Like oak leaves in autumn, cascading on stiles

[sovay]

Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, R.I.P. I grew up on this series. Each year I bought the new collection, scoured used book stores for past years; I discovered writers through them—they were the reprint market to which all short stories and poems aspired. They were a field guide as well as a gathering of flowers. And I am not, not pleased to see them go.

Comments

[sovay]

so sad to think we'll never open next year's or the next to read a poem or a story by a rising friend, an immortal, a newfound voice...

I know. Who would I have discovered next?