Mike Buckley is a widely-published short story writer whose work has appeared in national journals such as The Alaska Quarterly Review, The Southern California Review, and Clarkesworld, Daily Science Fiction, and Escape Pod. His work has been anthologized numerous times, including in The Best American Non-Required Reading, 2003, and the upcoming Red Hen LA Writers Anthology. His debut collection of short fiction, Miniature Men, was released in 2011.
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Mike Buckley has the following works available at Clarkesworld:
Contact: Lost Colony. Vessel: The Intention The man and his geezix stepped out of the burned hills in the pitch-black morning. Machines towered in front of them, caught in the lights of the floating handhelds, and Cal listened to the geezix make its way carefully over the pebbles of an ancient wash and tried not […]
I was sixteen when the viz came. The spiral went crazy for a while, shooting, soldiers at the corners. But then, like everyone knows, it went back to normal. By twenty I was looking for ghosts in the vaults. I’m not the youngest to have gone into the vaults; there was a girl a few […]
Tim has worshipped Catalus forever. If you let him, he’ll go on about the grace and speed of Catalus, about the bravery of the charge they made against the cliffs within The Living Forest. Speed and grace. Bravery. In the end, it’s just love. Everyone’s eyes glow when they describe their favorite soldier. Mine is […]
Wake up, killer. For a year, two, you’ve been the static hum of space, floating, spread out over a solar system, asleep, invisible. Girl born on Helio 70, you. Property of Fonta Corp. Little skeez life crouched on a side street in the darkest spiral neighborhood. Musical genius, you. It started as humming. You watched […]
Gonzo arrived in an assault of brass music and spilling banners rippling the pelt of cannon smoke where her feet would’ve been, taking up the hotel entrance in all its marble and chrome—its expensive anachronisms and the people paid to stand next to them in red vests—filling it up as I probably had, Mitchum thought. […]
