My main goal for this ICFA was to take some time to think through where I’m spending my time. Some aspects are fixed — school board service, teaching. But other things, I put on myself, and maybe it doesn’t make so much sense.
I’m going to be making two changes to Patreon going forward:
• after this next treat box (which I’m planning to send out by mid-April), I’m going to close the upper tiers, and just do the simple Earth tier going forward. It was a lot of fun coming up with cool treats for the upper tiers, but it was also really time-consuming, between production, tracking, packing, and shipping. (Stephanie Bailey, if I close those upper tiers now, we’ll still be able to see everyone’s info for shipping the last box, right?)
• I want to write more fiction, and I could use support with that –somehow, if I’m not on deadline, I end up doing everything EXCEPT writing fiction. So I’m adding a new tier to help motivate me:
Story! From March 2023 on, I’m planning to draft a story a month and send it to you. This will be a first draft, generally, but a coherent one. I may occasionally include a published story, just in case people haven’t run across them in print.
Mostly, I’m expecting they’ll be interlinked SF stories set at the University of All Worlds on Kriti, in my Jump Space universe, although there may be an occasional mainstream or fantasy story slipping in.
The primary goal is to get myself writing short fiction more regularly — when you’re working on book-length projects, it’s easy for months and months to go by without writing any short fiction. Eventually, they may be reissued as ebooks (or even revised into a novel), but Patreon subscribers get to read them first!
Pictured below, the chair by the lake where I finished drafting the first story — it was a little chilly here yesterday, but I wrapped up warm in my Pakistan shawl and happily wrote.
Subscribe to my Patreon here: https://www.patreon.com/mohanraj
******
Most of the first story below — subscribe to read the ending! 
Whan that Aprille
Selah-na-Sorayyah tripped walking down the gangplank of her family’s ship, even though she’d walked that gangplank at least a hundred times, visiting one world or another over the two decades of her life. She tried not to take the fall as an omen, although if Auntie Natti had seen it, her great-aunt would’ve surely claimed it as proof that they’d made a massive mistake, letting Selah apply to the University of All Worlds.
Half the family thought it was a terrible idea – why would you want to be a ground-pounder? her youngest brother repeatedly asked, till Selah wanted to bang her head against the metal bulkheads in pure frustration. The other half was convinced that she’d be calling them for a ride home before her first year was out.
But Selah had applied, and she had gotten into the competitive arts program, and she had even gotten enough of a scholarship that all three of her parents had begrudgingly admitted that yes, the family could afford it. So even if Selah had tripped walking down the gangplank and fallen to her knees, catching herself on her hands and scraping them up on the concrete of the spaceport landing pad, she wasn’t going to cry out from the pain. She took a sharp breath, braced herself, waited for the wave of pain to subside, and then pushed herself to her feet.
They had said their goodbyes on the ship, so none of her family were there to see her press scraped up palms against the cotton fabric of her standard-issue student sari. Her palms weren’t actually bleeding, so that was good. Selah settled her backpack more solidly on her back, adjusted her breath mask, turned towards the gates of the domed city, and started walking. And if she had to blink her eyes tightly a few times, to keep tears from falling, no one but her would ever know.
This was going to be wonderful.
***
Selah had navigated her way successfully from the spaceport through the city gates, gratefully taking off her mask, to the university administration office – about an hour-long walk, and maybe she should have rented a bicycle, or a flyer, which seemed the preferred modes of transport for many of the locals. But she’d spent her entire life on board a spaceship, so when would she have learned to ride a bicycle, or drive a flyer? Never.
She didn’t mind walking, though – it was exciting walking through the city. She saw so many new things at every turn it felt like her brain was about to explode from the sheer overwhelming novelty of it all. Definitely more interesting than walking on the ship’s exercise track, even with a holo playing to distract you from the fact that you had to do your daily exercise if you didn’t want to turn into a space-bound lump.
The scents alone were overwhelming. There were trees everywhere, and since it was spring, they were all in flower; a haze of rich sweetness hung over the city. Selah didn’t know what any of them were – she’d studied hard to get here, but flowering trees hadn’t been part of her education. But they were beautiful, masses of pink and white and red blossoms, even sometimes a shockingly bright purple. And there were tasty scents, as she passed streetside stands and food trucks, enough to make her stomach rumble. She wasn’t supposed to just start eating things here, not without checking first, so Selah dutifully pulled some standard ship rations out of her backpack and started chewing, hoping they’d distract her stomach at least. It only sort of worked.
Of course, there was the smell of all the people – humans and aliens mixed together. She was used to that sort of scent, but on the ship, the recirculated air held the same blend of scents from the fifty-seven members of her family. It had long ago become background. Air on a planet was different – even under the dome, breezes had been generated somehow, carrying new people scents with every step.
With all that to distract her, it was a wonder Selah made it to the registration desk without incident.
“Name?” The young woman facing her looked like another student; work-study job, maybe? Intricate black locs coiled high above her head, in a fascinating pattern; Selah had to shake her head a little, to keep from losing herself in the traceries.
“Selah-na-Sorayyah, of Brightness Falling.”
The woman said, “You don’t need to give your ship name here. People won’t expect it.”
“Oh yes, of course.” That made sense, but it also made Selah feel oddly naked.
She tapped her tablet, pulling up Selah’s info. “Your roommate’s checked in already; they’re probably in the room now. You specified any gender or compatible species, correct?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
She smiled, and the smile seemed a little warmer, as if Selah had passed some sort of invisible test. “Terrific. All first-years are housed in the dorm behind me – it’s mostly underground, so don’t worry if it seems small at first. You’re on the third floor down, corridor G. If you have trouble finding it, come back here and ask for me – I’m Nam’kuko. Everyone here knows me.” She looked back down at the pad, tapped it a few more times. “You said you’re fine with small enclosed spaces, right?”
“Yes.” Selah resisted the urge to explain that her berth on board was a hammock tucked into a small room with five other family members – Nam’kuko was already passing her a bundle of paperwork – apparently even the biggest university in the galaxy hadn’t escaped the lure of brochures entirely. Although Selah wasn’t sure what the point was of advertising to her, since she’d already registered as a student…
“Great! Welcome to the University of All Worlds!” Nam’kuko turned to the next person behind her in line. “Next!”
One more hurdle mastered, it seemed. Selah turned to walk out of the building, into the glare of hot midday sunshine. Was it made even hotter by the dome overhead? Something to find out. Onwards.
***
The door to Selah’s room irised open, revealing just enough space to fit two lofted single beds, a desk and chair beneath each, along with a built-in dresser. Bland beige walls, paired with a surprisingly gorgeous floor – was that real wood? Oh, right – it wouldn’t be outrageously expensive here. Weird.
The university wasn’t generous with its student accommodations, but the tight quarters were comforting to Selah, like a favorite spacesuit, or pressure socks. Just the right amount of compression. A screen on the far wall was currently set to simulate the landscape outside the dome – red dirt, scrubby trees, native koreyni scavengers flying high overhead. Gods, they were ugly.
“You’re late.” A harsh voice from the left bunk, and Selah looked up to find two eyes peering back at her, set in a small, furry face. She ought to be able to name this species – she’d definitely seen them on her last trading visit to a planet. But they looked so much like her battered teddy bear – which had passed down through nine generations of family, and re-made so many times since its origin on Old Earth that it probably had nothing left of the original bear – all Selah could think was “Teddy bear!” Which was not helpful.
Selah said, “I’m sorry? I didn’t think there was a check-in time for the dorms.”
They shook their furry head. “No – late for classes. I checked your schedule; you’re supposed to be in advanced music composition right now. Professor Marwenn is going to be furious. Nice start to your college career, genius.”
For a moment, Selah felt like she couldn’t breathe. Which was ridiculous – the air under the dome was perfect for human comfort, much richer than the thin air outside the dome. It would be decades before Kriti was completely terraformed; she should be able to breathe just fine in here, though. “No, that can’t be right. Classes don’t start for two more days. I checked the calendar!” Why was the teddy bear being so mean??
They snorted derisively. “You didn’t check it carefully enough.” A pause, followed by the smallest of courtesies, “Maybe your ship was set to something other than Old Earth Standard? Even small deviations can add up over time. The nav system should have compensated for that, though.” They shrugged. “It was probably just you being stupid.”
Sweat broke out on Selah’s forehead. Maybe it was too small in this room after all. “Our system’s overdue for upgrade. My mom’s been complaining about it for months, trying to get my dads to prioritize the upgrades, but there’s always something else breaking that’s more critical…”
“Idiots.” The teddy bear snorted with disdain, and rolled over in the bed to face the wall. “You’d better dump your bag and run, or you’re going to miss class completely.”
“But I don’t know where to go!” Selah had to fight to keep that from coming out as a wail.
They didn’t bother to roll back, but their voice was clear enough: “Didn’t you look at a map before you got here? There’s one on your school-issued tablet, but if you haven’t oriented yourself yet, don’t take the time now. You’re lucky the Tower of Art is just the next building over. Giant violet steel structure, you can’t miss it. Go!”
She didn’t even know the creature’s name, much less its species. This was her roommate for the next year? But Selah couldn’t worry about that now – not if she was about to miss her first class. She dropped her backpack on the desk and, obediently, ran.
***
Selah slipped through the open doorway and slid into a chair in the back of the room, thanking every little god that it was a giant lecture hall. Maybe the professor wouldn’t notice her late arrival, among hundreds of other students.
Professor Marwenn turned to face her; glinting golden eyes fixed on her face. “Now, Sera Sorrayah, would you care to give us a short précis on the history of the Varnic recorder consort? Just a few sentences will do.”
He had noticed. How had he even known her name? No time to worry about that now…
Selah felt as if her head were about to explode, but she slowly pushed herself to her feet, feeling her palms stinging as she did. She hadn’t had a chance to take care of them. Everyone in the room turned to look at her – humans and humods and aliens all mixed together, all dressed in first-year blue, a sea of curious and critical faces. Waiting for her to stumble, to fail. The young man seated beside her had a look of pity on his face; at least they weren’t all out to get her.
But this was finally something she had studied, something she knew – Selah had even been to Varna, had attended a concert under glittering peepna trees, dusted with silver pollen trails, carried by Varna’s ever-present winds to the Sundering Sea. When she opened her mouth, at first, she was too dry to speak; terror sucked all the moisture out. But Selah coughed a little, and closed her eyes, so that the pages of her textbook might reinscribe themselves on her eyelids. She opened her eyes and began to recite:
“On Varna, the recorder consort, an Old Earth musical tradition, was refined into its most tragic form. Varna suffered through a devastating plague in the third century after its discovery of Jump drive, losing ninety percent of its population in just a few weeks. Many initially blamed recent contact with humans for the spread of the plague, but later research has shown that the disease was native to Varna, and had been triggered by a recent temperature rise that allowed pathogens to evolve and flourish in Varnese hosts. What humans did bring them was an exchange of musical traditions, and the recorder consort became a treasured element of Varnic mourning rituals. A quartet of musicians, ideally romantically bonded, improvise a series of laments for the fallen friend or family member, playing without food or drink or respite for as long as possible, until they collapse from exhaustion. It is a great honor to be invited to perform the mourning ritual.”
The professor grudgingly nodded. “Fine. Though please refrain from superlatives such as ‘most tragic,’ in the future – none of us knows what this wide universe has in store for us. Using such language tempts fate.”
Selah wanted to protest that she hadn’t been the one to write ‘most tragic’ to begin with, but she bit her lip instead, and sank back into her seat. She’d had a narrow escape already – no need to tempt fate. The professor started lecturing again, and gratefully, Selah woke her tablet and started taking notes.
***
The rest of class went by in a blur; Selah felt like she was only catching half of what the professor had said, unfamiliar technical vocabulary flying over her head. She’d set her tablet to record early on, and just hoped she’d have enough time to listen to the lecture again and look up all the words she didn’t know – but he’d already assigned thirty pages of reading and they were supposed to have an original composition ready for critique by the end of the week, and she still didn’t even know where her next class was, or what her next class was – everyone else was getting up and heading out the door, but Selah just sat in her seat and tried not to cry.
“Hey, old Marwenn was pretty rough on you, hitting you a question right when you walked in.” It was the young man sitting next to her, peering anxiously at her face through thick glasses. Selah couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen someone wearing glasses – why hadn’t he had his eyes corrected? It’d be rude to ask, though. “Marwenn’s old school, Earth-trained, and hates it when people are late – you really should try to get here on time.”
Selah said, shakily, “I got the day wrong – I thought classes didn’t start ‘til tomorrow. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go next.” Her lower lip was trembling, like a little kid’s, but Selah was not going to break down right now, she just wasn’t. She refused.
His face scrunched up in pity. It was a nice face – not exactly handsome, but with a kind look to it. And the thickest golden lashes she’d ever seen on a human. He took her tablet in his hand and tapped it confidently.
“Well, here, let me take a look. See – the schedule’s always up here, top right corner. Looks like you have a pretty full day, and tomorrow too; honestly, you’ve kind of overloaded your classes. You’ve got dance, voice, painting, sculpture, intro to fiction, Varisian literature, and a settlement history class? Are you trying to do all of college in one semester?”
Selah flushed. “I just didn’t want to miss anything…” Her parents had wanted to review her schedule, but she’d managed to dodge them; maybe that had been a mistake.
He raised a thick golden eyebrow. “Well, my advice is that you go to everything today and tomorrow, then pick two of these to drop. You’ll never make it otherwise. And I’ll walk you over to the dance building; I’m going there next.” He rose to his feet, and she followed.
“Thank you. I’m Selah, by the way.” She smiled – her first smile of the day, it felt like. “You’re really nice.”
“All part of the service, milady,” he said, sweeping her a grand bow that made her laugh in surprise. He straightened again, saying, “Joethe al Passat et Cairn clan Karid, etc. and so on, at your service, please just call me Joe. Hereditary royalty isn’t good for much, but it does mean we’re trained from birth to service. If I can make the life of a humble citizen a little brighter, I have justified a tiny portion of the ridiculous amount of funds my family levies in taxes. Really, you’re doing me a favor.”
Selah was bewildered. “You’re royalty? Kriti has royalty?” She didn’t remember that from any of the university materials she’d reviewed. Although now that she looked at him more closely, she realized that though he was dressed in first-year blue, the fabric was definitely not standard government-issue cotton; it had a subtle sheen and shimmer to it, and the cuffs and buttonholes were picked out in intricate silver thread.
Joe shook his head. “Oh, no. Kriti is strictly democratic, they have this whole representative zamindar system; it’s quite interesting. No, my great-greats colonized a marginally habitable planet in the first wave out from Old Earth, and have ruled it with an iron fist ever since. It’s terribly tedious. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you about it on the way to class –we’d better get going, or you’re going to be late, again.”
He was smiling, and she had to smile with him, even though Selah’s heart seemed to be dropping into the bottom of her chest. Dance was next. Her nemesis.
The question: would she survive it, or would this be her last class, before being shipped back to her ship in disgrace?
***
Selah was grateful for the row of cubicles in the dance studio, all with their own force shield for privacy. She hurriedly changed into dance clothes – more university-supplied gear, this time a simple tunic and loose knee-length pants, still in the omnipresent pale blue, which she was already starting to get tired of. Upperclassmen got more options, taking on the colors of their major fields, but as an undeclared first-year, she was going to be wearing this shade of blue for the next several months.
A bigger problem was the fit – after living her life on ship, where form-fitting knits were the rule, so as to not accidentally have stray fabric catching on something and breaking it, she found it unnerving to have anything drapey and loose around her body. She’d practiced with the sari until she was reasonably comfortable with it (and a host of pins held it in place, just in case), but she hadn’t thought to practice with the dance clothes. They were the right size, of course, made to her measurements, but they just felt weird.
The dancers were stepping out of the cubicles now, and Selah joined them on the wide wooden floor. More wood – beautiful, polished to a high sheen, but treated with something that kept it from being too slippery to dance on. Nice. The other students were already bending into stretches, some of them moving with an ease and familiarity that showed years of practice. Her legs did not bend that way! Selah had learned the basic stretches as a child, though, and she moved into a sun salutation sequence. She looked all right, she thought.
“Jeez, you’d think she’d never worked in gravity before.”
Selah’s face flushed. She wasn’t meant to hear the Salassian’s remark, she was pretty sure. But one mod everyone on ship was born with was enhanced hearing – it could mean life or death, if something went wrong with the air circulators, or with one of the other subtle ship mechanisms that kept fifty-seven fragile bodies alive in space. Space that was constantly trying to kill them, in its brutally impartial way.
The Salassian was twisting into coils with the snake-like dexterity of its species, something no human could hope to achieve. But the young man he talked to was human, and said quietly, “She moves like someone from one of those family ships, you know? They keep the gravity light a lot of the time, so when they’re dealing with something Earth normal, or close to it, they thump around like elephants.”
The Salassian laughed. “Inbred elephants! Do you think they’re all screwing each other? That’s what I heard. It’s surprising she doesn’t have two heads…”
The human replied, “Now come on, some of the nicest people have two heads. Haven’t you ever met a Jornan? Two heads, two hearts, four legs – that’s a species built for redundancy!”
Selah slid down to the floor, in the best approximation of a split she could manage, leaning forward to press her hot cheek against the cool wood. She’d known there were prejudices against families like hers, that people made all kinds of horrible assumptions. But she hadn’t expected to have to confront them on the first day. It was true that some of the crew were partnered, had children together, but they were all very conscientious about checking the gene maps before procreating, cleaning out any potential hazards. Some people were just…awful.
The class just got worse from there. As Selah had feared, she was by far the worst in the class. At one point, Professor Grant just looked at Selah, after she’d attempted a jeté, and said, “I guess you weren’t admitted for your dance skills.” Which was pretty mean for a professor to say, even if she was equally mean to everyone else. It seemed to be her mode.
Professor Grant thumped her cane on the ground, punctuating every exercise, pushing them all mercilessly until the humans, at least, were dripping with sweat, their light blue tunics stained dark. Selah wasn’t sure what the other species did instead of sweating, but she was sure they were being pushed just as hard.
At the end of class, Professor Grant said, “Selah, please wait for a moment and speak to me.”
Selah wanted to slump to the ground and disappear into the floorboards, melting away like the mythical Ancients – some people claimed they were shapeshifters. But she held herself straight instead, waiting for the rush of students to exit the class, and the door to iris shut behind them.
The professor’s eyes seemed a little kinder now that they were alone, but her voice was no less firm. “Selah, you know the requirements for attendance at Kaveri – you have to at least pass competency first year in all the major arts disciplines, including dance.”
“Yes, professor.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to ship you right back to your ship, not today. You can get to competency – I’ve seen hundreds of students with your background make it through. But it’s going to be tougher for you than for most of the students here. You’ll have to work twice as hard. And at the end of it, you’re not going to be a good dancer – you’ll be just barely passable, possibly good enough to dance background in a not very good troupe. So you have to ask yourself — is it really worth all that work?”
Did Professor Grant want an answer right now? Selah’s tongue felt tied in knots, and her head was aching. All of her muscles were sore, and she thought she might have twisted something in her right ankle.
The professor sighed and waved her cane at her. “Go, go. Take a sonic shower, child, get yourself cleaned up, get to your next class. Hopefully it’s something you’re actually good at. I’ll see you in two days.”
Selah bowed her head and left the room as quickly as she could manage.
***
Selah lifted her hands from the clay and considered the result. The past hours had soothed her jangling nerves, as her fingers rolled and shaped the local clay. Red-brown and prone to crumbling, it wasn’t going to give the kinds of results you’d get from something like fine porcelain. But their professor had told them that today was just about getting to know the local materials, connecting to it, learning its properties. There was some trace mineral there that Selah hadn’t seen before — in the right angle of light, glints of gold shone. It was sparking an idea for a collage piece, one that would combine a Syrinthian approach to poetry with an installation that lit up certain words. When the light was right.
“Not bad,” the professor said, tapping her on the shoulder. Selah startled — she’d been so focused on the piece, she hadn’t heard them come up. The lush pelt of the Varisian professor was liberally daubed with red-brown clay, just as covered as Selah’s hands and arms and apron were. Selah wondered how hard it was to get clay out of fur. “But look, you’ve worked so long, your hands have gotten abraded — they’re bleeding, child.”
Selah blushed. “It’s probably because I fell down earlier, scraped up my palms.”
“Well, until they heal, you must wear gloves in class. I know — don’t even argue with me child. They’ll just get worse unless you take care of them now. Understood?”
“Yes,” Selah said obediently.
“Good. Now look — the rest of your class is long gone, off to dinner. Aren’t you hungry? Clean yourself up — there are bandages in the cupboard above the sink. I’ll take care of your station, just this once.”
“Oh, no, I can do it…”
“Don’t argue with your professor,” they said sternly. And then a smile broke across their face, a smile full of large, sharp teeth. “It’s always a pleasure for me when I find a student with a real dedication to the clay. We’re going to have fun together this semester, you’ll see.”
Selah smiled back, happiness bubbling up inside her. This was why she’d come, after all. To have this feeling, even if her palms were stinging for it. She got up, feeling the muscles of her back complain — they’d been sitting stiff for too long, while she bent over the clay bench. Wash her hands, antiseptic (ow), bandages. Self-adhesive, so she could manage them herself, which was good — she didn’t want to bother the professor with anything else. When she glanced back, the professor had already put her pieces with the rest of the class’s work to dry, and was back at her own bench, head down over a piece with beautiful lines.
Selah would have been happy to just stay and watch, but her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her how long it had been since she’d last eaten. She flushed, grabbed her things, and ducked out the door. Surely she could find the dining hall on her own, now that she knew how to use the map on her tablet. She was looking at the tablet, instead of the ground, when her feet bumped into something that almost sent her and the tablet flying. Selah reached out and grabbed a nearby railing, managing to right herself and hold onto the tablet. But when she looked down to see what she’d tripped over, the tablet fell from her hands, landing with an ominous crack on the sidewalk.
It was a body, face-down, lying in a spreading pool of blood.
Selah couldn’t help herself — her mouth opened and horror poured out. She fell to her knees beside the body and screamed.
***
“Hey. Hey, you’re okay.” A blanket wrapped around her, and a steadying arm – it was the woman from the registration desk. Selah had lost time – one minute, she was alone beside a body, and the next, she’d somehow been relocated to the other side of the plaza, and she was surrounded by people, a swarm of students and police and faculty. Bright yellow tape marked off an area on the steps, but the body itself was gone. She couldn’t smell the metallic salt-tang of blood, couldn’t reach out to tip the body over, check if they were still alive –
Selah forced herself to ask, “Are they – are they dead?”
“No,” Nam’kuko said soberly. “Though they were very lucky. The attacker wasn’t familiar with Quernan biology, so managed to miss all the vital organs in the stabbing.”
“They were stabbed?” Selah’s stomach turned over. That felt – personal, somehow. Worse than being shot. Though that didn’t really make any sense. If someone put a hole in you, did it really matter how it got there? “But why?”
Nam’kuko shrugged. “The campus cops are investigating; it’ll be a while before they tell us anything. But we’ve all been released – they said they’d come by later to take statements from us. There were a few people in the plaza who saw the stabbing, and saw you trip over the body, so you’re safely in the clear. In case you were worried.”
Selah hadn’t been – she knew she hadn’t stabbed anyone, after all. But it was nice to be reassured that others knew that too. “So who did do the stabbing?”
“A human. That’s all they’re telling us right now.” Nam’kuko frowned. “Look, you look much paler than you did when I met you this morning. I think we should either get you some food, or get you back to bed, or probably both. What do you think?”
Food sounded disgusting, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea. “I can pick up a sandwich and take it back to my room. If you can point me in the right direction?” Selah pushed herself to her feet, wobbling.
“Oh no,” Nam’kuko said, grabbing her arm to steady her. “You’re in no condition for that. We’re going to get you some soup and a sandwich, and a replacement tablet from stores, and then we’re going to take you back to your room and tuck you back into bed.”
“My roommate hates me.” Selah’s voice was shaky.
Nam’kuko smiled. “No he doesn’t. He was brusque with you, right? A little mean?”
“Yes.” So mean.
“That’s just their way with strangers, especially humans. When you look like a giant teddy bear, you develop defense mechanisms – otherwise, you’d have humans trying to hug you all the time.”
Selah nodded slowly. “Oh. That makes sense.” Maybe he didn’t hate her. That would be good.
Nam’kuko frowned. “You really seem out of it.” She slid an arm around Selah’s waist, linking them together, and started them walking out of the plaza. “Come on, Selah-na-Sorrayyah of Brightness Falling. I got you.”
Selah-na-Sorrayyah of Brightness Falling. That was her name. It was good, having someone on this planet who knew her real name.
***
[final scene on Patreon!]
******
(dedicated to B.J. Smith, beloved English teacher, and to Debbie Allen, who set the standard.)
And if you’d like to vote — whose story would you like me to write next? Your options:
– Nam’kuko
– Joe
– Tsinga
– Professor Marwenn
– Professor Davis
– pottery professor (who doesn’t seem to have been named yet)
– the body
