Aeryn Rudel

@aerynrudel.bsky.social

1165 Followers 683 Following

Author, rejectomantic blogger, dinosaur nerd, sword enthusiast, SFWA & HWA member. Stories in PseudoPod, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Factor Four Magazine, Radon Journal, others. #vss365 https://linktr.ee/Aeryn_Rudel?utm_source=linktree_admin_share

Big orange Maine Coon in a blue cat bed that's too small for him.
Graphic from Duotrope showing 100 submission year to date.
"Gonna need satanic potholders or some shit for that." She left the doll where it lay for the moment and knelt beside Raj. She took one of his hands. "Raj, can you hear me?" The detective blinked and turned his head toward her. He closed his mouth and swallowed. He looked like a man coming to after getting his lights punched out in a boxing match. "I . . . uh, what happened?" Oh, please, please, please let him not remember. "We won, thanks to you. Bael is trapped in that doll, but your partner has probably already found Kendal Yakuta’s body and is almost certainly gonna connect the dots and show up with most of the SPD." Raj sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then his mouth trembled, and he looked at the ground. "B-Bael was . . . was inside of me." Fuck. "I know." "I . . . I saw . . . things," Raj continued, eyes brimming with angry, horrified tears. "He filled my mind with . . . I can't . . ." Lindsey remembered the images she'd seen when Bael had enveloped her. Probably just the preview of the full horror show Raj had experienced. "Raj, I'm so sorry. If I could have stopped him, I would have, but we have to get out of here. Right now." Raj drew in a shaking breath, and his eyes clouded, became distant. "Adramelech was different. He helped me, told me what to do until the end." It didn’t surprise Lindsey that the demon hadn’t abused Raj's flesh or tormented him. Adramelech was different, had become different, but she didn't fully understand why. Lindsey stood and pulled Raj to his feet. "I promise we'll talk about this. I'll . . . help you."
The next morning, he lay tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, gritting his teeth against the riot of feelings and sensations overloading his body. When his door opened, and Agents Sung and Gonzales stepped into his room, he almost wept with relief at the distraction. "You look terrible," Agent Sung said. "And you smell like shit," Agent Gonzales added. Everett sat up and tried to smooth out his rumpled scrubs. He needed to at least present the image of a man in control. "I'm fine. Bad dreams." Agent Sung shook her head. "If you're not up to this, physically, emotionally, whatever, you need to tell me right now." "I'm fine," he repeated. "I'll hold up my end of our deal if you hold up yours." Talking and interacting was helping a little, and he could feel his heart rate slowing. "Okay, here's how you start holding up your end of the deal," she said. "I need to know where Gloria lives, what condition she might be in, and how my team can prepare for that." He laughed. "You think I can prepare you if Gloria's still a vampire?" "Why is that funny?" Agent Gonzales asked. "Because if that's the case, and we walk into her lair, I'm the only one who will survive. She'll kill every one of you." "I'm bringing fifteen highly trained and well-armed agents. You don't think that'll matter?" Agent Sung looked insulted. "You could bring fifty and it wouldn't matter," Everett said. "You have no idea what a vampire her age can do." "Then tell me," Agent Sung said. "I won't tell you how to kill her," he said. "But I'll tell you enough to save yourselves."
Adramelech considered telling Lindsey what he'd seen. He might be rewarded for warning her about a potential danger. The thought summoned instant shame. He was a demon, a fallen angel, an entity who had literally stood in the presence of the almighty. How could he consider bargaining with a mortal so he could watch more TV? How had he gotten so low? As if sensing Adramelech's thoughts, Lindsey's voice blared in his mind. Hey, this dude is giving me the creeps. You sensing anything weird? A choice stood before Adramelech: tell Lindsey about a possible threat and bargain for more ephemeral distractions or wait and see if some real entertainment developed. But there was a risk. If something terrible did befall Lindsey, as much as he might enjoy watching said terrible thing happen, he'd be stuck inside a doll for the next sixty years, possibly without a human being who believed he was real, or worse, with one who’d tie a rock to him and drop him in the ocean. Hey, Lindsey broke in again. Earth to demon. I said are you getting anything from this guy? Adramelech turned his attention back to Robert Miller, admiring his sucking void of a soul like a person might admire a beautiful piece of art. It was splendid. Adramelech made his decision. Nah, he's fine. Probably just a garden-variety creeper. I'd guess the evilest thing about him is a suspect search history on PornHub. Lindsey stifled a laugh midsentence as she was explaining more about "empathic projections" and "vaporous entities." Fair enough. Keep an eye out, though. Adramelech felt the complacency in her reply, the comfort. Not trust, no. She was too smart for that, but she believed she had him under control, and that, more than anything, strengthened his decision.
Mark sighed. "Fine, but this conversation never happened, and any information you get from me you found on your own. Will you promise me that?" "I promise you, Mark. I wouldn't hurt—" "Yeah, let's not go down that particular road, okay? You said noise complaints." She closed her eyes. His reproach stung, but she couldn't blame him. "Yes, very specific ones, though. Babies crying, but not just you know, the usual." "What do you mean?" "I mean, not just crying like a hungry baby." What Adramelech had told her about Bael when he'd posed as the Carthaginian god Ba'al Hammon came roaring back, and the sound she'd heard at the Millers rang clear and awful in her head. I mean like . . . crying in pain." "Jesus, you weren't kidding. That’s pretty damn specific." "I know, but it's important. Also, in the same area, I need to know if there are any complaints about smoke." "Where are you going with all this? Does it have anything to do with your new line of work? You chasing ghosts or something?" I wish it was just ghosts. "It's a hunch, Mark. Something I picked up at the scene."
I hope this message finds you well. My name is Marcus. I’m a film executive currently curating a shortlist of literary works with strong screen adaptation potential. I’m excited to share something that may be a milestone moment in your storytelling journey. Your book Acts of War: 1 (Flashpoint) has been officially shortlisted for a private industry showcase hosted in collaboration with Amazon Prime Video. This invitation-only event is designed to connect a select group of high-potential literary works with film and television producers, studio buyers, and top-tier creators who are actively seeking the next breakout screen project. Why This Should Be on Your Radar: This is not a submission call. Your book was nominated through a confidential review and selection process. Backed by real momentum. Prime Video is currently prioritizing original adaptations across drama, thriller, true crime, sci-fi, documentaries, and prestige fiction. Global reach. This showcase offers exposure to decision-makers with production capability in over 200 markets. Whether you’re a debut author or a seasoned writer, this is about one thing: turning exceptional stories into cinematic experiences—with the right team behind it. Next Steps (If You’re Open): Send a private PDF copy of your book for internal review by our content development team. (Fully confidential—industry standard.) Let us know how to reach you for a short 15-minute call. No pressure, just context and clarity on how this process unfolds. What You Should Know: You don’t need an agent to explore this. We speak directly with authors, rights holders, and reps alike. There’s no cost or obligation. If your work resonates with the team, we move forward. If not, you’ve still earned an exclusive review. Timing matters. Only 10-15 titles are being invited this quarter, and final slots are closing shortly. We know this space is full of noise. That’s why we keep this process discreet, direct, and driven by story value.
Lindsey hated leaving her apartment most of the time, but she’d run out of food and good booze, so three days after meeting with Detective Batra, she hauled herself out to the grocery store down the street, a PNW mega-mart chain called Fred Meyer. On a whim, she stuck Adramelech in one of her oversized shopping bags. She told herself it was because Bael was out there somewhere, and she needed Adramelech to defend her. The truth was far less pragmatic. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even an eight-thousand-year-old demon whose attitude could best be described as petulant serial killer. You know that shit is terrible for you, Adramelech said as Lindsey pulled a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf. Lindsey dropped the box of cereal in her cart. Fuck you. They’re magically delicious. Yeah, they’ll pair magically with those two handle-jugs of vodka you grabbed seconds after walking in here.
“Oh, come on!” A knife-edged voice slashed into Lindsey’s en-suite bathroom where she knelt before her toilet wishing like hell she could just puke and get it over with. Adramelech’s vocal range was somewhere between furious hornet and screeching teakettle. “That is such bullshit!” Lindsey had a vague recollection of setting the doll Adramelech inhabited in front of the TV the night before to keep him occupied. She’d put on an episode of the demon’s favorite show, Sex and the City, but the streaming platform’s autoplay had now apparently switched to something less to his liking. “Can you please keep it the fuck down in there?” Lindsey shouted, her voice echoing off the inside of the toilet bowl where she hung her head, sweat-tangled hair brushing the bleach-scented water. As was common with her worst hangovers, her guts roiled like a class five hurricane but were entirely unwilling to give up their contents to the great porcelain god.
A bar of soap labeled Soap for Writers Block with the following description: smells like regurgitated ideas and probably a vampire.
A bingo card with short story writing goals instead of numbers. Goals include achievements in submissions, acceptances, rejections, new stories written, and professional sales.
Flesch-Kincaid readability scores for a short story. Reading Ease - 71.4 Grade Level - 6.0 Passive Sentences - 5.5%
A screenshot of Flesch-Kincaid readability scores. Reading Ease - 86.8 Grade Level - 4.1 Passive sentences - 1.4%
A blackboard filled with chalk hashmarks. Below the blackboard is a red octagonal sign with an abacus in it next to the words Submission Statement
A black fossilized megalodon tooth about three inches wide and five inches high sits on a polished quartz countertop. A LEGO minifigure of Luke Skywalker with a blue lightsaber stands next to the tooth for scale.
A blackboard filled with geometric symbols and equations. Below that is a yellow label made to look like a hazard sign that reads "Dubious Writing Advice."
A table strewn with occult objects like runes, candles, pentagrams, etc. with REJECTOMANTIC ARTS at the bottom done in the style of a hazard sign.
A D&D Adventure cover depicting a floating, tentacled monstrosity (a grell) threatening a woman chained to a sacrificial altar while two adventurers (a dwarf and an elf) charge to her rescue.
A blackboard with white hash marks over the header SUBMISSION STATEMENT, beside which is an abacus in a red octagon, like a stop sign.
Giant orange Maine Coon under a poster for the movie ALIEN.
"Sometimes you have to go on when you don't feel like it, and sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position." Stephen King
A little blush gives the skin a natural pallor. Extract of onion simulates bad breath. Clothes stolen from donation bins exude a living stink. Together, they distract from dead eyes, pointed ears, and jagged teeth. Together, they might get you close enough for a bite.
The #goal of spectral integration therapy, or SIT, is to ensure disembodied spirits can peacefully cohabitate with the living. Spirits who complete SIT are 75% less likely to engage in poltergeist behavior or require GET (generalized exorcism techniques) interventions.