Ruth EJ Booth’s first published short story (as R. J. Booth) appeared in 2012. Since then, her work has been published both in the UK and the US.
In 2015, she won the BSFA’s Best Short Fiction (2014) award for ‘The Honey Trap’ (La Femme, NewCon Press).
Here’s everything you can find by Ruth to date.
‘Picture, of a Winter Afternoon’
In Thirty Years of Rain (Taverna Press).
‘The love of a season’
In Winter Tales (Fox Spirit Books).
‘Dame Ammonia Dastardly-Truste’s Evil Genius College For Ladies, Class of 2013:
Graduation speech [Transcription]’
In Fox Pockets: Evil Genius Guide (Fox Spirit Books).
‘The Honey Trap’
In Digital Dreams (NewCon Press).
Originally published in La Femme (2014; NewCon Press).
‘Coronal Mass Ejection (Solar Minima)’
In The Speculative Book (Speculative Bookshop).
In Far Horizons, Issue 10 (January 2015) – [Link]
‘This scratty wee scrag of soot. I say he’s mine, I think we sort of found each other. Well, they say the dog picks the owner. I say he found me when nobody else wanted me.’
***BSFA 2014 Short Fiction Award winner***
‘The Honey Trap’
In La Femme (NewCon Press).
‘The apple looked awful. A piebald runt in red and yellow-green, with a sandpaper roughness around its bear-stub stalk. A bulge threatened one side of its thick-looking matte skin, squeezing creases into its squat sides. It sat on the table like an insult, a gnarled middle finger to the perfected #04B404 Foods Agency standard that reigned the international markets.Jack Becker – accredited independent collective operator, award-winning Growth Guru, author, cult TV personality – plucked up the fruit in one rubber-gloved hand.
“I have never,” he said, “ever seen such a hideous-looking apple before. Truly.”
Becker shook his head, and smiled.
“What’s your secret, kid?”’
‘Blueprint for Red Wings’. (As R. J. Booth)
In Girl at the End of the World (Fox Spirit Books).
‘The Real Deal’. (As R. J. Booth)
In Fox Pockets: Piracy (Fox Spirit Books).
‘There was a metallic thump, and I woke with a head full of spanners, and a big fat face in mine. This was all wrong. Not that I was, finally, vertical. Not the crusty brig I found myself in, or the unfamiliar faces. In my past, I’d shot the shit with musos and winos, contractors and killers. The smart-dressed men on the boats were nothing but emperors with clothes – if anything, this was more my milieu. But stuck in this airless, ocean-bound tin can, tied to this $20 garden furniture, struck me with a nameless fear that struck me right smack in my special area.’
‘Much Ado About Steam Presses’. (As R. J. Booth)
In Bill Shakes and his Magnificent Iambic Pentatetrameter (Doc Fantastiques). Out of print.