The Blog

Be The First Person To Read My Newest Short Story

Hi! I’m fantasy writer, essayist, and copious tweeter Saladin Ahmed. I’m writing now to my readers, as I do a couple of times a year, to ask for help making ends meet.

Not familiar with my work? Here are a bunch of free short stories: some of my essays:, and the first chapter of my Locus Award winning, Hugo and Nebula nominated novel:

I like to think I write stuff worth reading, and I hope I bring a unique perspective to fantasy and geek culture. But — in large part due to severe Major Depressive Disorder and being the primary caregiver to twin preschoolers — I work *slowly.* A novel every few years, a few essays and short stories in between. I’ve been overwhelmed with the positive responses my work has received, but I don’t produce it quickly enough to make a living. And so I do freelance editing, occasionally teach at a university, etc., etc. And the writing gets put on hold, and still the ends don’t quite meet.

One thing has kept me writing: crowdfunding. I don’t have a Patreon or a Kickstarter. But 2-3 times a year, I turn to readers and fans and ask for patronage via paypal. If you’ve valued my voice in fiction, in my essays, or on social media, please consider dropping a tip in my jar.

In return, I’m offering something new: I’ve had wonderfully kind editors from most of the major SF/F magazines ask me for work, but my next short story (which will be done in May) will NOT see its debut in a magazine. Instead, it will be sent directly to everyone who contributes to this fund drive. I won’t reprint it anywhere else for six months. Patrons, however, will be free to share/post it as they wish (with a few sensible restrictions).

What’s the new story about? What genre is it? It’s a surprise. But if you donate, you’ll be among the first to find out!

You can make a donation to here:

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An update and an ask

If you’re reading this, you probably already know me, either from my writing or my presence on social media. But just in case: I’m Saladin Ahmed, author of the Hugo-nominated novel THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON, numerous award-nominated short stories, and essays on race and geek culture.

I’m writing to update my wonderful readers on what I’m working on now, and to ask for your support in continuing that work.

Firstly, an answer to the question that I am asked every single day: Yes, there will be a sequel to THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON! Its title is THE THOUSAND AND ONE. Here’s a bit about it:

In 2012, Saladin Ahmed’s THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON, praised by George RR Martin as “Old-fashioned sword-and-sorcery adventure with an Arabian Knights flavor,” was nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, and British Fantasy Awards, and won the Locus Award for Best First Novel. Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, and Library Journal gave it starred reviews, and NPR Books called it “Terrific fantasy….Lord of the Rings meets the Arab Spring.” Now Ahmed returns with the hotly-anticipated sequel.

Revolution has come to the Crescent Moon Kingdoms, and ancient terrors roam the deserts and alleyways. Doctor Adoulla Makhslood, the last real ghul hunter in the city of Dhamsawaat, stubbornly ignores the turmoil around him — until his long-awaited wedding is interrupted by the enigmatic Queen of the Djenn. Meanwhile, the tribeswoman Zamia Badawi, haunted by dead kinsmen and forbidden love, becomes an unlikely general in a brutal civil war. And holy warrior Raseed bas Raseed undertakes a deadly journey back to the Lodge of God, hoping to purify himself of religious doubts and his troubling attraction to Zamia. Once again, Adoulla and his friends set out to make things right in a world gone wrong — but the greatest threat may be the one they can’t see.

It will be published in early 2016. This marks four years between novels, an unforgivable stretch in the world of genre fiction. Why? One word: depression.

I suffered from major depressive disorder for two decades before finally seeking treatment and being diagnosed last year. It’s a horror of a condition, as vicious a monster as anything my characters have faced. Because of depression I’ve left wonderful letters from fans to rot in my inbox. Because of depression I wrote *and then deleted* a nearly-complete draft of THE THOUSAND AND ONE.

Yeah. That sucked.

Happily, after several false starts, I’ve finally found the treatment I need. I’m the most hopeful I’ve been in a decade, and I have some incredibly exciting things planned. In 2015, readers can expect to see my work in a PC platformer, an online storytelling game, a couple of major nonfiction venues, and, very possibly, a comic book.

In the meantime, I need to make a living. I do this in various ways. I edit manuscripts on a freelance basis. I occasionally teach at local universities. I write nonfiction. Every year, this is ALMOST enough to make ends meet. For the past several years, however, the generous support of my readers has made all the difference in sustaining my career. I’ve done several ‘patronage drives’ over the past three years, each raising a few thousand dollars. These infusions are what have enabled me to continue writing, however slowly, and I can’t begin to explain how grateful I am for this support.

Now things are tight, and I’m asking again.

I get some folks’ distaste with this model of online beggary. But I also know that there are many readers who understand that some writers take a long time to produce, and that the work they produce won’t always be supported by ‘the market’ alone. I know that there are readers out there who are willing to invest a bit extra in the voices they cherish. I’ve tried to be one of those readers. I’m also lucky enough to have had a few of those readers myself. It’s to you folks that I’m speaking.

I know that there are other platforms out there for more sustained support of artists. I’m working on a couple of brand-new short stories to offer as part of a Patreon launch early next year. But to be frank, that’s a couple months down the road, and I’m in an immediate pinch. So I’m asking folks who like my writing and would like to see more of it to act as patrons via a paypal donation to

As alwys, thank you all for your incredible support. I couldn’t do this without it.

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A new(ish) story and a request

Lean times over here after flooding and some work that fell through. So I’m trying something a bit different to raise funds.

I’ve posted a new-to-the-internet short story, “Without Faith, Without Law, Without Joy,” to Medium. The story appeared in the anthology RAGS AND BONES alongside folks like Neil Gaiman, Holly Black, and Gene Wolfe. It’s about a Muslim man trapped in an English epic poem, and it’s maybe the best thing I’ve ever written. Now you can read it for free!

If you dig it – or if you dig my twitter commentary, or my golden age comics curation, or my free short story collection – please consider committing an act of patronage via paypal in the direction of, where, to be honest, it’s sorely needed.


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Amethyst, Shadow, and Light

As a ‘thank you’ to readers for helping me out in my recent crowdfunding campaign, here’s some free old-school-esque sword-and-sorcery by yours truly. “Amethyst, Shadow, and Light” is new to the internet, and features Zok Ironeyes and Hai Hai the rabbitwoman (who debuted in “Iron-Eyes and the Watered Down World), in my Robert E Howard/Fritz Leiber pastiche world, The Jeweled Empires. Enjoy!


You can also download “Amethyst, Shadow, and Light” as a free ebook here.

Amazing art by Adi Fitri. This story originally appeared in a slightly different form in FEARSOME JOURNEYS: THE NEW SOLARIS BOOK OF FANTASY, (ed. Jonathan Strahan).


Amethyst, Shadow, and Light

Saladin Ahmed


“I just think it’s a bad idea,” Zok Ironeyes said as he sat down to a hilltop meal of oatcakes and pigeon eggs with Hai Hai. Below them, across a vast expanse of the greygrass that gave Greygrass Barrows its name, stood the small manor house under discussion. Zok popped a pickled egg into his mouth and turned his gaze from the bright green house to his partner’s beady black eyes.

Hai Hai waved a dismissive white paw. Her long, pink-tipped ears drooped slightly, as they did when she was annoyed. “‘A bad idea.’ That’s what you always say. That’s what you said about the Mad Monk’s Meadery.”

Zok chewed and swallowed. “And we were nearly killed by the shade of a baby-eating cleric there.”

“You were happy enough with the outcome, though. We rode away with a case of rubywine and you met those two whores with the rhyming names.” The rabbitwoman smiled wickedly and took a bite of her oatcake.

Zok also smiled in spite of himself. “Anyway, abandoned house, unattended loot that somehow hasn’t been claimed yet – this all sounds too good. A beautiful beer-bottle with poison inside.” But even as he said it, he was plotting out their approach in his mind.

The greygrass was tall enough that even Zok could approach unseen. The sweet-smelling blades swayed in the breeze, enough so that the duo’s movement might be masked. It was either a perfect score or a trap.

Zok knew how that usually ended. Still, the thousand gods damn him, he’d never been able to resist a ripe peach dangling from a low branch.

He ate his last pigeon egg. Perhaps Hai Hai’s mewling stooge had told the truth. Perhaps the place had been left unattended all season. The Legion kept a relative peace on the roads, even this far out, but bandits were hardly unheard of. Not to mention wolves and grasscats. The owners would have to be away to have left the ground uncleared so close to the front door.

Unless they had… other ways of keeping watch.

Zok took a long pull from his wineskin and turned it all over in his mind again. But there was little point. Either they went in, as quiet as they could, or they didn’t. “This source of yours… you trust him?”

Hai Hai drained her own wineskin, and a thin red rivulet trickled down her chin, staining her white fur. “Foxshit and fire, Zok, no, I don’t trust him! It’s a fucking gamble, same as anything we do in this road-life of ours. How many thousand-gods-damned fool errands have I followed you on? Hunting that toad-headed demon you’re always going on about? Peace and honor to your dead wife, man, but—”

Zok nearly growled at the blithe mention of Fraja’s name. Out of habit, his fingers went into his purse and touched the earring that was his only memento of his wife.

Hai Hai saw the fire in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Zok. I know she was a fine woman, but she was nothing to me. I’ve helped you try to avenge her because you’re my partner. That means something. So if I say ‘here’s a score,’ you should…”

As Hai Hai spoke, Zok stood and strapped his bespelled broadsword Menace to his hip. By the time she finished her little speech, he was already moving quietly down the hill toward the manor house.


* * *


The two-story house was made of green-glazed brick, and had a flat, crenelated roof. Stables, a small barn, and a shed stood off to the side. Not a sound came from any of the buildings. No light from lamps, no smoke from fires. No animals about, either, other than the odd sparrow or squirrel.

The front door of the green house was a slab of etchwood covered in images of animals. Zok knew right away that it was genuine, and his pulse raced at the size and complexity of the nature-wrought scenes. Etchwood was prized for the naturally occurring images it held, but usually one found a single flower or a sun. A slab this size, with this many little pictures… Zok smiled, despite his unease. One part of the story was true, at least—there was great wealth here.

Beside him, Hai Hai sniffed once, and her ears stiffened. She gave him the someone’s here hand gesture. Zok’s muscles tensed. He looked before him, behind him. Nothing.

Something struck him hard from above. The quiet afternoon exploded with shouts.

A man had dropped onto him from the rooftop. Even as he crumpled to the ground, Zok shoved his attacker away. The man—no more than a blur of colorful robes to Zok’s eyes—was on top of him again in an instant. Where is Hai Hai? Zok couldn’t see his partner. Worse, he couldn’t reach his sword.

Zok wrestled with his attacker. The man smelled of cloves, and his mustache was long and braided. An Eastlander? What in the Three Hells is he doing here, besides trying to kill me? Somewhere behind him he heard a woman shouting and Hai Hai cursing.

Menace’s hilt dug into his ribs. Zok tried to gouge the man’s eyes, tried to get space for a good head-butt. But despite being much smaller, the Eastlander was nearly as strong as Zok. Few enough men could say that.

Zok felt the battle-madness rise in him. Enough of this. He twisted and bit the Eastlander, tasting blood.

It worked. The man screamed and looked at Zok as if he had just become a giant viper. Zok seized on the Eastlander’s surprise. He managed to flip the man onto his back, then sat astride him, pinning his wrists. A dozen yards away, Hai Hai was facing off against a small, dark-haired woman also wearing vibrant robes. The rabbitwoman had lost one of her sabers. The Eastlander woman wasn’t armed, but a strange glow surrounded her hands, and they danced like weapons.

Zok looked back to his attacker. Now that he’d been pinned, the man didn’t struggle. He just lay there, staring at Zok as if at a mad dog.

Only then did Zok notice the man’s necklace. Around his neck was an incredibly thin band of what looked like… amethyst. The stone of the Empire.

Zok could still hear Hai Hai and the Eastlander woman, but he could no longer see them.

Do they work for the Amethyst Empress? Why in the Three Hells would Easterners be working for the Empire? Who are these people? They were good, whoever they were. That rooftop blow would have knocked most men cold.

But Zok was not most men.

“Stand down, woman, or I’ll kill your friend here!” he shouted. It was a bluff—as soon as Zok released the man’s hands he’d have a fighting opponent again—but it was worth a try.

“Zok, don’t—” Hai Hai’s shout came from somewhere behind him before it was cut short. Zok turned, trying to keep hold of his captive. He saw Hai Hai sprawled at the robed woman’s feet.

Then the Eastlander twisted away hard, breaking free of Zok’s grip. Something—some sort of pink light—blazed forth from the man’s hand, catching Zok full in the face. It burned his eyes, and he had trouble breathing. In an instant, he felt the magical light clouding his mind as well.

“Bind them,” he heard the Eastlander say from far away. Only then did he realize he was lying on the ground. It was all Zok could do to keep his eyes open. After another moment, he couldn’t even do that.

* * *

 Zok awoke in chains. It had happened to him enough times that he did not panic. He was indoors, in a drafty building with a high ceiling. It was dark—the dark just before sunrise, his body told him, which meant he’d been out for hours—and his nose picked up the faded scents of horse and riding-beast nearby. He guessed he was in the stables of the house he’d just tried to rob.

He tested his bonds once, twice, thrice. But it was no use—whoever had chained him had known just how strong he was.

Just as his eyes were adjusting to the dark, a weasel of a man entered the stables. He carried a torch in one hand, and what looked like a jewelry box in the other.

“Who do you work fo

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Please Won’t You Be…My Patron?

Hello! Most folks reading this probably know me already, but for those who don’t: I’m Saladin Ahmed, fantasy writer and author of articles on geeky subjects, as well as of the odd twitter rant.


If you’ve enjoyed my novel, my FREE ebook of Arab/Muslim-themed science fiction and fantasy, my articles on race and geek culture, or my musings on twitter, please read on to learn how you can help keep me writing. If you’re not familiar with my writing, please check out the links above to see if this is work that you’d like to support!

I am writing this because I am in a very tough financial spot and have had success in the past using crowdfunding to convert reader enthusiasm into a means of keeping afloat financially as I write. I’m hoping to raise $5000 dollars to assist with childcare over the next six months. I am the primary caregiver for our amazing four-year-old twins. Between this, my day job as a freelance editor, and the incredibly draining time/energy-suck of severe Major Depressive Disorder (which I was finally diagnosed with this year, after decades of fearing/avoiding treatment), I have very little time for writing. Having the kids in preschool at least gives me a fighting chance.

Some of the projects I will be working on over the next six months with your support:

–Finishing THE THOUSAND AND ONE, the sequel to my debut novel THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON, which won the Locus Award for Best First Novel, and was nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, Crawford, Gemmell, and British Fantasy Awards. I’d hoped to be finished with THE THOUSAND AND ONE by the end of 2013. Life with kids and mental illness, it turns out, has a way of destroying one’s best-laid plans. But I am close! About 75% of the novel is finished, and – if I’m able to focus on writing – I fully expect to have a polished draft wrapped up in the next two months.

As a sort of pre-teaser, here is a free short story featuring holy warrior-turned-renegade Layla bas Layla, one of the novel’s main characters.

–Writing an article on my great-grandmother Aliya Hassan. Aliya Hassan, daughter of some of the earliest Arab Muslim immigrants to the US, was an astonishing woman. A private detective in New York City in the 1950s. A friend of Malcolm X’s. A mostly-devout Muslim who was nonetheless an ace card player. A student of the martial arts. Co-founder of one of the largest social service agencies in Michigan.


She was also my great-grandmother. She named me, and she was the first person who told me stories from THE 1001 NIGHTS. I’ve been wanting to write about her for years. And with your help, I can!

–Writing an article on the politics of pre-Comics Code comics. Those who follow me on twitter have probably seen my tweets detailing the seemingly inexhaustible treasures of – an online archive of comic books from the 40s and 50s, eg:


These explorations have sparked some thoughts on pulp politics of race, gender, war, and patriotism. With your help, I can collect these thoughts – and some of these gorgeous old illustrations – into an article.

–Finally writing two short stories that have been knocking around in my head, one set in the CRESCENT MOON KINGDOMS world of my novels, one a historical fantasy about early 20th century New York City.

–Continuing my @tweetthenights project on a more regular basis. For those who’ve not seen it, this is my attempt to edit the definitive translation of the earliest extant 1001 NIGHTS manuscript into tweet-sized bites.

This is not my first time passing the hat online. I’ve done three fund drives over the past three years. I’m painfully aware that I’m going back to the well here. But each time I’ve closed a fund drive, several people have written afterward to ask if they could still help in some way. And I ‘meet’ new readers and friends online every day. While I could certainly use help from my diehard supporters (you know who you are!), I’m hoping this fund drive will also reach folks who are new to my writing and willing to help out.

The most effective means of helping out is via a donation to my Paypal account ( I will post nightly totals on twitter, and will close to donations once I’ve reached $5000. I am currently investigating Patreon and a number of other crowdfunding tools, but Paypal is still the quickest, cheapest, and most efficient tool I’ve found.

Awesome! Please direct them to And thank you thank you thank you in advance for your kindness and generosity.

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I am positively delighted by this fan art of THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON characters by “adi-fitri,” from

 Doctor Adoulla Makhslood

Doctor Adoulla Makhslood

Run, Doctor! Run!

Raseed bas Raseed

 Raeed bas Raseed, the Dervish desert-ninja-warrior-monk assistant to Dr. Adoulla Makhslood. I imagine his clothing are robustly functional and modest due to the discipline of his order.

Raseed bas Raseed under the turban.

Zamia Banu Laith Badawi

Zamia Banu Laith Badawi - the colours of her garment hint at her lioness form. While there’s no mention of any facial marks in the book, I gave her some that kind of resemble whisker spots.

Zamia in lioness form.

Litaz Daughter-of-Likami

Litaz, alkhemist.

Dawoud Son-of-Wajeed

Dawoud son of Wajeed, magus.d

Mouw Awa the Manjackal


Pharaad Az Hammaz, theFalcon Prince


Stuff like this makes me feel like VERY lucky author!

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The World Science Fiction Convention And I (And You?)

I will be at Worldcon, the World Science Fiction Convention, in San Antonio, Texas this weekend!

In addition to attending the Hugo Awards ceremony (my novel THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON is up for Best Novel) and being on panels (contemporary Sword and Sorcery, writing a series), I will be giving a reading. Schedule details here.

I don’t expect to use the entire hour of my reading slot, however. Thus the main reason for this post: a sort of unorthodox, last minute talent search/mini-showcase. I will have 10-15 minutes of extra time on my hands during my Worldcon reading. And I figure I might as well use them to boost a newer writer. So:

If you  are a fantasy or science fiction writer of color with no more than one book* out…
And you are able to get to Worldcon in San Antonio this Sunday, Sep. 1st @ Noon…
And you’d like to read with me to an adoring crowd of maybe seven or eight people…

Then email me at and tell me a bit about yourself and your work. No need for anything at all formal, just a few lines about you and/or what you write.  I’ll pick a co-reader as quickly as possible,  based on my own opaque, capricious, obscenely subjective set of criteria.

Now the neat part: Thanks to the generosity of an *incredibly* awesome donor who will remain anonymous for now, a Sunday day pass to Worldcon will be provided for you!

Check out cool panels and readings! Meet some awesome writers! Attend the Hugo Awards ceremony! Read your own work to an audience (possibly a tiny audience, but still) of dedicated SF/F fans! Avoid using exclamation points as gratuitously as I!

Questions can be directed to the email address above. See you in Texas!

*Note:  You needn’t have a book out, or even be professionally published yet.

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I’ll be at GenCon in Indianapolis this weekend as part of their Writers Symposium. I’ll be talking fiction, reading from my work, and generally geeking out with dozens of writers and thousands of gamers. The full schedule of Writer’s Symposium panels, seminars, and readings is here:

I’ll be on back-to-back panels on Fri afternoon from 3-6. Topics include worldbuilding, outlining, and mastering short fiction.

On Saturday at 4pm I’ll be in the dealer’s room signing books. Right afterwards, at 5pm, I’ll be reading with author Joel Shepherd in Room 3.

I’ve been intrigued by GenCon since I was nine years old, and couldn’t be more thrilled to be a part of the festivities. Hope to see many of you there!

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A few days ago I asked the internet for some fundraising help and offered up my ebook collection ENGRAVED ON THE EYE for free.

The response has been nothing short of astonishing. Through the incredible generosity of readers, colleagues, and wonderful strangers, I’ve raised enough to cover all of the expenses described. THE FUNDRAISER IS NOW OVER! I will return any donations made after 8am EST today, August 5.

I can’t thank you all enough. I’ll do a follow-up post in the next day or so with more extensive thanks, thoughts, and reflections.

And ENGRAVED ON THE EYE will remain free in all formats on Smashwords:

Happy reading, warm wishes, and  a hundred thousand thank yous!

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Cap In Hand: The Darker Side of The Writing Life

[Update: The fundraiser is now closed. Thanks to your generosity, I’ve raised enough to cover all of the expenses below. I can’t thank you all enough for your support and for all of the kind notes about what my writing has meant to you! And I can’t wait to meet readers in Indianapolis and San Antonio!]

This is a difficult post to write.

A little over a year ago, I hit a very hard time in terms of my mental and financial health. In desperation, I broke a long, self-imposed silence about some of these issues, and posted a very public plea for help. To say that I was overwhelmed by the generous response would be an understatement. Readers, friends, colleagues, and total strangers came together for me. Within a few days I’d made a slew of new internet friends who understood what I was going through, and who offered crucial psychic support and help developing a strategy for reclaiming my mental health. People also donated over $7000 dollars of their hard-earned money, which still feels like a miracle when I think on it (more actually came in, but I returned all payments that came after the listed expenses were met).

The last year has, in some ways, been better than the one before it. Between the aid of others and my own hard work, I’ve been able to pay bills and attend a couple of conventions to meet readers. My novel, THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON, has been nominated for most of the genre’s major awards, and won the Locus Award for Best New Novel! For the first time in my near-40 years of life I’m undergoing treatment for anxiety. It’s true that the circus of different therapists and medications led me on a dark, half-year parade during which I was not able to take on much freelance editing work, and very little writing got done. But this long-term investment is beginning to pay off: I’ve got a good therapist, I’m on what feel like the right meds. I’m taking on clients again. And I’m **writing.** Regularly and, dare I say it, well. If all goes well, THE THOUSAND AND ONE, Book II of THE CRESCENT MOON KINGDOMS, will finally be done by year’s end, and out next year. I think you’re going to love it. (The first public teaser follows this post.)

I am writing now, however, because I am in trouble again. This may be baffling to those on the outside, who see a book being nominated for awards and reviewed by NPR and translated into Chinese, and, understandably, figure “That writer’s set.” But, as any midlist novelist can tell you, having one’s first novel published does not equal riches. And buzz does not equal a living wage. Despite lean living and taking on as much freelance work as I can find, I’ve a pretty grim half-year before me. Things already look better for next year, particularly after my next book is done. But for 2013 I find myself in the position – hardly unique among creative types in our culture – of trying to figure out how to help make ends meet without, in essence, giving up writing.

So I’m asking for your help to raise funds for two specific expenses:

Childcare: While my wife moves heaven and earth to provide for our family, I am often our ‘front line’ in caring for our three-year-old twins. In the last year or so they’ve been in daycare full-time, and it’s been an incredible blessing. I miss them every hour they’re gone, but if I’ve any hope of continuing to write books, the kids will need to stay in daycare. By 2014 I will be earning enough to ensure this myself (provided I can write in the meantime). But meeting this expense for the next several months is looking unlikely without some sort of outside assistance.

Convention travel: The organizers of GenCon, the world’s largest gaming convention, have invited me to be a part of their Writers Symposium. It blows my mind: Dungeons and Dragons was a hugely formative influence on me, and now the folks who MAKE Dungeons and Dragons want me to come and read my work and sign books at their enormous party! I’m excited to meet the many readers who’ve said they’ll be there. I’ll be doing this as cheaply as I can — driving and splitting a hotel room 3 ways. But things have been tight enough these past couple of month that even gas, cheap food, and 1/3rd a hotel room could prove prohibitive.

Even harder for me is that travel to WorldCon – which requires an expensive plane ticket and big ticket membership – may no longer be on the table for me. This breaks my heart, since THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON has been nominated for the Hugo Award for best novel, which will be awarded at WorldCon. It’s very likely this will be the only time I’m nominated, and I’d really hate to miss it, even I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning. But in the epic battle of airfare versus phone bill, phone bill wins every time.


The challenges I’m dealing with here — anxiety, depression, childcare, the piecemeal economic life of a working writer — are not unique to me. Many, perhaps most, professional writers, are dealing with some version of the same thing. My case is not the most dire, and I’m not the best writer struggling with these things. But if you care for my fiction, my writing on fantasy, my silly tweets and such — or if you’ve just been in this position yourself — I’d appreciate any help you can offer.

I fear I have very little in terms of concrete perks to offer people, which is why I’m not doing this via Kickstarter or Indiegogo. I have, as an advance ‘thank you’ for your support, made my ebook collection ENGRAVED ON THE EYE available for free. You can download it in a bunch of different formats here: . Please enjoy the stories, even if you’re not in a position to help!

I’m asking people to make paypal donations, which will all be kept anonymous unless requested otherwise, to This is also my personal email address, for those who might be inclined to write. Once the expenses detailed above have been met, I will make an announcement and return any additional donations.

With love and more thanks than words can express,
Saladin Ahmed


Oh, that teaser I promised!:


Revolution has come to Dhamsawaat. The Falcon Prince, whose coup had aimed to feed the city’s poor, now sits on the Throne of the Crescent Moon. But he quickly learns that stealing a kingdom is much easier than running one.

Doctor Adoulla Makhslood forces himself to ignore the political turmoil boiling around him as he prepares for his long-awaited wedding to Miri Almoussa. His old friends Dawoud and Litaz in turn prepare to travel back to their homeland in the Soo Republic, accompanied by the tribeswoman Zamia Banu Laith Badawi, who hopes to put distance between herself and memories of her dead kinsmen and the warrior dervish Raseed bas Raseed.

Meanwhile, Raseed has left Dhamsawaat and his apprenticeship to Adoulla to journey back to the Lodge of God, hoping to purify himself of religious doubts and his troubling attraction to Zamia, and in the course of his journey he crosses swords with the master assassin and disgraced dervish Red Layla.

But the heroes’ paths cross again when the enigmatic Queen of the djenn herself appears with a dire warning for the world of men, and Adoulla and his old friends again leave peace and happiness behind as they set out to make things right in a world gone wrong.


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