I’m Wulf Moon. Welcome! Watch your step! This site will always be a work in progress. What? You think I can build a universe in seven days? Free drinks at the bar as worlds are created. Will that be one monkey, or two?
I’m a Pacific Northwest writer–made my living for years as such. But I’m also an artist–made my living for years as such. This watercolor painting is titled “Eye of the Forest.” Copyright 2005 by Wulf Moon. Just a sample of my work. I’ve taught hundreds of people watercolor over the years from my studio, and also the waterfront gallery. My works have been both commissioned and purchased by collectors the world over, from yacht owners in the San Juan Islands, to collectors from Dubai, to a château owner in France. I’ll post more as time goes on. For now, enjoy my blogs on writing speculative fiction. Rome wasn’t built in a day . . .
I’ve always known I’m a writer. You are born with it, sleeping in your gut. The rest is dedication, education, and polishing your craft. And courage. You have to serve seven cats–every successful writer knows that–and allow only ONE in your office. But if you want more proof, here it is:
. . . but were afraid to ask. Well, the editor at Third Flatiron Publishing, Juliana Rew, wasn’t afraid! She put the thumbscrews to me after my beastie podcast, and I squealed everything. Juli said I could share–just like influenza, misery loves company. (I always say misery loves comfort, preferably Southern, but what do I know?)
Short Stories “Beast of the Month,” Third Flatiron’s Best of 2017 anthology, Third Flatiron Publishing–humorous fantasy story where a wizard’s mail order managerie service runs amok. “Beast of the Month,” Strange Beasties anthology, Third Flatiron Publishing–where the story originally appeared in 2017. You can listen to the story for free by clicking the podcast below. Podcasts “Beast of the …
My grandmother was Native American, of the Chippewa (Ojibwa) nation. She raised me in my formative years. She was everything you’ve read, heard, or seen in oral storytellers of the first people of America. I begged a story out of her every night, and I usually got my wish–fireside tales that fired my imagination. Now, …
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