page Turn: the Largo Public Library Podcast. I'm your host, Hannah! If you enjoy the podcast subscribe, tell a friend, or write us a review! The English Language Transcript can be found below But as always we start with Reader's Advisory! The Reader's Advisory for Episode Forty Three is The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling. If you like the sound of The Death of Jane Lawrence you should also check out: Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell, and The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters. My personal favorite Goodreads list The Death of Jane Lawrence is on is Gothic Romantic Suspense of a Bygone Era - Victorian Mansions, Mysterious Manors, Haunted Chateaux, Sinister Castles, Rambling Estates, Governesses, Heiresses, Mistresses, and Brooding Atmospheres. Happy Reading Everyone Today's Library Tidbit comes to us from Research & Access Services Librarian Hilary and is about Bipolar disorder. Hilary has been long been running a program titled Issues that Matter that focuses on problems our society is facing using, mostly, fiction. On November 29th, the program will be reading and discussing The Silver Linings Playbook a book that deals with Bipolar disorder and trauma responses. In the book the main character, Pat, has just come home from a psychiatric hospital where he was hospitalized following a destructive manic outburst. He has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. In additional to bipolar disorder Silver Linings Playbook also has a character who portrays a trauma response, characterized by depression and risky behaviors. Bipolar disorder are disorders that cause shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, concentration, and ability to function. There are currently three types of Bipolar disorder in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, called the DSM-5, Bipolar I Disorder, Bipolar II Disorder, and Cyclothymic Disorder. Each disorder has different diagnostic criteria. I'm going to cut in here to say that I am not a psychiatrist. I do not have a degree in any field of psychology. I cannot and will not diagnose anyone and no one should use any of the following information to diagnose anyone. If you think any of this criteria matches your lived experience please talk to your doctor or a psychiatrist. I know that may be too expensive for a lot of people but if you are in a position to be able to visit a doctor please ask them about your concerns. In order to be diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder a person must have had at least one manic episode. This episode may or may not have been preceded by a hypomanic or major depressive episode. The manic episode cannot be better explained by a different diagnosis. In order to be diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder a person must have had at least one hypomanic episode and at least one major depressive episode and the symptoms of these episodes must cause significant disruption of the person's life. They can never have had a manic episode. The hypomania and depression cannot be better explained by a different diagnosis. In order to be diagnosed with Cyclothymic Disorder a person must have had many periods of both hypomania and depression for at least two years. With the hypomania and the depression sharing the time evenly. The symptoms of these episodes significantly disrupts the person's life. The hypomanis and depression cannot be better explained by a different diagnosis. I am not going to explain mania, hypomania, and depression and the criteria or definition of the Bipolar Disorder will not make much sense. Mania and hypomania have mostly the same symptoms, however, they do not have them to the same degree. Mania is the more severe of the two and can also present with psychosis. However, a manic or hypomanic episode must present with three or more of the following symptoms: abnormally upbeat, jumpy or wired, increased activity,

Laura Thompson - Heiresses: The Lives of the Million Dollar Babies... with TRE´s Selina MacKenzie

She's been described as the funniest woman in America. We talk to Fran Lebowitz, the American writer, social commentator, humorist, and New York legend. She shares her opinion on everything from gender, Covid and marriage. We hear from our political correspondent at Holyrood about proposed reforms to the Gender Recognition Act in Scotland. Do you have a child with special educational needs, and are you getting the support that you need? We hear from one mother who's been trying to do the best thing by her son, and feels like she's the one being blamed. And ever fantasized about what you'd do if you inherited a fortune? A famous heiress once said: “Life is less sad with money.” Maybe. We speak to Laura Thompson who's analysed the stories of women whose wealth has been passed down to them. She's written a book called Heiresses: The Lives of the Million Dollar Babies.

In this episode, Katie is bewitched with the debutantes of the London social season. Since the late 1700s, Britain's most eligible young ladies have been presented to society during London's social season. Providing the framework for our favorite novels like Pride and Prejudice, debutante society hides a deeply problematic world of sexism, racism, classism, and more. In this deep-dive into the beginnings and evolution of this bizarre ritual, we explore the realm of the ultra-exclusive debutante social scene. For more information, and a list of all our sources, visit our website. Titles recommended in this episode: The Season: A Social History of the Debutante by Kristen RichardsonThe Husband Hunters: Social Climbing in London and New York by Anne de Courcy and Clare CorbettWomen of Means: The Fascinating Biographies of Royals, Heiresses, Eccentrics, and Other Poor Little Rich Girls by Margaret Wagman-GellarThe Bridgertons Series by Julia QuinnBelgravia by Julian FellowesThe American Heiress by Daisy GoodwinThe Debutantes series by Jennifer Lynn BarnesIf you're interested in purchasing the books mentioned in this episode, visit our bookshop.org affiliate shopLinks:The 10 Dos and Don'ts of Etiquette to Become a Lady in Regency EnglandDebutante balls and the persistent obsession with the purity of young womenQueer in the Regency: a Slice of Once-Hidden LGBT HistoryGender roles in the 19th centuryLove and Courtship in Regency EnglandThe London SeasonThe Racist History of PromThe Curious Plight of the Modern DebutanteThe History of British Slave Ownership Has Been Buried'Princess Seraphina' Steps Out at Vauxhill GardensA Survivor's Guide to Georgian MarriageSupport the show (https://www.patreon.com/thereferencedesk)

In this episode, Katie is bewitched with the debutantes of the London social season. Since the late 1700s, Britain's most eligible young ladies have been presented to society during London's social season. Providing the framework for our favorite novels like Pride and Prejudice, debutante society hides a deeply problematic world of sexism, racism, classism, and more. In this deep-dive into the beginnings and evolution of this bizarre ritual, we explore the realm of the ultra-exclusive debutante social scene. For more information, and a list of all our sources, visit our website. Titles recommended in this episode: The Season: A Social History of the Debutante by Kristen RichardsonThe Husband Hunters: Social Climbing in London and New York by Anne de Courcy and Clare CorbettWomen of Means: The Fascinating Biographies of Royals, Heiresses, Eccentrics, and Other Poor Little Rich Girls by Margaret Wagman-GellarThe Bridgertons Series by Julia QuinnBelgravia by Julian FellowesThe American Heiress by Daisy GoodwinThe Debutantes series by Jennifer Lynn BarnesIf you're interested in purchasing the books mentioned in this episode, visit our bookshop.org affiliate shopLinks:The 10 Dos and Don'ts of Etiquette to Become a Lady in Regency EnglandDebutante balls and the persistent obsession with the purity of young womenQueer in the Regency: a Slice of Once-Hidden LGBT HistoryGender roles in the 19th centuryLove and Courtship in Regency EnglandThe London SeasonThe Racist History of PromThe Curious Plight of the Modern DebutanteThe History of British Slave Ownership Has Been Buried'Princess Seraphina' Steps Out at Vauxhill GardensA Survivor's Guide to Georgian MarriageSupport the show (https://www.patreon.com/thereferencedesk)

Today we're revisiting an old classic: Episode 19 - CULTS. Rachel starts us off with the story of Clare Bronfman, an heiress to the Seagram liquor fortune. Clare's sister, Sara, encouraged her to start taking a group called Nxivm's self-improvement classes. Clare and her sister became more and more involved with the group and soon had given millions of dollars to the group's leader, Keith Raniere. Nxivm started to attract media attention, uncovering their hidden agendas and resulting in Clare's arrest. UPDATE: On September 30, 2020, Clare was sentenced to 6 years and nine months in federal prison. Nathalie tells the story of another famous heiress, Patty Hearst. Patty was the daughter of a media mogul who was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army. Even though she was kidnapped, she ended up joining her captors in committing criminal acts. We discuss whether or not Patty is responsible for her crimes and the effects fear can have on decision making. Rachel's Sources Seagram https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seagram From Heiress To Felon: How Clare Bronfman Wound Up In 'Cult-Like' Group Nxivm, by Will Yakowicz https://www.forbes.com/sites/willyakowicz/2019/05/31/from-heiress-to-felon-how-clare-bronfman-wound-up-in-cult-like-group-nxivm/#3771af103ecf Keith Raniere, Convicted Leader Of Cultlike Group Nxivm, Will Be Sentenced In October, by Will Yakowicz https://www.forbes.com/sites/willyakowicz/2020/08/14/keith-raniere-convicted-leader-of-cult-like-group-nxivm-will-be-sentenced-in-october/#40cfb42757a8 Clare Bronfman, citing pandemic, asks for delay in NXIVM sentencing, by Robert Gavin https://www.timesunion.com/news/article/Clare-Bronfman-citing-pandemic-asks-for-delay-15287184.php Nathalie's Sources https://www.fbi.gov/history/famous-cases/patty-hearst https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patty_Hearst https://www.npr.org/2016/08/03/488373982/whose-side-was-she-on-american-heiress-revisits-patty-hearst-s-kidnapping https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symbionese_Liberation_Army https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2002/01/what-is-the-symbionese-liberation-army.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hearst_Communications

This week we're diving even further into Paris Hilton (@parishilton)'s "book" with the brilliant, hilarious Alison Leiby (@alisonleiby). Follow Alison on Twitter and Instagram @alisonleibyFollow us on Twitter @cmbc_podcast and Instagram @celebritymemoirbookclub If you want even more juice subscribe to our patreon!!!https://www.patreon.com/celebritymemoirbookclub Art by @adrianne_manpearl and theme song by @ashleesimpsonrossSupport the show (https://www.patreon.com/celebritymemoirbookclub)

A debutante’s coming out is a never ending list of nonstop activities. Before the big dance, dinner is served for the most exclusive guests. Wanna see what the fuss is all about? #DorisDuke, #BarbaraHutton, #debutanteball, #heiresses, #CarolineAstor, #LouiseVanAlen, #DaisyVanAlen, #Wakehurst, #PrinceMdivani, #VeraWang, #InternationalDebutanteBall, #WaldorfAstoriaNY, #PrincessObolensky Henry Van Alen officially presents his sister Louise as debutante at a private dinner at Wakehurst before the big ball. Finally invited to the dance only, Doris Duke and Barbara Hutton rush to get ready for the big event. Louise’s secret relationship with Prince Alexis Mdivani seems to follow a long Astor and Van Alen history of complicated romances.

Today my guest is Nicki Woodard. Nicki is the host and producer of the podcast As the Money Burns, a deep exploration into the lives of actual heirs and heiresses to some of America's most famous fortunes and what happens to them when the great depressions hits. As the Money Burns is part audio drama, part documentary and part contemporary commentary.As the Money Burns:website: https://asthemoneyburns.comInstagram: https://bit.ly/3lWqLUOFacebook: https://bit.ly/3l1zgfS Resources:Doris Duke: https://bit.ly/2Hwn4q1 Barbara Hutton: https://bit.ly/3fwiCUw John Jacob Astor IV: https://bit.ly/372N314Gloria Vanderbilt: https://bit.ly/3m1VPma To Support Armchair Historians:PatreonKo-fiSupport the show (https://www.patreon.com/armchairhistorians)

A special episode commemorating the 91st Anniversary of the 1929 Wall Street Crash. Details of the worst day of the New York stock market that led to the Great Depression. A recap of the primary heirs and heiresses of America’s most famous fortunes whose interconnected lives will be changed due to the Great Depression, whether family dynamics, finances, scams, love & romance, and so much more… #1929WallStreetCrash, #WallStreetCrash, #DorisDuke, #BarbaraHutton, #Astor, #heiresses, #1929, #GreatDepressionArchival music provided by Past Perfect Vintage Music, www.pastperfect.com.

There were many Duksis (royal women) in Darius' household, and there would be many more in future generations of the Achaemenid family, but three women in particular standout above the rest. Most famously we know of Atossa, daughter of Cyrus and mother of Xerxes, from our Greek sources. Thanks to the documents of the Persepolis Fortification Archive we also know about the remarkable wealth and influence of Artystone and Irdabama as Persian women in the early 5th century BCE. Patreon Lyceum.fm Support Page --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/history-of-perisa/support

It's not Socialites - it's Heiresses. Shelby discusses shipping heiress, Nancy Cunard, while Amy covers the original poor little rich girl, Barbara Woolworth Hutton. Intro Song: What I Do by Kristy Krüger © ℗Just Like Freddy Music ASCAP Instagram: herstorythepodcast  

It's not Socialites - it's Heiresses. Shelby discusses shipping heiress, Nancy Cunard, while Amy covers the original poor little rich girl, Barbara Woolworth Hutton. Intro Song: What I Do by Kristy Krüger © ℗Just Like Freddy Music ASCAP Instagram: herstorythepodcast  

We double time travel back to the Gilded Age and The House of Wood, 2011, for this combined revisit to look at the lives of servants and heiresses who shared a roof but whose lives were very, very different.

We talk to film Maker Mike Leigh about his new film Peterloo, how well the story is known and what it might speak to in our contemporary political landscape. And a new version of Joseph Heller's Catch-22 is streaming on Stan. How does it stack up against the orginal film made in 1970?

We talk to film Maker Mike Leigh about his new film Peterloo, how well the story is known and what it might speak to in our contemporary political landscape. And a new version of Joseph Heller's Catch-22 is streaming on Stan. How does it stack up against the orginal film made in 1970?

We talk to film Maker Mike Leigh about his new film Peterloo, how well the story is known and what it might speak to in our contemporary political landscape. And a new version of Joseph Heller's Catch-22 is streaming on Stan. How does it stack up against the orginal film made in 1970?

We talk to film Maker Mike Leigh about his new film Peterloo, how well the story is known and what it might speak to in our contemporary political landscape. And a new version of Joseph Heller's Catch-22 is streaming on Stan. How does it stack up against the orginal film made in 1970?

Two older women live in a beautiful mansion in Paraguay–but they are facing financial ruin. When one of them goes…

Welcome back, Literary Slummers, to another episode of HateRead! This fortnight, we tackled a book that was certainly not good, but we didn’t exactly hate it (don’t worry, we still found plenty to shit on). Join us as we discuss the Saybrook heiresses and their complete inability to solve a mystery. And don’t forget your #2 pencils! A very special thank you to Ben Cope for our theme song! Check out his YouTube channel: youtube.com/fretwiz. Rather Be Reading: Unmarriagable by Soniah Kamal Truly Devious by Maureen Johnson Come tell us how keyloggers work or send us your slubmission! hatereadcast @ gmail Twitter: @hatereadcast, @amdeebee, @emnoteliza Instagram: @hatereadcast hatereadcast.wordpress.com

Episode 138 of One Week Only! It's a new year, and we're back with the first new independent & international films in cinemas! Our key film this week is "The Heiresses" We also review the anime anthology "Modest Heroes" from Studio Ponoc, the Mexican comedy "Perfect Strangers" by Manolo Caro, the WWI documentary "They Shall Not Grow Old" by Peter Jackson, the Golden Bear-winning drama "Touch Me Not", and the survival thriller "Rust Creek". Hosted by Carlos Aguilar and Conor Holt. Music by Kevin MacLeod at www.incompetech.com

Oscar season is in full swing, and we're talking about the submission for Best Foreign Language Film! Since the 9-film shortlist will be announced on Monday, December 17th, we're talking about our favorite submissions, from heavy hitters like "Roma," "Cold War" and "Shoplifters" to lesser-known gems like "The Heiresses," "The Wedding Ring" and "Woman at War." We know it's a long episode, but there are so many great films to talk about! The films are discussed in alphabetical order by country. Hosted by Carlos Aguilar & Conor Holt. Music by Kevin MacLeod at www.incompetech.com

Our critics panel weigh in on whether the new Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody is actually any good. Paraguayan director Marcelo Martinessi on his debut feature The Heiresses. Joel Edgerton is in the studio discussing Boy Erased, a film he wrote, directed and stars in opposite Nicole Kidman and Russell Crowe, and TV host Mark Humphries shares five TV shows that he loves.

Our critics panel weigh in on whether the new Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody is actually any good. Paraguayan director Marcelo Martinessi on his debut feature The Heiresses. Joel Edgerton is in the studio discussing Boy Erased, a film he wrote, directed and stars in opposite Nicole Kidman and Russell Crowe, and TV host Mark Humphries shares five TV shows that he loves.

Catch-up reviews of The Darkest Minds, The Escape, The Heiresses & Under The TreeDIRECT LINK

Bullet-Point film reviews of The Darkest Minds, The Escape, The Heiresses, Under The Tree & The Eyes Of Orson WellesDIRECT LINK

Bestselling multi-genre author of UPON YOUR RETURN and 21 other books. March 2016 Empress of the Universe title - winner of the "Broken Heart" themed contest and the "I Love You" themed contest on Poetry Universe. SECOND CHANCE HEART and A LITTLE MAGICK placed in the TOP 10 on the 2015 P&E Readers' Poll. Nominated in the TRR Readers' Choice Awards for Winter 2015. Poetry winner of the 2015 PnPAuthors Contest. The Versatile Blogger Award for 2015. Marie Lavender lives in the Midwest with her family and three cats. She has been writing for a little over twenty-five years. She has more works in progress than she can count on two hands. Since 2010, Marie has published 22 books in the genres of historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, fantasy, science fiction, mystery/thriller, dramatic fiction, literary fiction and poetry. She has also contributed to several multi-author anthologies. Her current series are The Heiresses in Love Series, The Magick Series, The Blood at First Sight Series and The Code of Endhivar Series. Join the Thorne & Cross newsletter for updates, book deals, specials, exclusives, and upcoming guests on Thorne & Cross: Haunted Nights LIVE! by visiting Tamara and Alistair at their websites: alistaircross.com and tamarathorne.com This is a copyrighted, trademarked podcast owned solely by the Authors on the Air Global Radio, LLC.

Marie Lavender lives in the Midwest with her family and three cats. She has been writing for over twenty years. She has more works in progress than she can count on two hands. Since 2010, Marie has published twenty books in the genres of historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, fantasy, mystery/thriller, literary fiction and poetry. Her current series are The Heiresses in Love Series, The Magick Series and The Blood at First Sight Series. Join the Thorne & Cross newsletter for updates, book deals, specials, exclusives, and upcoming guests on Thorne & Cross: Haunted Nights LIVE! by visiting Tamara and Alistair at their websites: alistaircross.com and tamarathorne.com This is a copyrighted, trademarked podcast owned solely by the Authors on the Air Global Radio, LLC.

The boys get wet for shark attack romp The Meg, YA adaptation The Darkest Minds, ransom thriller The Negotiator, ensemble dramedy Dog Days, black comedy Under the Tree, animated true story Sgt. Stubby: An American Hero, art documentary Leaning into the Wind: Andy Goldsworthy, and Paraguayan dramedy The Heiresses. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the cinema... this week’s show sees Jason Statham take on an epically-sized shark in sci-fi schlock-buster The Meg, while a Paraguayan aristocrat embarks on a journey of self-discovery in Marcelo Martinessi’s debut feature The Heiresses. Michael Leader, Beth Webb and Hannah Woodhead are on board to offer their thoughts on all that, plus we take a look back at the classic ’80s black comedy, Heathers. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Gary Scott reviews The Heiresses, The Spy Who Dumped Me, The Darkest Minds, Damsel, the new season of Married at First Sight, 90 Day Fiancé, the first week on the plant based diet and it ends with the Message Of The Week.

Where we fight about some what is based on some 'fo real, 'fo real shit and our Sydney Film Festival favourites, what should have been competing for the top prize and what you should look out for in cinemas

Eavesdrop on an Italian lunch with award-winning science fiction author A. M. Dellamonica as we discuss how a long list of random things she liked eventually grew into her first novel, the intricate magic system she created for her series, how her novel Child of a Hidden Sea taught her she was less of a plotter and more of a pantser than she'd thought, the doggerel she wrote when she was five years old (which you'll get to hear her recite), how discovering Suzy McKee Charnas at age 15 was incendiary, which run of comics made her a Marvel fan, what it was like attempting to live up to the pioneering vision of Joanna Russ while editing the anthology Heiresses of Russ, which YouTube series happens to be one of her favorite things in the world, the way John Crowley's teachings might have been misinterpreted by her class during the Clarion Science Fiction Writers Workshop, the three mystery novels of hers you'll hopefully be reading in the future, and much more.

Listen to the heiresses of Heir to the Streets spill the tea , per usual. Everyone knows 2018 has been claimed as the Year Of Cardi B with hit singles , made in minutes gold album , and now a baby little baby girl on the way. Is Cardi the modern day Lauryn Hill, having a child during her rise of stardom? Moe and Bree, even shared their personal views on when would be the right time for them to settle down and what were their life plans.Tristan Thompson was caught cheating on his pregnant fiancé Khloe Kardashian, so of course that had to be discussed . This week was full of celebrity drama and these Heiresses are always in the middle of DRAMA. Listen to Moe's Peasant on the Street to figure out what guy completely turned her off. This is Heir to the Streets !!!! Follow us on Instagram @paper_check_bag @moe.jojojo @hairtothestreetz Song: Nice For What -Drake

    Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode #53 for March 29, 2018. This is your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing these stories with you. Today we have three GlitterShip originals for you: a poem, a piece of flash fiction, and a short story for you. The poem is "Cucumber" by Penny Stirling.   Penny Stirling edits and embroiders in Western Australia. Their speculative fiction and poetry can be found in Lackington's, Interfictions, Strange Horizons, Heiresses of Russ, Transcendent and other venues. For aroace discussion and bird photography, follow them at www.pennystirling.com or on Twitter @numbathyal. Cucumber   Penny Stirling     He lullabies my ghosts so I can sleep in, my life-compeer, my comrade-errant, and I risk griffin bite for his medicine. We don't kiss or act how a couple should and people enquire: when will we progress? Surely we've been just friends long enough.   We find tracking migrating dragons more wondrous than our hearts, entrusting each other's lives in combat more significant than vows, unearthing riddle-hid treasure before rivals more satisfying than sex; we are closer than quest-allies yet less physical than love-couples. But feelings outside romance have less import even if we are one another's most important. Just friends.   He doesn't care, he says. He never cares what allies or enemies say, he says. I say enough! My life-partner, my peril-mate, we are enough. But I just have had enough. My friend, please: matching rings, balance-enchanted. He doesn't care, either, congratulated for finally maturing enough.   We don't kiss or act how a couple should yet people don't enquire if we will progress. Being just spouse and spouse is enough.   END   Izzy Wasserstein teaches English at a midwestern university, writes poetry and fiction, and shares a house with several animal companions and the writer Nora E. Derrington. Her work has recently appeared in or is forthcoming from Clarkesworld, Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Pseudopod and elsewhere. She is an enthusiastic member of the 2017 class of Clarion West. She likes to slowly run long distances. Her website is izzywasserstein.com Ports of Perceptions   Izzy Wasserstein       Chase had come down with both kind of viruses, and worried Hunter had been growing distant, so Hunter suggested they indulge in some PKD. While the drug kicked in, they sprawled on the mattress in Hunter’s flat and exchanged. Hunter’s arm-ports synched with the receivers on Chase’s back and data flowed between them, which they agreed was worth the risk, despite Chase’s cold and the v0x virus still being rooted out by antivi. Chase felt Hunter’s concern turn to desire, and they explored each other and the PKD. Chase unclasped each of their right forearms, then swapped them. Hunter’s arm, which was, or had been, or would be Chase’s, moved over their bodies. They disconnected Hunter’s not-quite-legal sensory enhancer and synched it with Chase’s, and the rush was like data exchange but more immediate, more vivid. They swapped more parts as the sensory loop built between them. Soon Chase cried out for release, but Hunter let anticipation build, feeling Chase’s rising desire, which was Hunter’s. The drug worked on their flesh, their firmware, their coil of tech and limbs; it bypassed the neurons that told Chase which body was Chase’s, which Hunter’s, that told Hunter where Hunter ended and the Universe began; and so they grew into each other, their bodies and consciousnesses spreading from their node across the web. They were together. They were everywhere. When finally they collapsed and held one another, Chase said Hunter’s name, or Hunter said Chase’s, or each said their own. They lay in the tangle of each other, and Chase was Hunter and Hunter’s thoughts were Chase’s, and neither was sure where they ended and reality began. Hunter caught Chase’s cold, or had always had it, or had always been Chase. Neither cared, if indeed they had ever been separate. END Amy Griswold is the author (with Melissa Scott) of Death by Silver (winner of the Lambda Literary Award) and A Death at the Dionysus Club, fantasy/mystery novels set in an alternate Victorian England. Her interactive novel The Eagle's Heir (with Jo Graham) was published in 2017, and their second interactive novel Stronghold, a heroic fantasy game about defending a town and building a community, is forthcoming in 2018. The Questing Beast   Amy Griswold       The first time Sir Palamedes is tempted to give up pursuing the Questing Beast, he is tramping through the woods on a bleak winter day, his frosty breath hanging in a white cloud each time he exhales.  His feet are sore, and his shoes are worn thin.  His horse went lame a week ago, and is returning home in the uncertain care of Palamedes' squire.  Palamedes is following the sound of distant barking, and is beginning to think the sound will drive him mad. He is far off any beaten track, although he can see the prints of men and horses frozen into the icy turf.  They might have been following the Questing Beast themselves, overcome with wonder at a sight that Palamedes is beginning to find commonplace.  Or they might have been about some other errand entirely.  They might even now be sipping mulled wine by a warm fire at home, rather than tramping through the woods after an abominable beast. The trees are thinning, and through them Palamedes can see the rutted track of a road.  It will be easier walking, and surely he can pick up the trail of the Beast again later.  Nothing else leaves such tracks, shaped like the hoofprints of a deer but dug deep into the turf under its monstrous weight.  Nothing else makes such a clamor, like a pack of hounds gone mad with no answering music of horns. He smells smoke before he sees the little camp by the side of the road. A horse is picketed and cropping at the thin brown grass, and a man is warming his hands over the fire.  His shield is propped against a log, and it is by the arms more than by his travel-dirtied face that Palamedes knows him: Sir Tristan, who swore to kill Palamedes when they last met. They have been sworn enemies for years, for reasons that begin to seem increasingly absurd. Once when Palamedes was a light-hearted youth, Iseult the Fair smiled at him, and he supposes that explains why he and Tristan must be enemies, even though Iseult has long since wedded Mark of Cornwall in obedience to her duty.  He suspects that competing for a lady's adulterous favors is less than the true spirit of chivalry. And yet he pauses, thinking of Iseult with sunlight on her hair, her face tipped up to him as she asked him curiously about distant Babylon which he will never see again.  She did not scorn him for keeping faith with the gods of his childhood.  Perhaps she would never have married a pagan, but there can be no question of marriage, now.  If Tristan fell, and he were there to bring her the comfort she would not seek in her unloving husband's arms … But these are unworthy thoughts.  If he steps out of the woods and declares himself, it will be to meet Tristan in battle as Tristan has long desired.  Tristan looks cold and drawn, clearly the worse for his travels, but surely no more so than Palamedes himself.  Tristan has been riding, not walking, his heavy cloak not frayed to shreds and his boots not worn parchment-thin.  It would be a fair fight, surely. The sound of hounds baying rises over the woods, a wild familiar clamor.  Tristan lifts his head, gazes into the trees for a moment, and then turns back to warming his hands, like a man too weary to think wonders any of his concern. Palamedes turns and sees the Questing Beast through the trees, distant but clear, its serpent's neck outstretched, its heavy leopard's body, from which the barking of hounds perpetually sounds, crouching balanced on its cloven hooves.  The beast itself is mute, no sound coming from its throat even when it opens its mouth as if to taste the air. The voice that whispers in his head is an older one, the goddess of his childhood, Anahita-of-the-beasts.  Or perhaps there is no voice at all, only the familiar sound of his own thoughts, his only companion on his long road. Will you keep faith with him, or with your oath? it asks. He swore to follow the Beast, and not only at his leisure.  Palamedes turns his back on the fire, the fight, and the ease of following the road, and follows the Questing Beast, quickening his steps as the Beast begins to run.   The second time Sir Palamedes is tempted to stop pursuing the Questing Beast, he is riding down a well-traveled road on a warm summer evening.  He has met with many travelers, and answered their courteous inquiries with the tale of his quest, which is becoming wearisome to tell. Most of them look at him as if he is mad, which is not entirely out of the question. The tracks of the Beast are dug deep into the mud beside the road, and he does not fear losing its trail, though it must be a day or more ahead of him.  It will sleep, for the night, and so must he.  He turns his horse's head from the road into a meadow beside a running stream.  Another traveler is camped there already, and as Palamedes dismounts he prepares to tell his story once again. Tristan emerges from his tent, stops as he recognizes Palamedes, and stands staring, apparently at a loss for words.  He looks well-fed and well-rested this time, and certainly fit for a duel. But it feels a bit ridiculous at this point to call themselves mortal enemies, having rescued each other from perils that interfered with their duel to the death so many times that it’s clear neither of them relishes having the duel at all. "Well met, Sir Tristan," he says.  "May I share your camp, or must we settle our differences on the field of arms first?" "I expect it can wait until morning," Tristan says.  "Sit and have some dinner." They share a roasted grouse and sit chewing over the bones as the stars come out. "You've never told me how you came to hunt the Questing Beast," Tristan says. He supposes he hasn't, although it feels as if he's told the tale to everyone in England.  "Sir Pellinore was growing old," he says.  "But he said he couldn't lay down his charge until there was a man willing to take it up, and he wouldn't lay such a thing on his sons." "So he laid it on you?  That seems sharp dealing." "I offered to do it," Palamedes says.  "And I suppose he thought as a stranger to these shores I wouldn't be leaving a home and responsibilities behind."  He shrugs.  "I don't regret it." "You've had little chance of winning a lady this way, though," Tristan says, as close as Palamedes thinks they will come to speaking of Iseult.  He wonders how many years it has been since Tristan has seen her.  "Surely that must come hard." "One hardly misses what one has never had," Palamedes says.  The memory of Iseult is a distant dream.  The reality is this, the road, the quest, and the sometime company of other knights who are willing to go some distance down his unending road at his side.  "If I have been deprived of the favors of fair ladies, I have had the friendship of the most gallant of knights." "I hope you count me among them," Tristan says, and Palamedes does, although he is aware they still might end by shedding each other's blood on the thirsty earth. "I would be honored," he says, and reaches out a hand to clasp Tristan's.  The other man's hand is rough and warm in his, the pulse beating hard under the skin.  It is a warm night full of possibilities.  He pulls Tristan toward him for a kiss he does not intend as brotherly. Tristan turns his head, and it ends up a brotherly salute after all.  "You know I am a Christian knight," he says.  Palamedes spreads his hands to grant that Tristan's god may be more forgiving of adultery than of other sins of the flesh.  The blood is high in Tristan's cheeks all the same, his eyes intent.  "If you were a Christian as well …" Palamedes breathes a laugh.  "Then you would feel it justified?" "Well so, if it brought you to Christ." It is a high-handed offer, and a perverse one, and still for a moment tempting.  Of all men, there are few he respects as much as Tristan, and few whose company he desires as much.  "And would you then bear me company on my quest?" "I think you would find if you accepted baptism that there were other quests more worth the pursuing," Tristan says.  "Whether the Grail or the peace of a Christian marriage and a family."  There is wistfulness in his voice when he speaks of such comforts, which certainly Tristan has never had himself. For a moment Palamedes is tempted himself to agree.  He does not regret his quest, it is true, but it is growing ever difficult to remember why it matters.  Friendship and ease would surely be worth putting himself in the bleeding hands of the Christian god. There is a breath of noise that might be the murmuring of the brook, but he knows it for the distant sound of hounds barking, barely a whisper on the wind. Are you his or mine? a voice says in the quiet of his heart, the warm implacable voice of Anahita-of-the-winds with her outstretched hands. "I can only be as I am," Palamedes says, and stands.  "And I have tarried here too long.  If I ride through the night, I can at least get closer to my quarry."  He bows to Tristan.  "We can fight next time we meet." "I will look forward to it," Tristan says quite courteously, and Palamedes swings himself up to the saddle and turns his horse's head into the darkness.   The third time Palamedes is tempted to stop pursuing the Questing Beast, he dismounts to drink at a forest stream in a crisp autumn, and raises his head to see the Questing Beast on the other side of the stream, its head bent to the water. It is silent while drinking, as if the water calms the maddened hounds who howl from its belly.  Palamedes reaches silently for the bow hung from his saddle, and fits an arrow to the string.  He draws it back, aiming for the Beast's heart.  One clean shot will bring it down, and end his quest forever. The Beast's eyes are closed as if in pleasure at the taste of the cool water.  Its sinuous neck lowers, and it settles down on its haunches, resting in the mossy bank.  It must be an effort to support that bulk on ill-fitted hooves, and to sleep with the noise of baying eternally in its own ears. It is the child of a human woman, or so Pellinore told him, the child of a liar who lusted after her own brother and lay with a demon to win him.  It will never have a mate or a home.  He thinks for a moment that he knows how it must feel. But Palamedes has friends he has loved well, and the satisfaction of having mended a hundred small hurts while on the road: he has fought monsters and found lost sheep, brought stray children back to their mothers and jousted with menacing giants.  The road has been more a reward to him than a punishment.  He wonders which it is for the Beast, and knows that he will never know. Palamedes puts down the bow and stoops to fill his cupped hands with water.  The Beast startles at the movement, raising its serpentine head and staring at him with its unblinking eyes, its whole body poised for flight. He holds out his hands to it, and the Beast takes one step into the water, and then another, and then lowers its head to drink.  Its flickering tongue is warm.  It stands quietly, trusting, and Palamedes knows that this is a wonder no other man has seen before him. Would the Grail be better? a voice asks, the teasing voice of Anahita-of-the-waters. "You know it would not," he says aloud.  The Beast raises its head sharply at the sound, the clamor of barking beginning again.  It whips its bulk around and springs away, the barking retreating through the underbrush. Palamedes bends to drink, and then mounts his horse again, turning its head toward the sound of baying hounds.  It is a long afternoon's pursuit through the cool clear autumn air, the leaves turning to all the colors of a tapestry lit by dancing flames. The trees thin at the edge of the wood, and when he comes out onto the road, he is somehow unsurprised to see a familiar knight riding under a familiar banner.  Tristan's face is set in lines of frustration, and Palamedes supposes that he has been trying to persuade Iseult to run away with him again, as suitably impossible a quest as any. "Well met, Sir Tristan," he says, falling in beside him on the road.  "May I ride a little ways with you, or must we stop to have our battle?" "We might ride on a little ways beforehand," Tristan says.  He smiles, and some few of his cares seem to lift from him.  "Have you given more thought to baptism since last we met?  It seems to me you were undecided when we spoke before." "I was not, and I am not," Palamedes says.  "But you may go on trying to persuade me."  He spurs his horse on to a faster walk, knowing soon enough he will have to turn away from the road toward the sound of distant baying.  But for now he has a good road underfoot, and on such a fine day, he cannot think of any road he would rather be traveling.   END “Cucumber” is copyright Penny Stirling 2018. "Ports of Perceptions" is copyright Izzy Wasserstein 2018. "The Questing Beast" is copyright Amy Griswold 2018. This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library. You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, or by leaving reviews on iTunes. Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint.

A women's tale to portray today's Paraguay. The post Marcelo Martinessi – Las Herederas (The Heiresses) #Berlinale2018 appeared first on Fred Film Radio.

A women's tale to portray today's Paraguay. The post Marcelo Martinessi – Las Herederas (The Heiresses) #Berlinale2018 appeared first on Fred Film Radio.

A women's tale to portray today's Paraguay. The post Marcelo Martinessi – Las Herederas (The Heiresses) #Berlinale2018 appeared first on Fred Film Radio.

A women's tale to portray today's Paraguay. The post Marcelo Martinessi – Las Herederas (The Heiresses) #Berlinale2018 appeared first on Fred Film Radio.

A women's tale to portray today's Paraguay. The post Marcelo Martinessi – Las Herederas (The Heiresses) #Berlinale2018 appeared first on Fred Film Radio.

A women's tale to portray today's Paraguay. The post Marcelo Martinessi – Las Herederas (The Heiresses) #Berlinale2018 appeared first on Fred Film Radio.

Relaunching, rebranding and re-getting our shit together. The UNARTISTE Podcast with hosts Denzel and Kofi is finally back and this time round with occasional guests. Expect more consistent episodes with even more drama than before. Discussing the train wreck AKA Pop Culture, Accra living and all the hottest places to be. A weekly podcast available on Thursdays!

Relaunching, rebranding and re-getting our shit together. The UNARTISTE Podcast with hosts Denzel and Kofi is finally back and this time round with occasional guests. Expect more consistent episodes with even more drama than before. Discussing the train wreck AKA Pop Culture, Accra living and all the hottest places to be. A weekly podcast available on Thursdays!

Bestselling multi-genre author of UPON YOUR RETURN and 21 other books. March 2016 Empress of the Universe title - winner of the "Broken Heart" themed contest and the "I Love You" themed contest on Poetry Universe. SECOND CHANCE HEART and A LITTLE MAGICK placed in the TOP 10 on the 2015 P&E Readers' Poll. Nominated in the TRR Readers' Choice Awards for Winter 2015. Poetry winner of the 2015 PnPAuthors Contest. The Versatile Blogger Award for 2015. Marie Lavender lives in the Midwest with her family and three cats. She has been writing for a little over twenty-five years. She has more works in progress than she can count on two hands. Since 2010, Marie has published 22 books in the genres of historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, fantasy, science fiction, mystery/thriller, dramatic fiction, literary fiction and poetry. She has also contributed to several multi-author anthologies. Her current series are The Heiresses in Love Series, The Magick Series, The Blood at First Sight Series and The Code of Endhivar Series. http:Visit Tamara and Alistair at their websites. Alistair’s novel, THE ANGEL ALEJANDRO is available! Sign up HERE for Thorne & Cross book updates, special deals, upcoming guests on Haunted Nights LIVE! and more.

Sarah’s Child Susan Jane Bigelow Once, I dreamed that I had a son named Sheldon, and my grief tore a hole in the fabric of the world. In my dream I walked through the halls of an elementary school, and I went into the office. Everything was gray and blocky, but somehow not oppressive. I was certain, then, that it was the elementary school in my old hometown, and that I was both myself and also not myself. Full transcript after the cut ----more---- Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 28 for May 24, 2016. This is your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you. Our story this week is "Sarah's Child" by Susan Jane Bigelow, read by Amanda Ching. Susan Jane Bigelow is a fiction writer, political columnist, and librarian. She mainly writes science fiction and fantasy novels, most notably the Extrahuman Union series from Book Smugglers Publishing. Her short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Apex Magazine, Lightspeed Magazine’s “Queers Destroy Science Fiction” issue, and the Lamba Award-winning “The Collection: Short Fiction from the Transgender Vanguard,” among others. She lives with her wife in northern Connecticut, and can be found at the bottom of a pile of cats. Amanda Ching is a freelance editor and writer. Her work has appeared in Storm Moon Press, Candlemark & Gleam's Alice: (re)Visions, and every bathroom stall on I-80 from Pittsburgh to Indianapolis. She tweets @cerebralcutlass and blogs at http://amandaching.wordpress.com. Sarah’s Child Susan Jane Bigelow Once, I dreamed that I had a son named Sheldon, and my grief tore a hole in the fabric of the world. In my dream I walked through the halls of an elementary school, and I went into the office. Everything was gray and blocky, but somehow not oppressive. I was certain, then, that it was the elementary school in my old hometown, and that I was both myself and also not myself. I asked for Sheldon. “Ms. Harp is here,” someone said, and then there he was. He was blond, maybe five or six, with a round face like my sister’s. He smiled toothily up at me. I took his hand. “Come on, honey,” I said. “Let’s go.” And then I woke up. Janet snored softly next to me. I touched the space on my body where my womb would have been, if I’d been born with one, and ached. It was a mistake to tell Janet. “So you had a dream,” she said, crunching her toast. She ate it plain, no butter. “So what?” She was wearing that muscle shirt that made me melt, and her short hair was a mess from sleep. Janet was athletic, butch and pint-sized, and she wore her queerness like a pair of brass knuckles. I was lucky to have her. “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seemed so real.” “I dreamed I was a hockey player,” Janet said, popping the last piece of toast into her mouth. “But I ain’t one.” “I know.” I stabbed at my breakfast, not feeling all that hungry. “Never mind.” She came over and kissed the top of my head. “Sorry, babe. I know it bugs you sometimes.” She put her dishes in the sink. “You aren’t gonna start asking about sperm donors or anything, right? Did you freeze yours?” “No,” I said. “And no. I didn’t.” There’d really been no point. When I had my surgery I’d been in the middle of the divorce with Liz. Kids were out of the question. “Cool. You gonna be okay?” I nodded. “All right. I gotta hit the shower. See you at the game tonight!” She headed off to the shower, humming happily to herself. She usually took half an hour in there, so I’d be long gone by the time she came out. I poked at my scrambled eggs again, then tossed them out. I couldn’t shake the dream, though, so I went through my day in a fog. People at work asked me if I was all right, and I just shook my head mutely. Sure. Fine, just a little haunted. I didn’t go directly home that night. Instead, I drove the half hour north to Elm Hill, and parked outside the elementary school. School was long over, though a few kids played on the ball fields and ran around the swings. I shut the car off and got out. There was a hint of fall in the air, though the leaves hadn’t turned yet. I walked through the playground, passing by my own ghosts on the steps, by the wall, on the baseball field, and up to the fence. There was a little rock there, smaller than I remembered. I sat on it, and thought about Sheldon. This was silly. It was just a dream. I’d had dreams about motherhood before. Pregnancy, babies, those dreams came with the hormones. Everybody had them, or said they did. So why wouldn’t this one let me go? I sighed. Somewhere across the playground, a father with two daughters was watching me. I waved at him, and he turned quickly around again. Dads don’t like me. Impulsively, I rummaged in my purse and found the little reporter’s notebook I kept handy. I’m not a reporter, I work in layout and design for the magazine, but somewhere along the line I’d picked up a few of their habits. I pulled a pen out of my purse and started to write.   Hi Sheldon My hand shook. What was I doing? This was stupid. There was no Sheldon. But my traitor hand kept writing.   I hope you’re doing okay. I hope you had a nice day. I used to play on this rock when I was little, like you. I hope you have a lot of friends, and that you’re happy.   Your friend, Sarah I couldn’t bring myself to sign it ‘Mom.’ My phone chimed, and I pulled it out. There were two texts there. One was from Janet, wondering where I was. Guilty—I’d forgotten her game—I texted her back that I’d be there in about half an hour. The other was from a number I’d never seen before. It was a weird combination of letters and numbers, and there was no name. From: AC67843V-D Hey I can take Sheldon Friday txt me back –D Angry, I texted back—   Not funny, Janet —and put the phone away. I folded the paper up and thought about chucking it away. Then I folded it again and stuck it in a little crack in the rock. Maybe somehow it would find its way to him, wherever he was, and he’d leave me alone. Janet was a little peeved that I’d missed the start of the game. She took softball seriously, and the fall league was special in some way that I’d tried my best not to understand. But I got there in time for the fourth inning, which meant I got to see her steal third base, so it wasn’t a total loss. “Where were you?” she asked as we were downing beer and pizza with the team after. “Just got held up,” I said. “At work. You know how it is.” “They exploit you,” she said, pointing at me with the business end of a slice of pizza. “You shouldn’t let them do that. It’s cause you’re trans—” I winced. Tell the whole pizza joint, why don’t you? “—that they think they can take advantage, cause you’re desperate for work. You shouldn’t take it.” “No,” I said. “It’s fine.” “Damn it, Sarah,” said Janet. “You gotta stick up for yourself! You never do. You just let Liz roll away with your house and car and money, and you let your boss get all kinds of unpaid labor out of you. You need to grow a spine.” And I let you boss me around, too, I thought, eating a slice of pizza. So what? “You didn’t have to send me that text,” I said. “What, I just wanted to know where you were!” she said. “No, the other one. The Sheldon one? That was mean.” She blinked. “I never sent you anything about Sheldon. Who’s Sheldon?” That night I dreamed about driving around the streets of my hometown. The town was different in that way familiar things change in dreams, but I still knew it was Elm Hill. I took a turn and pulled into the parking lot of a condo complex. “Home, home,” sang a little voice in the seat next to me. I looked over and there was Sheldon, smiling up at me. I got out of the car and walked around to his side, my heels clicking on the pavement. I opened the door and helped him out. I glanced in the window, and saw reflected back a face that was and wasn’t mine. I woke up, the feel of Sheldon’s cold little hand in mine burned into my memory. My mother was no help at all. “Your sister’s pregnant,” she announced when I called her over lunch. “Again?” I asked. Patty seemed to get pregnant with alarming regularity. This would be her fourth. “So she says. I hope it’s a summer baby. They could name her June. Such a pretty name. I wanted to name you June, if you’d been a girl.” I’m a girl now, I thought, but didn’t say. “The baby would be born earlier than that, right? It’s only September.” “Well, you never know. And think what an interesting story that would be! ‘This is my daughter June, she was born in May!’ Wouldn’t that be an interesting story?” “Sure. How’s Dad?” I asked, quickly changing the subject. “Same as ever,” she grumped, launching into a long story about how he was out with his golf buddies all the time and never home. Not that she wanted him home, of course. I almost told her about Sheldon. He was still haunting me. But what would I have said? Instead, I listened as she told me about Dad, passed judgment on the sorry state of my career, and questioned whether Janet was right for me. I made the appropriate noises at the appropriate times, and excused myself to go back to work when the time came. That evening I found myself pulled back to the parking lot of the elementary school in Elm Hill, looking out over the playground and thinking wistfully of what might have been. Maybe I should find a therapist, I thought. Maybe I should get help. I got out of the car and strolled across the field, trying not to look guilty. I didn’t see the dad from yesterday. I sat myself back down on the rock, and sighed. The piece of paper was still wedged into that crack. This is ridiculous, I thought. Why was I even here? I was lucky. I knew I was. I had a home, a cute girlfriend, and a job. I didn’t get abuse on the streets. I wasn’t young anymore and I was never pretty, but so what? So what. Why did I want what I could never, ever have so badly? Suddenly furious, I ripped the paper out of the wedge in the rock. I was about to tear it to shreds when I noticed that the paper was a soft blue color. My notebook only had white lined. Curious, I opened it up. There, in a child’s blocky script, was written: HELLO I like beinG on the Rock. I make Believe its a SPACE SHIP. My mommy is nice and a DIKe and is coming to pick me up soon. Do you like Dinosars?   SHELDON My hands began to shake. This had to be some trick. I turned the paper over, looking for signs, but there was only the name of the paper company on the back. “Bloomfield Paper - Made in the R.N.E.” was stamped next to a little pine tree flag. There was no other mark, nothing to indicate where this had come from. I got out my pen and paper again, and wrote another note.   Hi Sheldon   I like space ships, and I like dinosaurs. I’m very glad your mommy is nice. I hope you had a nice day today, too.   Sarah I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Before I lost my nerve I wedged the note back into the rock, and left quickly. I went back to the rock the next day, and sure enough, there was another blue paper stuck in the crack. This time it was a crude picture of a dinosaur, signed by Sheldon. For Sara, it read, spelling my name wrong. I smiled, touched, and tried not to think about what a creep I was being to somebody’s poor kid. I tucked the drawing into my purse. Just then my phone rang, and I almost jumped out of my skin. I checked my phone; it was that same combination of letters and numbers as the text from yesterday had been. AC67843V-D. Hesitantly, I answered it. “H...hello?” “Hey, June,” a man’s bored-sounding voice said. “I can’t take Sheldon on Friday after all. Sorry.” Sheldon. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying and failing to keep the quavering out of my voice. “I’m not June.” “What?” The voice on the other end sounded very confused. “Oh. Huh. Wrong number, I guess. You sure you’re… you sound just like her. Weird.” “I’m Sarah,” I said. “And you’re on your own phone?” “Yes.” “Huh. Well, if you see June tell her David can’t pick up Sheldon Friday.” The line went dead, leaving me shivering in the bright sunny afternoon. That night I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, listening to Janet snore, turning it all over in my mind. At last I got up and paced, restless and weary at the same time. I fixed myself a cup of tea and sat in the living room, surrounded by books, stacks of DVDs, my old board games and framed prints of the brassy 40s pin-up girls Janet was obsessed with. The place felt like us, and calmed me down a little. I took the picture and the note Sheldon had sent me out of my purse, unfolded them, and smoothed them out on the coffee table in front of me. “Hey,” Janet said. I jumped, knocking my tea onto the floor. “I’m sorry!” I said, leaping up. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, smiling sleepily. “I’ll get some paper towels.” I sat back down, trembling. Janet returned and mopped up the tea on the floor. “I’m sorry,” was all I could think of to say. “Eh, that floor’s tough. I’ve spilled way worse on it.” Janet sat next to me and noticed the drawing and the note. She picked them up and looked them over. “What’re these?” “Nothing,” I said too quickly. “Just some old things I found.” Janet looked like she wanted to say something, but swallowed it. “Come back to bed,” she said eventually, and padded off back toward the bedroom. I put the picture and the note away, and followed. I finally fell asleep about 3 AM. This time I dreamed I was at a café, talking with my mother. Except she wasn’t exactly my mother: she had longer, grayer hair, and was thinner and better dressed than my mother usually was. “And I found it in his backpack,” I was saying, in a voice that wasn’t quite mine. “I thought he had a girlfriend or something. But doesn’t this look like an adult’s writing?” She pushed a piece of paper across the table at my mother. I was somehow not surprised to see the note I’d written to Sheldon sitting there. My mother picked it up and frowned that distinctive thoughtfully disapproving frown. “There’s no teacher there named Sarah?” “None,” I confirmed. “He says he just finds it in the rock.” “You should ask the principal to look into it,” my mother said. “Or tell your deadbeat ex. Wasn’t he supposed to take Sheldon today?” “He was,” I sighed. “Then he backed out without telling me. He swears now that he did tell me, but I don’t know.” “Does this have to do with that Janet woman?” Janet? “Ma, I told you, I don’t know any Janets.” “She seemed awfully friendly. Little Xs and Os in her text.” My mother narrowed her eyes in that way she had when she knew something was up. “June, you’re hiding something. Is it true, what David said? That you’re a… you know?” My mommy is nice and a DIKe, Sheldon had written. What had this David person been telling him? I drummed my fingers on the counter, stalling, but just then Sheldon came back from wherever he’d been, and we talked about nothing else besides him until I woke up. “Didn’t sleep at all?” said Janet, taking in my bleary expression that morning.   “Some,” I said, cradling my cup of coffee with my trembling hands. Thank goodness it was Saturday. “I had more dreams.” Janet sat, not looking at me. “Sarah? If you were in some kind of trouble, or if something was really wrong, you’d tell me, right?” “I’m not in trouble,” I said quickly. “At least, I don’t think so.” “But you can’t sleep,” she pressed, still not looking at me. “You’ve been home late. You had those notes from a kid last night. And… you look like you got hit by a truck this morning.” She visibly braced herself, then gave me one of her very serious looks. “What’s going on?” I thought about coming up with some half-assed excuse. I thought about saying “nothing” again and pretending it was all fine. I thought about being reassuring and hiding my pain like I always did. But I was so tired and heartsick that I told her everything. When I was done, Janet just sat there for a few minutes. “Wow,” she said at last. “I know.” “What do you think this all means?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I said, feeling utterly helpless. “I’d say it’s just bad dreams, but, what? You think the drawing and the note mean it’s real somehow? Sarah…” “I know, I know,” I said, miserable. I felt more exposed sitting there at the table than I ever did when I took off my clothes. “I’m sure there’s explanations. But the phone calls, the way June had my letters to Sheldon in my dream…” “June?” Suddenly Janet was alert. “Who’s June?” “Sheldon’s mother.” I shook my head, reaching for an explanation that made sense. “I… I think she’s me, or who I could have been. June is what my mother would have named me, if I’d been born a girl.” Janet pulled out her phone and paged through it, brow creased. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to hold back the tears. “I know this is weird! I just want to have a quiet morning. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She handed me the phone. “I sent you a text the other day,” she said. “I got this back.” From: AC88534J-J I’m not Sarah, who is this? My name is June. I just stared at it for a moment, shocked. Then I pulled out my own phone and showed her the text from “D,” who I now suspected was David. “I’ve never seen phone numbers like that,” said Janet. “But they’re similar to one another.” I started piecing it together in my mind. “Where were you when you got that text, Janet?” “A contract up in Elm Hill,” said Janet slowly. “Why?” “That’s where I was when I got the text, and the call,” I said excitedly. “That’s where the school is!” “But look, it gets even better,” said Janet, taking back the phone and poking the screen. “I got another one a few minutes later.” From: AC88534J-J Please don’t tell, but I think I’m gay. I have to tell someone. “Oh my God,” I said. “I thought it was someone pranking me at that point,” said Janet as I digested the text, agog. “Like Lisa. She does shit like this, and she knows how to do stuff with phones.” She tapped the phone thoughtfully. “But now… Jesus. Sarah, is this real?” “It is,” I said firmly. “It has to be.” “What’s going on?” Janet asked. “Why do you have such a connection with this Sheldon? I mean, he’s not your kid, right?” “No, not exactly. But June… She’s got my mother, the name I would have had.” “She’s you,” said Janet. “Or who you would have been, if…” “Yeah. If.” I said, and an entire world was contained in that world. “So what do we do about it?” Janet asked. It was a good question. Our parallel lives were crashing together, I was driving myself nuts from lack of sleep, and all I wanted was everything she had. This couldn’t go on. “I want to try to talk to them,” I said. I spent the whole weekend a wreck, trying not to think about the plan . I had more disjointed dreams about Sheldon and June, enough to know that June was talking with a therapist but couldn’t bring herself to say what she needed to say, and Sheldon was going through a serious dinosaur phase. I stayed far away from Elm Hill until Monday, though, when I drove up in the early morning to deliver a final note. I got the answer Monday afternoon. They’d be there. That night I dreamed about June, who was sitting up alone, looking at the notes I’d sent Sheldon, drinking. Tuesday afternoon came at last. Janet drove us up to Elm Hill; we didn’t say anything the whole way. When we got to the school, I had to sit for long moment, just staring out at the playground. A light rain had begun to fall, and there were no other children that day. Probably for the best. At last I steeled myself and got out of the car. “You’re sure they’ll show?” Janet asked dubiously. I nodded, clutching Sheldon’s note in my pocket. He’d said they would come. I believed him. “This is a bad idea,” said Janet, staring dubiously out at the damp playground. “You want to go home? We should go home. I can make dinner. You like my dinners.” “No,” I said firmly. “I’m going. You can stay here if you want.” Janet was speechless for a moment. I never stood up to her. But then she got out of the car. “Right behind you,” she said, giving me a little smile. Together, we marched across the damp grass to the rock. “So what happens now?” Janet said, crossing her arms and shifting from side to side. I was about to answer that I didn’t know when sunlight streamed in from somewhere just to my left. I jumped back, and shielded my eyes. The first form I saw was Sheldon’s. He stood there, holding his grandmother’s hand. She looked shocked as she saw us. She was so like my mother that the lack of recognition in her eyes was awful. And there… holding Sheldon’s other hand. She was shorter than me by a good six inches, and she had the narrow shoulders and face of my sisters. But she looked a little like me, too. We had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same hair. “June,” I whispered. “Are you Sarah?” June said. I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. “Sarah!” said Sheldon. He waved. “Hi Sheldon,” I said, voice catching. June hesitantly reached out a hand toward me, then drew it away again. “Are you… me?” I nodded again. “How? I don’t understand. You don’t look like me.” “No. I was born a boy.” “Oh?” Her eyes widened. “Oh!” Her eyes fell on Janet. “And you…?” “Janet,” my girlfriend said. “Hey.” “And you’re with… her?” Janet took my hand. I squeezed it, grateful “Awful,” said June’s mother. “Hush,” said June shakily. “Now what?” Janet asked softly. “Now we resolve things,” I said firmly. I understood it now, the way that June looked at Janet. The text she’d sent: I have to tell someone. We both had something the other one wanted. June had Sheldon, and everything he represented. And I… I had Janet. I looked, really looked, at Sheldon, and I felt an ache so bad that I began to cry. Janet put an arm around me, and pulled me close. I straightened. “June?” June looked at me, fear plain on her face. “She’ll be okay,” I said, nodding at her glowering mother. “You can tell her. I told her about me, a few years ago, and she wasn’t thrilled. But… we dealt with it and moved on. You have to, to be happy.” June shook her head furiously. “You don’t understand.” “I do,” I insisted, amazed at how calm I suddenly felt. “Better than anyone. You and me… everybody pushes us around. But we’re made of iron underneath. There’s a part of us that won’t bend.” June looked at me and I saw how helpless she must have felt. I remembered feeling like that… just before I changed my life forever. “I did it,” I said. Behind June and Sheldon was blue sky and bright sun. “You can, too.” June turned to her mother. “I’m gay, Mom,” she said softly. “I am. I am.” June’s mother huffed miserably. “I figured that out, genius. So what? See if I care. You’re still my daughter.” Chills ran down my spine. So what? my mother had said, all those years ago. See if I care. You’re still my child. June gave her mother a long, hard hug, then turned to me. She seemed to be standing straighter. “Iron,” I said. “Nice job,” said Janet, trying to be charitable. June laughed. She had this perfect voice; she was so beautiful in all the ways I wasn’t. And she had Sheldon. My heart cracked a little more. “I don’t suppose there’s one of you in my world?” she said to Janet. “Can’t hurt to check around,” said Janet. She pulled me close, possessive. “But I’m taken.” The sunlight began to dim, and June, Sheldon and June’s mother started fading. “Sarah,” said June. She looked more ghostly now. “If you want a baby… have one.” “I can’t,” I said. “I don’t even know if that’s what I want.” “It is,” said June, her voice the whisper of wind through the trees. “If you’re anything like me.” And then they vanished completely, leaving us alone in the rain. Janet rubbed my back as we drove home. “You okay?” she asked. I nodded. “I think so.” “Is it over?” “Yes,” I said, and I was certain. “She got what she wanted.” “You didn’t, though,” said Janet nervously. “I… think I did, though,” I said. “Somewhere in there I stopped wanting to be her. She has Sheldon, she’s short and pretty, but she doesn’t have you. And I like having you.” We drove on as the rain started coming down harder. I turned the wipers up to maximum. “We can talk it over, if you want?” Janet said hesitantly. “The, uh, baby thing.” I couldn’t say anything for a moment. “Really?” “Really,” said Janet. “I mean, I don’t hate the idea. I just hated the idea of having to, you know? And being pregnant…” She made a face. “I guess I can do it.” “You don’t have to,” I said quickly. “Yeah, but we can’t exactly adopt,” she said. “We’re a weird couple on a number of fronts.” “I know. But I’d rather have you than a baby.” Janet laughed, eyes bright. “That kind of talk makes me wish you had banked sperm. I’d bear your children right now.” “Maybe I can scrape out an old gym sock,” I said. She laughed again. I loved that sound. I loved how easy we were with one another. Janet snuggled against my arm. I was shocked; she almost never did that, even when I wasn’t driving through a rainstorm. “I’m glad you’re you, too, you know,” said Janet. “I didn’t like June. Too many lingering straight girl hang-ups, you know?” “Thanks, I think,” I said. “What I’m saying is… let’s just take it a little at a time. We’ve got time, right? We can have time.” She groaned in frustration. “I’m saying that wrong.” I slipped an arm around her. “I know what you mean,” I said as we drove south through the rain and back to our lives. “I know just what you mean.” One time I dreamed I had a son named Sheldon. I could never any sons of my own, or daughters. But I did have Janet, and better, I had myself. I wasn’t like June. I was like me. It was enough, and then some. END "Sarah's Child" was originally published in Strange Horizons in May 2014 and was reprinted in Heiresses of Russ 2015. This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license, which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the  Google Audio Library. Thanks for listening, and I’ll be back on June 7th with a GlitterShip original. You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy,  making a donation at paypal.me/keffy, subscribing to our feed, or by leaving reviews on iTunes. [Music Plays Out] Support GlitterShip!

Marie Lavender is an award-winning best-selling author of 22 books, including Second Chance Heart.   She has been writing for over 20 years in a variety of genres.   Second Chance Heart and A Little Magick  placed in the TOP 10 on the 2015 P&E Readers' Poll. Nominated in the TRR Readers' Choice Awards for Winter 2015. Poetry winner of the 2015 PnPAuthors Contest. Honorable Mention in the 2014 BTS Red Carpet Book Awards. Finalist and Runner-up in the 2014 MARSocial's Author of the Year Competition. Honorable mention in the January 2014 Reader's Choice Award. Liebster Blogger Award for 2013 and 2014. Top 10 Authors on AuthorsDB.com. Winner of the Great One Liners Contest on the Directory of Published Authors. She has more works in progress than she can count on two hands. Since 2010, Marie has published 22 books in the genres of historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, fantasy, mystery/thriller, literary fiction and poetry. Her current series are The Heiresses in Love Series, The Magick Series and The Blood at First Sight Series, though she has several others in the works. Marie is also a blogger and moderator for three guest author blogs: Writing in the Modern Age, Marie Lavenders Books! and the I Love Romance Blog.

Skeletonsby Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam   “Who’s gonna watch the skeletons?” I ask.            We’re about to go camping. Cathryn’s undressing before the closet in her garage apartment. I’m trying not to watch, though she wants me to. Instead I peer into her glass terrarium where the skeletons live, three of them: a dwarf T-Rex and two dwarf stegosauruses. The T-Rex stands atop a lonely pile of rocks.            “I was going to leave them extra food. You think that’s okay?” Cathryn rummages through the clothes pile on the floor, such beautiful chaos. I stare at her reflection in the glass. Her bra, lacey and black, makes me want to glimpse what’s underneath, even though I have before, five times.Full transcript appears after the cut.----more----Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 20 for January 19, 2016. This is your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you.Before we get started with this episode today, I've put together a small Listener's Poll for the first nine months of GlitterShip, covering the stories that we put out in 2015. This is intended to be a low-stress, just-because-I'm-curious poll. I will have the link up in the transcript on glittership.com, and you can also find it at: goo.gl/forms/sp9XsEJANj The poll will stay open through February 29, and I'll announce the results in one of the March episodes.Our story this week is "Skeletons" by Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam, read by guest reader Ranylt RichildisBonnie Jo Stufflebeam lives in Texas with her partner and two literarily-named cats–Gimli and Don Quixote. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast program and curates the annual Art & Words Show in Fort Worth, Texas. Her work has appeared in over 40 magazines and anthologies such as Clarkesworld, Lightspeed, SmokeLong Quarterly, and Goblin Fruit. You can visit her on Twitter @BonnieJoStuffle or at her website bonniejostufflebeam.com. She is represented by Ann Collette at Rees Literary Agency.Ranylt Richildis is a writer and editor based in Ottawa. Her short story, “Charlemagne and Florent,” was selected for Imaginarium 4: The Best Canadian Speculative Writing. Ranylt is the founding editor of the Aurora-nominated Lackington’s Magazine, an online SFF quarterly devoted to stories told in unusual or poetic language.Skeletonsby Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam“Who’s gonna watch the skeletons?” I ask.We’re about to go camping. Cathryn’s undressing before the closet in her garage apartment. I’m trying not to watch, though she wants me to. Instead I peer into her glass terrarium where the skeletons live, three of them: a dwarf T-Rex and two dwarf stegosauruses. The T-Rex stands atop a lonely pile of rocks.“I was going to leave them extra food. You think that’s okay?” Cathryn rummages through the clothes pile on the floor, such beautiful chaos. I stare at her reflection in the glass. Her bra, lacey and black, makes me want to glimpse what’s underneath, even though I have before, five times.“I guess so,” I say. I look back at the T-Rex. His name, Cathryn tells me, is Ronald. The steggos are called Thelma and Louise; she thinks she’s being ironic. The T-Rex’s bones are so small I'm sure that if I picked him up I would break him. His eyes are tiny as sequins and suspended in empty sockets. He wails like a cat in heat. “I think something’s wrong,” I say.“He’s just hungry, Emma. Feed him. Food’s next to the cage.”I open the yellow bottle of skeleton food; the musty smell makes me cough. The bottle is full of squiggling little worms. I pour some into the terrarium. Ronald clambers down the rocks. He dips his jaw into the worm pile and scoops them into his mouth, swallows. I can see them travel down his throat and into his empty bone stomach where they wriggle inside him.Cathryn clears her throat. She stands before me with her hands on her hips, wearing tight blue jeans and a bumblebee-striped halter top. She’s dressed for clubbing, not camping, and I realize that the kind of camping we’ll be doing won’t require the hiking shoes or the toilet paper I brought. I tell her she looks great. She does. I look back at the tank. The T-Rex peers up at me.“Let me free,” he whispers. His voice is like an echo. I can’t. We’re going camping.In the shallow forest we set up our tent. The land has been cleared for people like us, who want to be in nature but not too far in. Our tent is a miniature house. The box says it will fit twenty people, but we’ve only got five. It has French doors that fold down and collapsible walls to give everyone a sense of privacy, but through the first night I hear Cathryn and Anne, the girlfriend she brought along, their heavy breath and little moans. They make the whole tent sweat.The site is close to the river, but not too close. At night we cannot hear the current. The bathroom is just around the corner, and there’s a leaky water faucet next to where we parked the car, ten feet from the tent. Our friend Wendi brought a portable mini fridge and a fan; they run on batteries, but the fridge eats two an hour so we have to run to the store once a day and buy at least twelve packages of four. We make a game of it. In some ways the drive is the best part of the trip, mostly because Cathryn is the one with the car, and she’s asked me to go with her each time. We roll the windows down. She talks about the new girl, Anne, how they’ve just met but already spend nearly every night together. Every word she says feels like a secret between us. I don’t want to hear about Anne, but I don’t not want to hear about her either, because I want to know if she’s better than me. I want to know when we’ll share a bed again. I try to deduce the information from the cutesy story of how they met at the campus coffee shop, but I can’t, because Cathryn has always been unpredictable, mysterious. With her unflinching face she reveals nothing. Every time she asks me to get in the car with her, I do.The nearest trash can is two whole miles from our site, so we’re forced to rough it in that regard at least, dumping our food scraps into a plastic bag. Most of what we brought is food. Peanut butter, bread, baked beans in a can and hot dogs with mustard, two bottles of cheap red wine and a plastic handle of rum. Our broke friend Mike does the cooking. It’s his way of paying us back. He also does the majority of the drinking. He’s brought his set of oils, and his paint-stained hands dye whatever he touches. Each hot dog bun has a blue handprint, and by the time dinner’s finished the rum bottle is covered in fingerprints.The second night Wendi builds a fire and we sit around the flames. The smoke follows Cathryn. No matter where she sits, the wind moves in her direction. Finally she settles in one spot, lights a cigarette, and lets the smoke clog her eyes. We play a drinking game, Never Have I Ever.“Never have I ever been to Disneyworld,” I say. Cathryn and Wendi put down a finger; they went there once together.“Never have I ever done acid,” Wendi says. The rest of us admit defeat.“Never have I ever been in love,” Cathryn says. No one puts down a finger; no one is sure enough to commit to that. We all four of us look at Cathryn through the smoke. Her hair is up, the skin of her neck glistening with sweat. That we all want her is common knowledge; we can’t help ourselves. This is what holds our friendships together, the flame to which we are helpless as moths.That night, as we sleep, trees rustle, and the fallen branches on the ground crack like knuckles. When I leave the tent early in the morning to walk to the restroom, I find the contents of our trash bag scattered, the bottom ripped. By the river I spot a leopard, its white fur stretched so tight the bones poke through. In the disappearing moonlight I nearly see the heart pumping in its chest. It’s looking right at me, and I stand and stare until the sun creeps up and the leopard, its fur no longer see-through, bounds into the brush.Back at the campsite a crowd is gathered around the dying embers of last night’s fire. A dodo skeleton hops around the fire pit. One of the bones from its foot is missing. Without the feathers it looks just like any other bird. We only know it’s a dodo from its fat chest, its dodo beak. Plus it tells us what it is when we ask it.Cathryn shoos the bird. “Go, fly away.”“Dodos don’t fly,” it says, lifting a bone wing. The invisible joints crack. “I’m stuck.”It hangs around until we change into our swimsuits and leave for the swimming hole. It’s only a couple of miles away, so we walk. Cathryn and Anne hold hands. The rest of us walk behind them. We talk about the dodo. Mike had never seen one. “I’m going to paint it,” he says.Wendi huffs. “I was gonna paint it.”“In my painting, he’ll be wearing a tie and drinking a martini.” Mike laughs, and Cathryn turns around and gives him an eye. She knows that laugh. Since high school she’s known it.“How much have you had?” she says. “I swear to god, Mike, if that handle is gone.”“Excuse me,” he says. “Excuse me if I like to have a little fun.”Once Cathryn turns back around, Wendi reaches into the pocket of her swimming trunks and pulls out her flask. She and Mike take turns.“In my painting, he’ll be flying,” I say.“You don’t paint,” everyone says at once, except Anne, of course, who doesn’t know the first thing about me. Anne’s ass hangs out of her suit, and her walk is too sure, like she thinks she has this down, this Cathryn thing, like she’s permanent here, the most recent fixture. Wendi and Mike and I gulp and giggle.“Two more weeks, tops,” Mike whispers. His guesses are usually the most accurate. He’s known her the longest. My skin tingles all of a sudden, part rum, part the image that flashes in my memory; her clothes a pile on the floor, the scratch of Ronald’s gimpy paws on the glass, the stale smoke smell, and the feel of that skin, soft in my palm. Two weeks.At the swimming hole we rush the water. It laps our thighs as we sink our way in, getting used to the shock of cool. Submerging my whole body, I forget to hold my breath and rise up coughing. Mike grabs my legs, and I go down again. I open my eyes under the water. Bones litter the lake floor under our feet, many of them ground to form a second layer of sand. We walk all along them without noticing. I let the water carry my legs instead. I swim. When I come up for breath I’m at the far bank, where Wendi sits atop a rock with her feet skimming the water surface. Her face is red and wet, though her hair is dry.“You okay?” I ask. A brittle fishbone snaps under my weight.“I’m okay,” she says, shaking her head. “I think I’m in love with her.”Yeah, well, I want to say but don’t. I feign surprise. “You’re straight, though, right?”Wendi shrugs. “Does it matter? I hate seeing her like this.”“Happy?” Me too. “Well, if you really loved her, you’d want her happy.”I remember the first time I knew Cathryn wanted it. Wendi, Mike, and me in the car, driving down streets with no names for no reason. Cigarette ash blowing back in through the windows and staining our clothes with the stench. “You’re on her list.” Mike grinned. “She told me so.” Then it was a party at my place and we snuck into my bedroom and stuffed a chair under the doorknob. The curtains were attached by flimsy little clips and had fallen down, so we put them back up but you could still see through little holes where the fabric was worn, and we did it, aware and uncaring, while partygoer’s faces appeared and disappeared like apparitions at each hole in the window, trying to see in.“You’re right,” Wendi says, wetting a toe. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”A school of skeleton fish passes over my feet. Their bone-hard bodies make my hair stand on end. When I stick my head under the water and my eyes adjust, they are already far away, but bringing up their rear is a phantom shiner with the last vestige of its transparent orange scales intact.“Huh,” I say when I bring my head again above water. “I thought those had fully skeletoned a while ago.”“This water freaks me out.” Wendi stands and turns, and we both see the leopard this time, its body stretched across a rock in the sun, its rib bones now visible. Wendi’s closer to it than me, and I wish we could trade places as she steps toward it until she is so close she can touch it if she wants. She reaches her hand out. She pulls it back. She helps me out of the water. Together we run back to camp.When the gang returns from the swimming hole, Mike has a saber-tooth skeleton at his side, around its neck a collar he has made from the drawstring of his swimming trunks, which now hang below his navel. To keep them on he walks bow-legged, and once he arrives at the fire he hands Wendi the end of the string and disappears into the tent to change.Wendi and I have been silent, passing a notebook of portable haikus back and forth, each of us writing one page. It’s a game we all used to play. The haikus are nonsensical, the language of ridiculousness. When Mike comes back out we put the notebook away.“This is Tegan,” he says. “I’m gonna take her home with me.”“Another pet?” Wendi asks. A whole wall of Mike’s room is covered in aquariums already. “Dude, you can’t breathe in your room as is.”“I hate that name,” the saber says. “Give me another one.”“Okay, your name is Nimrod.”“Another one.”“Tilly?” Mike says.The saber shrugs.“Tigger?”The saber snaps Mike’s hand. Its teeth draw blood. He slaps its head. The bones rattle. He marches to a tree and ties the saber up, then wraps a dishcloth around his hand. As we eat peanut butter sandwiches and take shots of wine, the saber shouts insults. “Morons,” it says, “you don’t know shit about life. You think you know everything, but you’re fucking clueless.”Mike hits it over the head with an unburnt log. No one screams; it happens too fast. The saber’s body falls. Mike unties it and carries it to the river. I follow him, try to tell him to stop, but my voice catches. He tosses the bones in the river and wipes the dirt from his jeans; on top of the dried paint, the stain looks like a skewed portrait, blue eyes and lips and all the rest dirt.After walking back in silence, we find Cathryn holding the lucky girl, visibly shaken.“Fucking thing was reminding me of my parents,” Mike says.Cathryn doesn’t even bother to shoot Mike the eye. She takes Anne by the hand and leads her to the tent, and when we hear the click of the lock on the tent doors, Mike grabs hold of the wine, opens his throat, and guzzles. I sit beside Wendi and the fire and we don’t say a word. The bottle empty, Mike drops into the dirt and rolls back and forth, moving his arms in angel shapes. “I’m sorry,” he says again and again. Wendi and I don’t comfort him. The firewood crumbles like the bones and we just look on. I’m used to looking and not touching, staying out of the way until it’s my turn. I know that Anne won’t want us after this, won’t want to be a part of this, and somehow it doesn’t seem to matter. Two weeks tops, Mike said. He was wrong. It’ll go back to normal before that. We’ll forget it ever happened, starting tomorrow when we’re back in the concrete world.We sleep the way we are.On the way out the next morning we drive across the bridge over the river. In the backseat I stare out the window, and from the water's edge the leopard stares at me. As it pads to shore I notice its legs, all skeleton now. I imagine its claws, invisible but deadly.The whole ride no one says a word.When Cathryn and I get back to her place, the skeletons are still in the tank. The T-Rex claws at the glass. His bones creak. “Let me free,” he says. I knock on the glass, and Thelma and Louise scurry to the back. Ronald doesn’t move, static in his pleading.Cathryn disappears into the bathroom. I look around her room, at the mess she’s left of clothes scattered over the ground. It’s hard to see the floor. I groan as I tiptoe over the piles. I reach my hand into the tank and pick the skeleton up by his shoulders. He falls apart in my hands. I carry his bones outside and look across her big backyard, which we only enter to smoke brief cigarettes at night when we need the air. In the back of the yard is an abandoned raised bed, one we all built together when we had nothing but time on our hands then forgot about, and I lay him down amongst the dead tomato plants, their thin spines snapped so that they seem to bow as we approach. His bones scatter in the dirt. I shake a plant. Its brittle leaves fall from the branches and bury him.END"Skeletons" was originally published in the Geek Girls issue of Room, 37.3 in Fall 2014 and was reprinted in Heiresses of Russ 2015.This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.Thanks for listening, and I’ll be back on February 2nd with "Her Last Breath Before Waking" by A. C. Wise.

Love Over Glass, Skin Under Glassby Penny StirlingThe seasick lover becomes a saltwater cisternShe built her first lover out of glass."I was often disappointed," she said as she showed her creation around her gallery, "that the things I make with such skill cannot admire my handiwork.  Now at last I have made something that can look on itself with wonder."  But, she had to admit, she liked it even better when the lover looked upon her with wonder.Her lover's skin was glass, her lover's touch was soft.The nights were fine since she was skilled enough at glassblowing to give her glass lover skill enough, but soon she began to dread the mornings.  More often than not when the sun had risen and they roused from their sleep, her lover would turn to her and say something like, "I dreamed the ocean bore down on me, rubbing and grinding me down until I was nothing but the finest fragments scattered all around the world."A full transcript appears under the cut:----more----Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode eight for May 28th, 2015. I'm your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you.Our story this week is "Love Over Glass, Skin Under Glass" by Penny Stirling.Penny Stirling edits transcripts and embroiders pixel art when she's not writing the speculative. Her poetry and fiction has appeared in Lackington's, Strange Horizons, Goblin Fruit and Heiresses of Russ.She also has work coming out in the next few months in Interfictions Online, Lackington's, and Liminality.As a brief head's up: this story does involve descriptions of domestic abuse which may be upsetting to some listeners.Love Over Glass, Skin Under Glassby Penny StirlingThe seasick lover becomes a saltwater cisternShe built her first lover out of glass."I was often disappointed," she said as she showed her creation around her gallery, "that the things I make with such skill cannot admire my handiwork.  Now at last I have made something that can look on itself with wonder."  But, she had to admit, she liked it even better when the lover looked upon her with wonder.Her lover's skin was glass, her lover's touch was soft.The nights were fine since she was skilled enough at glassblowing to give her glass lover skill enough, but soon she began to dread the mornings.  More often than not when the sun had risen and they roused from their sleep, her lover would turn to her and say something like, "I dreamed the ocean bore down on me, rubbing and grinding me down until I was nothing but the finest fragments scattered all around the world."One morning the smith entered the kitchen to find her lover holding a mug to one of the ears she had so painstakingly carved and polished.  "I pretend it is a seashell," said the glass lover with a smile the smith had often seen while her lover was asleep.When she realised she had only ever seen it so, she took the mug and dashed it upon the ground.  I can do the same to you, she did not say, but her lover was quiet that day and recoiled from her touch that night.  She never caught the lover listening to mug-echoes again, but suspected it still happened.The lover’s voice was melodic, tuned exactly to A-minor.  The glass-smith began to hate it.  She offered her lover a tongue piercing and, though the lover's mistrust was as plain as the smith's intentions, after many days of coaxing the lover acceded to the accessory.When the smith's fingers twitched and the chisel slipped the lover knew it was neither her skill nor her attention that had waned.  Ever unable to cry tears and now unable to voice contempt, the lover screamed and lunged at the smith, trying to tear out her flesh in reprisal.But the glass-smith had skill enough to easily kill what she had ceased loving.  She shattered the glass lover’s limbs, filled the corpse's chest with seawater, and used it as a fish tank.Metal deals weltsShe had a friend who worked metal.  She beat her lovers into shape in the forge and then they would whip her into submission in her bedroom.She offered the smith sterilised metal with which to adorn her flesh, but she was a lover of glass and thus preferred her skin smooth and unbroken.  She gifted her friend with glass beads and rods to sit beneath her skin after she promised that they would not be shattered under the caress of her lovers."Just because glass is fragile," said her friend, "doesn't mean it must break."A pre-abused becomes post-rebelledShe built her second lover out of glass as well.  But she had been burned and she had learned.  There would be no room for home-longing or sand-lusting or sea-dreaming.  There would just be her and her glass lover.The smith sourced factory-made sand so that her lover could remember nothing before her.  She used broken shards for her lover’s eyes so her lover could see nothing other than her.  She chipped at the whorls in her lover’s ears so her lover could only hear her voice's pitch.  She fused her lover’s ankles and knees rigid so her lover could not leave the basement.But her glass lover still learned that they were not a glass lover loved, and the glass lover’s mouth could argue and despise as well as it could love, and the glass lover’s hands could scratch and slap as well as they could love.She who had made the glass lover might not have loved but she could break as well as she could make.The second glass lover housed freshwater fish.Wood suffers woundsShe had a friend who shaped wood.  Ey carved and sanded eir own lovers and would then tell her of fire or warping or splinters.  In the end ey found lasting happiness with her help:  she crafted glass genitalia, orifices and fingers for eir lover to wield.  Without the constant anxiety of injury their relationship blossomed like the maple trees of the mostly-wooden lover's childhood did every spring.As thanks ey carved a gumtree heart for her next lover.  The smith was polite but though glass appended had bettered her friend's life, dilution could not improve her own."For all its beauty and versatility, glass is too transparent and empty," said her friend.The violet-stained becomes a lover disdainedHer third lover she also made from glass.  She didn’t have patience for a new craft.Sometimes she said it was an accident.  Sometimes she said she was drunk.  Some other times she said she’d experimented, despite the glass lover never asking why.  This lover would neither speak of the ocean or emotional desires, nor ask for explanations of their purple body, for the smith had been clever this time and given the glass lover’s mouth only the option of pleasure.Still, there were problems.It was like trying to make love to someone with hypothermia.  Even if she warmed the glass lover over fire--or turned out the lights or put red and orange quilts on the bed--it still felt wrong, like a corpse gone to cold instead of glass blown to come.  She tried painting the glass lover a shade closer to life but the paint flecked off as they fucked and left too much mess."I can’t," she said as the glass lover stared.  It was dark; she could neither see her lover nor help but see her lover as bruised, bloated flesh rather than glass.Her lover's skin was blight, her lover's touch was bilious."I have no more room for fish," she said, and sold the glass lover to a fetishist.Clay gives copyShe had a friend who turned and pushed clay into all manner of household and handheld goods and fired and glazed them into works of art and tools of love.  They often exchanged vases, offered excuses to stay and watch each other create.He helped the smith make an asymmetrical mess of a bowl on the pottery wheel.  While it sat in the kiln she helped him make moulds from his body and wheelchair with wax and quick-drying clay.  Carefully, slowly, she prised and slid them from skin and prostheses and wondered whether he did this for the clay reflections or the clay embrace."I think it's more fun together," said her friend.Praise and compromise brings an apprentice's peaceShe gained an apprentice when the woman who delivered her groceries did not return home.  "Please teach me your craft," she said and spoke of the wonderful works--conscious and inanimate both--she had heard of, the desire to heat and mould and blow she had cultivated, the services she could trade for the experience.  The smith heard the fervour but saw that while the woman spoke of glass and mastery, it was the smith and not her work that was observed and caressed.Her skin was not glass, her touch was not cool.But she was pleasant and crafty in her own appreciable ways.  In appraising this diversion from her despondency the glass-smith allowed reluctance to be overcome as she came and buckled under the woman's pressure and persuasiveness.  While the new apprentice attended to the smith in the bedroom she also proved attentive in the workshop, learning first the methods of fusing and slumping and then, as skill and pride and the smith's admiration grew, delight of the trade.As well as her workshop and her bed, the apprentice filled the glass-smith's life with distractions from love and house with delicate glass fish modelled after her favourites in the aquaria.Paper bears patienceShe had a friend who folded paper and gave her bright decorations and lanterns every holiday.  He made his lover from thousands of sheets of paper.  Unlike most crafted lovers, his came to be in stages and was conscious even when only a head.  He added to his lover's body as his lover watched:  torso, arms and beyond.  The origami lover's body was fragile and often he had to re-attach some limb or digit.  Going outside or strenuous movement was forbidden, as was any physical expression of love beyond light, dry, touches.Her friend commissioned sets of stained glass windows and glass songbirds to keep his lover entertained.  She offered to make cages too but he preferred to let them fly free around his home, alighting wherever and singing whenever, as long as they did not make a nest from his lover."Sometimes," said her friend, "you are a bit abusive and demanding."One given free will to love becomes one finally given leaveShe next made not another glass lover, but a glass being who could choose love.  The smith crafted every inch of the glass body as carefully as she had her previous lovers, but instead of the cruelties and frailties she had worked into them, this time she gave freedom and control.  She let the apprentice watch but not touch, and though she said the glass was no replacement, her apprentice saw how she touched it.She finished the glass being while the apprentice slept.  It was difficult not to caress the glass skin she had spent so long perfecting.  She kept her distance and smiled."I made you," she said to the glass being, "but I will not make you do anything.  You are free to love or hate, to live or destroy yourself."The glass being was free to speak as well but it was many days before the smith was answered.  Her fingers twitched and her smile glazed as silence lingered.   She kept patient distance from her creation and filtered her frustrations through the apprentice's ministrations.But one morning finally:  "If you did not make me for a purpose then I am meaningless and may as well not exist, but if you did make me with a purpose then I am obliged and might never differentiate choice and duty," said the glass philosopher, and then said many things more.All the smith had wanted to receive was consent and sweet nothings, but every day she was given metaphysical questions she couldn't answer and theoretical conditions she couldn't comprehend.  All she had wanted was a lover as keen as her apprentice and as sleek as her work, but every day she watched apprentice and philosopher talk near her fish tanks.  She wondered about the closeness she at first thought polite, what had been shared when her creation only listened.Her creation's skin was glass.  It was not touched.Every day the glass philosopher's musings became deeper and broader, the look in their eyes needier, the pitch of their voice and the curl of their hands full of more and more yearning and desire.  But their attention and demands lay not in lying with the glass-smith, neither in playing with her skin nor plying her with flattery.  The philosopher lived only for answers, loved only epiphanies.The smith could not give what the philosopher needed and she would not receive what she wanted.  She could have taken many things from her creation, but the glass-smith chose to provide supplies, maps and directions to the nearest university.That night the apprentice comforted her, as she had every night the philosopher had not, and the smith did not tell her she was no replacement.Paint begs perfectionShe had a friend who painted landscapes for the walls of the wealthy.  Their watercolour fields and lakes and sunset wharves brought them fame and took them further and further afield, clients funding their supplies and travel for them to bring them back a beautiful scene as if sliced from the world and fixed on a canvas.Her friend relied upon her to cut glass sheets for their frames, perfect and clear to protect but not obscure the art.  After a time the smith had commissioned a large triptych of the nearby seaside to brighten her kitchen.  When her friend visited to install the art and thought her walls too bare there began the frequent deliveries of paintings--mostly small or unfinished pieces, practice for their grander works."Nothing that we say will make you happier or better," said her friend.  "You have to do that yourself."A downgrade attempt begets tactile regardShe missed her apprentice more than she'd guessed she would, but she had grown used to the woman and poor assumptions both.  If the apprentice kept her word and if her family kept time she would return before the smith could complete a glass lover.  Yet the smith's lust would not rest while her apprentice was away so she crafted something less than a lover, thick and curled with carefully charted bumps and ridges.Hours she poured into its construction.  Hours more she spent working over herself, hunched then stretched taut, rhythmic then mindless, expectant then harried.  She was too attuned to the apprentice's touch; stubborn desire could not usurp it.  Boredom was the only thing that peaked, wrists the only flesh exhausted.  Her screams were of frustration rather than from finishing.But she was a glass-smith and she had mastered and outsmarted glass many times before.  She redesigned, no less carefully than before, as snugly fitting as before.  Her yearning was strong but her wrists were weak so she crafted something that was even less of a toy, something crooked and supporting.  It went where she aimed it, angled when she twitched.  Though still no true rival to a lover, it helped her convulse and conclude.Afterwards she would lie, exhausted and content, with the glass of her tool slick and cooling against her skin, encircling wrist, holding fingers, resting on her stomach as she recovered.  At first she thought it the lack of company, but the simple touch of the glass across and around her flesh was as fulfilling as being filled or felt by her lovers.Rope takes purposeShe had a friend who made temporary art from flesh and ropes.  Whenever in need of a new glass eye she would invite the smith over to strain against her cord, twist through the air and shudder atop certain knots.Was this what it was like, the smith wondered, to be one of her glass lovers?  To look upon the one who has fashioned such art, to see the care in which she has been shaped, to realise the pleasure in her crafting, to trust her lover and moulder so completely?"The difference is that you never once feel fear," said her friend.  "I never give you reason to flinch from my touch or mistrust my actions." Haggled affection hides hungry infatuationShe watched her apprentice grow in glass-mastery and watched her glee when she writhed under her grasp.  The glass-smith found herself content if not happy, found for herself purpose if not keenness.  The nights when the apprentice fell asleep with a smile, the moments when they seemed to connect rather than coincide, the mornings when the glass-smith did not mind waiting for the apprentice to wake up and untie or roll off her:  they aroused in her something.But her skin did not squeak, her touch did not thrill.Whatever the woman's attempted taming kindled in the smith, it could not match the fire she felt whenever a glass lover or glass tool embraced her.  And though she taught everything she knew of glass and relented to the apprentice's appetite, she too learned and played with her own hunger.  The apprentice's confidence bloomed and commissions and business boomed; the glass-smith tried to pin down what she pined for.She created restraints and gags, corsets and stockings, dildos and chastity belts, contoured supports and toys:  all from glass, all handed over to her apprentice so she could be fondled and handled.  The smith spoke of embracing submission and growing beyond crafted lovers to keep her happy and willing to indulge, but however much she might pretend it was her apprentice's controlling hands that thrilled, her apprentice's slow tongue and insistent fingers that slid her shaking and breathless to climax, she knew it was the glass that pressed and caressed between them.Sometimes, increasingly, when her apprentice was out the smith would stretch out on undulating sheets of glass and feel it against her back, her elbows, her neck, her thighs.  She thought of love and regrets, and glass--always she thought about glass--and she more often sent the apprentice for errands and appointments.Leather shares livingShe had a friend who cured and cut leather then tied together the pieces with metal links and corded rope.  She made inhuman lovers piece-by-piece with phalli instead of limbs, lovers monstrous with tentacles fully automated, lovers abstract of nothing but breasts and toes, lovers fanciful with wings and harnesses.  She didn't make them for herself, but said she found delight in seeing others finally happy.The smith made eleven glass goat eyes for one of her contracts and her friend offered to make a lover for her.  Leather could do what glass could not, leather would not break against her, leather absorbed instead of reflected.  The glass-smith declined."Glass is too rigid," said her friend.  "Don't restrict yourself.  Craft exactly who you want to do exactly what you want."Dreams beyond lust become a passion beyond loveShe kept her secret as long as she could.  As contentedness and respect was only so satisfying, her apprentice so alluring would only be so accommodating.  Bound by promised exchange she did not begrudge, the glass-smith did not confide that she wished to be confined and crafted.  Stifled by attraction stagnated, she told herself that only glass governed by her apprentice's will could suffice.  For a time, it helped.  For a while, her belief made it better.She was a glass-smith, though, and glass had been her first and truest love.  After skill differences between the two had dwindled, was judged negligible, and the smith ran out of excuses, could no longer wait patient or fail to forget her longing no matter how pleasant or devoted the woman could be, she tasked her apprentice with helping her obtain a happiness less suppressed.  She had asked for so little, given so much.  Surely what she asked now was still so little, what she offered was still so much.Her skin was ready, her touch was pensive.They argued and bartered.  The smith spoke of oaths and compromises she had tired of, love that she was wearied of deferring.  This time it was the apprentice who conceded.They started with the smith's legs.  The glass was hot but she had worked with fires hotter.  The glass was heavy but she had worn protective clothing heavier.  The glass was fragile and difficult and stiff but she had conquered practices tougher.Her skin was agony and bliss, every new inch of it more intoxicating than any lover.  Her touch was distracting, torrid and almost delirious as the glass seared and ascended her body.The smith could no longer craft herself when it came time for her right arm to be clad.  She trusted her apprentice.  The woman had failed to dissuade her from the glass and now she encased her in it.  Soon would come her shoulders, her neck, her head, her face.  She could scarcely breathe for impatience; she could scarcely breathe in for glass tight around her chest."I think I can hear the sea," she whispered as glass trickled into her ears.Maps lead musingShe had a friend who made maps with paper and ink.  He showed the smith the coastlines of a far-off continent, the migration paths of well-tracked birds, the probable rings of sea-dragon nests and the detailed town plans that were his daily work.  She brought postcards as they arrived and together they plotted the glass philosopher's meandering journey.Her apprentice commissioned a chart of her teacher's body, having painstakingly plotted every sensitive spot.  When they presented it to the smith she mulled over its shadings and symbols until finally she touched an area with dense contour lines and traced the raised ink.  The apprentice fondled one of her breasts, keeping time.For her friend she made a glass globe with raised mountains and dyed terrain.  He gently spun it, letting the contours and engraving slide beneath his fingers, and spoke of all the maps he had copied but never created, the towns he could navigate but never visit."You will always live with regret," said her friend.An apprentice's graduation proves tenderShe broke her only lover out of glass.There was too much.  She wasn't enough?  She had been everything."I can't, I can't," she cried and struck the glass she had helped prepare.At first her teacher screamed to see skin cracking and flesh exposed.  With a bottle's whistle the lover of glass begged the smith to leave her so.  But though she loved her teacher and loved glass, she could not love her so.This was too far.  She had tried so much--but not everything.  She had learned more than how to craft and love glass."You can't, you can't," she cried and attacked the woman she had failed to mould.Her skin was cruel.The glass lover screamed shrill, vulnerable even while shielding herself.  The smith cried still and struck wild and wailed and soon her lover started to shatter and bleed.  But what could break off one could take on the other and just as the smith tried to rid her lover of the extra skin, the lover struck back with shard-ridden arms.Her touch was ruin.Soon they lay entangled and exhausted, a single figure of flesh and blood and glass and breath and pain, pinned and embedded into one another.  One dragged and slid her arm along the other's body with cries and screeches, gasps and cuts."I love you," said the glass lover--lover glassed--and stroked her lover's cheek, grated glass coalescing glazed skin."I love you," said the glass-smith--glass smitten--and kissed her lover, hot lips rough with slivers against cold glass slick with blood.No one filled them with fish.END“Love Over Glass, Skin Under Glass” was originally published in Aurealis in 2013, and was reprinted in Heiresses of Russ 2014.This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.Thanks for listening, and I’ll have another story for you on May 28th.[Music plays out]This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

The Unheard Voices of Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror panel from Arisia. Catherine Lundoff moderated this panel, with K. Tempest Bradford (standing in for Nisi Shawl), Julia Rios, Trisha Wooldridge, Andrea Hairston, and Victor Raymond. Listening to this doesn't give you the visual cues that people in the room had, so a note up front: Nisi was in the audience, but wasn't up for sitting on the panel. There was an ongoing joke about Tempest being Nisi, and about Nisi being Nalo Hopkinson, who was not at the convention. Awards season!*Lambda finalists include lots of OA members like Nicola Griffith, Sacchi Green, Mary Ann Mohanraj, Alex Jeffers, Alaya Dawn Johnson, The editors and contributors to Ghosts in Gaslight, Monsters in Steam Gay City: Volume 5, Melissa Scott and Amy Griswold, Richard Bowes, Lee Thomas, and more. Full list here: http://www.lambdaliterary.org/features/news/03/06/26th-annual-lambda-literary-award-finalists-announced/*The Nebula nominee list is also out, and lots of OA types are there too, including Sofia Samatar, Nicola Griffith, Ellen Klages and Andy Duncan, Vylar Kaftan, Catherynne Valente, Christopher Barzak, Alaya Dawn Johnson, Sarah Pinsker, Rachel Swirsky, Karen Healey, and Nalo Hopkinson. Full nominee list here: http://www.sfwa.org/2014/02/2013-nebula-nominees-announced/The Galactic Suburbia Award and Honor List is out now, and the joint winners are N.K. Jemisin and Elise Matthesen. Full Honor List here: http://galactisuburbia.podbean.com/2014/03/23/episode-96-19-march-2014/*Carl Brandon Society is a group for fans and writers of color. They give out the Kindred and Parallax Awards for fiction by and/or about people of colors, and also administer scholarships for students of color to attend Clarion.*Broad Universe is a group for women who write and publish science fiction and fantasy. They have a website, a podcast, and many promotional and support networking opportunities for members, including organizing group readings and book sale tables at conventions. *WisCon is a feminist science fiction convention held each year at the end of May in Madison, Wisconsin. The Carl Brandon Society and Broad Universe both have strong presences there. *Con or Bust is an organization that raises money to send fans of color to conventions. The Carl Brandon Society administers the funds. *Gaylaxicon and Outlantacon are conventions specifically for the QUILTBAG SF fandom community. Gaylaxicon is a roving con (like WorldCon), and Outlantacon happens each year in May in Atlanta. This year's Gaylaxicon will be hosted by Outlantacon.Work by people on the panel:*Filter House is Nisi Shawl's Tiptree Award Winning short story collection (Tempest joked that her collection would be called Filter House 2).*Redwood and Wildfire is Andrea Hairston's Tiptree Award Winning novel (for which she had also just received a Carl Brandon Award on the day of this panel).*Silver Moon is Catherine Lundoff's novel about menopausal werewolves*Catherine writes a series about LGBT SFF for SF Signal.*Julia is an editor for Strange Horizons, which is always interested in publishing diverse voices.*Kaleidoscope is an anthology of diverse YA SF and Fantasy stories Julia is co-editing with Alisa Krasnostein, which is scheduled to launch in August of 2014.*In Other Words is an anthology of poetry and flash by writers of color Julia is co-editing with Saira Ali, which is scheduled to launch at WisCon in May, and which will benefit Con or Bust.Other things mentioned: *Lorraine Hansberry was an African American lesbian playwright, best known for Raisin in the Sun, but Andrea pointed out that she also wrote a lot of science fiction plays. *The SFWA Bulletin incited a lot of pushback in 2013. Here is a timeline: http://www.slhuang.com/blog/2013/07/02/a-timeline-of-the-2013-sfwa-controversies/. It has since changed editorial staff and has just put out the first of the new team's issues, which seems to be a lot more favorably received, as evidenced here: http://www.jasonsanford.com/jason/2014/03/the-new-sfwa-bulletin-is-blowing-my-mind.html.*"The Serial Killer's Astronaut Daughter" by Damien Angelica Walters was written partly in response to the SFWA bulletin's sexism. *A Stranger in Olondria by Sofia Samatar came up as an example of a novel by a person of color put out through an independent (not one of the big New York houses--Andrea argued for calling these sorts of publishers independent rather than small) publisher, Small Beer Press. Since the panel, A Stranger in Olondria has won the Crawford Award and been nominated for the Nebula. *Crossed Genres, Twelfth Planet Press, and Papaveria Press are independent presses that publish diverse voices.*Clarkesworld, Lightspeed, Strange Horizons, and Apex are magazines Tempest sees publishing diverse stories. Tor.com is also publishing more diverse stories now, like "The Water That Falls on You From Nowhere" by John Chu. *The Tiptree Award celebrates work that expands our notions of gender.*Dark Matter is an anthology exploring a century of SF by black writers. *Blood Children was an anthology put out by the Carl Brandon Society in 213 to benefit the Octavia Butler Scholarship, which sends students of color to Clarion. *Bending the Landscape, Kindred Spirits, and Worlds Apart were brought up as examples of QUILTBAG anthologies from more than just a few years back. All of these were mentioned as early examples, but the panel agreed we need more. *Daughters of Earth is a collection of stories by women from the early 1900s to 2000 with accompanying critical essays. This collection is edited by Justine Larbalestier. Andrea wrote a critical essay about an Octavia Butler story in this book. *The Cascadia Subduction Zone has a feature where an established writer recommends and reviews an older work that might be obscure. Andrea and Nisi have both done this. *Lethe Press publishes best gay SF stories each year in Wilde Stories, and best lesbian SF stories each year in Heiresses of Russ. Nisi and Julia are both in Heiresses of Russ 2013.*From the audience, Saira Ali recommends Goblin Fruit and Stone Telling as diverse poetry magazines, and Aliens: Recent Encounters (edited by Alex Dally MacFarlane) as a good anthology.

Just for the podcasters - a little bit extra from the ascerbic wit of London's longest-serving talkshow host!

Call them whatever you want; Gilded Age Heiresses, Dollar Princesses, Buccaneers– they all point to the same type of woman. Spanning about a twenty year time period wealthy American ladies of marrying age headed across the pond to snag the ultimate in opulent accessories: a noble title.