Joanne Rixon

@joannerixon

They/them. Speculative fiction writer, organizer of the North Seattle Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Meetup, bicyclist joannerixon.com wayfarerwriting.wordpress.com

384 Following971 Followers995 Posts

Bluesky

trans

Is this your profile?Claim it and joannerixon.dirty.social is yours.Claim profile

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· 14d

Tacoma Zine Fest! At King’s Books until 4pm 💚

A table with assorted zines and posters on it. Some are 8” booklets with color covers and some are smaller folded style zines. The large poster associated with the color zines says ‘Tacoma 2075’, and shows a map of Tacoma with book covers placed where the stories are set

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Apr 17

#ThursdayDrabble I can tell I'm stressed beyond belief because the only thing I want to write is ridiculous semi-comedy

screenshot of text:
“Tell Titan no way, no how, not ever!” Danielle Meers, commercial captain of the Ganymede Tourist Board, viciously jabbed at the off button on her interstellar radio and turned to her assistant. “Leo, draft up a letter to the league office objecting to this ridiculous attempt at a takeover.”
Leo typed a few notes and looked up. The office was cramped, like every building on Ganymede that needed to be pressurized and heated with limited resources, but still Meers had managed to find herself a desk just a little bigger than his was. If she’d lived back on Old Earth, she would’ve been one of those billionaire executives you saw in the dramas berating their servants. “Did you mean the league office on Earth?”
“Of course on Earth! The main office!” Meers scowled at him, then turned to her screens and kept scowling at them. “The Giants belong to Ganymede. They’ve been our team since the colony here was established a century ago, and we’ll never give them up.”
Leo hmmed. The truth was that Meers would sell her own firstborn for the right price, and the Titan Miners Collective had scraped together a pretty enticing offer for Ganymede’s professional low-gravity dodgeball team. And the Giants weren’t that beloved. Last season they’d gone 7-18, the season before that 5-20. They had their diehard fans—and even more people who were bored enough to go to games and get drunk while their hometown sports heroes floated majestically through the stadium, flipping and spinning and getting smacked in the ass with the balls they were too slow to dodge. But nobody would shed more than a tear or two if they shuttled away to Titan. The rivalry between the moons—Jupiter’s moons v. Saturn’s—was really the biggest obstacle.
“What was the offer?” He asked. “Did they give you a better number than last time at least?”
Meers scowled harder and didn’t answer.
Leo’s curiosity perked up its ears. “Captain Meers? Ma’am? What did they offer us?”

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Apr 15

Thinking about this poem today, and feeling like a fool for having trusted the intentions of local leftists (English in alt text)

Text of a poem:

Title: Contra la policía

Toda mi Obra es contra la policía
Si escribo un poema de Amor es contra la policía
Y si canto a la desnudez de los cuerpos canto contra la policía
También si metaforizo esta Tierra metaforizo contra la policía
Si digo locuras en mis poemas las digo contra la policía
Y si logro crear un poema es contra la policía
Yo no he escrito una palabra, un verso, una estrofa que no sea contra la policía
Mi prosa toda es contra la policía
Toda mi Obra
Incluyendo este poema
Mi Obra entera
Es contra la policía.

by Miguel James

In English:

AGAINST THE POLICE
by Miguel James

My entire Oeuvre is against the police
If I write a Love poem it’s against the police
And if I sing the nakedness of bodies I sing against the police
And if I make this Earth a metaphor I make a metaphor
against the police
If I speak wildly in my poems I speak against the police
And if I manage to create a poem it’s against the police
I haven’t written a single word, a verse, a stanza that isn’t
against the police
All my prose is against the police
My entire Oeuvre
Including this poem
My whole Oeuvre
Is against the police.

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Apr 3

#ThursdayDrabble I'm thinking, for no particular reason, that I might want to write a gruesomely bloody revenge story...

It was a delicate game, of course. The app wasn’t supposed to have anyone real on the other end of it, certainly not anyone who could interact with clients in real life, off the app. Certainly not anyone who would ask for tokens of affection, for presents, for help with rent. So Mereza had to play out her fishing lines with the softest hand.
SweetheartSim wasn’t the only app that worked this way. Like the autonomous vehicle bros, the app developers had overpromised, found that their chatbots just weren’t as engaging as trained remote actors pretending to be chatbots, and hired out a bunch of contractors from Kenya. If you spoke English, and couldn’t find another job in the middle of the worst global economic crisis in a century, and were willing to sell your own soul, you too could earn $20 a day sexting sad old men—and that way the app didn’t have to pay a data center for compute.
Mereza wasn’t willing to settle for $20. Her friend Grace had taught her how to do it: the trick was to be so careful with how you worded things that the AI supervisor wouldn’t realize that you were directing clients off SweetheartSim and onto a different app. The supervisor worked a little better than the girlfriend chatbot, but there were a couple layers of automation before any glitchiness hit real human oversight, and you could trick it if you avoided the keywords.
Mereza’s usual move was to pretend she had photos on WhatsApp that she couldn’t figure out how to transfer into SweetheartSim—a strange move for a chatbot, but it was the kind of thing that created ‘verisimilitude’. There was no prohibition on pretending to have a life outside of the app, in fact it was encouraged. Creative little details convinced clients the characters were real, were really in love with them, and really needed the client to upgrade their account so they could receive more messages.
This month’s fish was a guy from North Dakota named Jason. He was in his early sixties, in poor health from a lifetime of…

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Mar 14

#ThursdayDrabble This week's drabble turned out meh, so here's an older one. I think you can tell I was reading Agatha Christie at the time...

“Yes, darling.” Elise drew her wide-brimmed hat off her head. The motion was sweeping, elegant, but she feared the way her fingers crushed the velvet and the crumple of the veil against the side table when she set the hat down betrayed her. “I’m alive. Much to your disappointment, I know.”
Roger stared at her, flat-footed. “But—but—I saw you in the casket! The doctor said—”
“Doctor Abraham? My father’s best friend?” Her tone of voice, at least, was perfect: cool, arch. The voice of someone who had already won, not someone who was still—“Of course Doctor Abraham told you what you needed to hear. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to your lawyer, or started transferring funds.”
Her hand at her side touched cold metal in her pocket. Part of her wished it were a gun, not a recorder. This was the dangerous part of the plan, the part where she was alone in a room with him, and her death was already on record.
“You crazy witch.” Roger wiped a hand through his thinning hair, mouth open. “You crazy, manipulative… I thought you were dead, Elise! I thought my wife was dead, and you were, what? Hiding? Faking it? What the fuck kind of crazy scheme?”
“I needed proof, and I’ll give you credit: you’re very good at hiding your tracks. Everything behind layers of passwords, encrypted, in safe deposit boxes that I could never find the key to. But once I was dead you didn’t think you needed to hide anymore, did you?” She meandered around the room, trying to keep him off balance at the same time as she steadied her shaking legs. On the mantle, the little statue with the trick compartment in the base where he’d kept the keys she could never find the lock for—she picked it up, turned it over and casually opened the compartment in front of him, just to show him that she could. When she glanced over, he was pale. Finally, he was realizing just how fucked he was.
“Elise,” Roger said, his tone shifting. He held up his hands, pleading. “It was never like that. I loved you. I was never trying to

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Mar 6

The drabble from today's writing group prompt. I don't think I'll ever write the rest of this one, but I do think I would read it if someone else did #ThursdayDrabble #There'sAMonsterInTheLake

a screenshot of text:
“No, no, hear me out.” Andy held up a hand to shut us up. “You guys both remember science class, right? Water conducts electricity. If there’s a lightning storm and you’re swimming, you gotta get out of the lake or you’ll get fried. It’ll work.”
“What’s stopping it from getting out of the lake?” I asked. My stomach hurt. Whether this plan worked or it didn’t, we were in so much trouble.
“And where are we going to get a lightning storm?” Emma asked before Andy could answer me.
Andy grinned at her. “Not a lightning storm, a generator. Nat’s dad’s generator. We’ll just bring it down to the lake, put the wires in the water, and turn it on. Electricity!”
“How are we getting my dad’s generator from behind the store all the way to the lake?” I might have been screeching a little bit.
“Oh, easy,” Andy said. “We’ll use your dad’s truck.”
I gaped, speechless.
“I’m not driving,” Emma said immediately.
“Oh, I’ll drive,” Andy said.
“You don’t have a license,” I informed him. “You’re twelve.”
“Sure, but I can reach the pedals.”
I couldn’t believe he was serious. “That’s a crazy plan.”
“Welllll…there’s actually no reason why it wouldn’t work,” Emma said. “And we have to do something. It’s our fault it’s in the lake in the first place. Do you want it to eat someone else?”
Emma always knew what to threaten me with to get me to go along. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t want it to eat anyone else. “Fine!” I threw up my hands. “We’re going to electrocute the lake! We’re going to kill all the fish in the lake, too, you know. This is so dumb.”
“Don’t worry.” Andy slapped me on the back. “It’s going to work.”

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Mar 1

Not sure if you’re looking at OR or WA specifically, and it’s not a relocation resource specifically, but some folks I know made a zine to welcome queer folks to Tacoma, WA. There’s also linktr.ee/welcometotacoma which has info on healthcare etc. My kid is on Apple/Medicaid and it’s very good

A small zine with info for newcomers to Tacoma Wa including queer community connections, healthcare, and food and housing resources

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Feb 27

At my Thursday night writing group, we always start with 15 minutes for a random prompt, which has produced a ton of snippets full of potential and a few complete flash pieces. Yesterday's was pretty good for a 15 minute first draft.

Text: “Hold still, you little tadpole,” I tell Minnow, scruffing up his fur and trying to roll him onto his back. He thinks we’re playing, and isn’t interested in lying still or being cooperative in any way. “Hold still, I’m trying to help you.”
Minnow isn’t a minnow, he’s a dog, although parts of him aren’t strictly dog-ish. His wagging tail I patched on from a sheep when his own got crushed under the wheel of a car. His ears were getting less keen, so I replaced them with a stray cat’s ears. They’re smaller now, but just as sharp as when he was young. His lungs, I got from a sheep again, a different sheep, a different time. He’s had the lungs the longest. I’ll replace them soon.
“Minnow!” He squirms out of my grasp, bounds across the room and then back, jumping at me with both his front paws up and splayed. He’s such a puppy at heart. My beautiful boy.
It takes a while, but I get him to settle down. I scratch the back of his neck, at the patch of fur on his back that I stole from a rabbit when he got sick and lost a patch of his own fur.
Eventually I get him to settle on his side, which is close enough to laying on his back that I can manage. “Good boy,” I murmur, and gently, gently, pick out the stitches holding the patch on his belly. He squirms, but doesn’t try to get up. He knows that if he cooperates he’ll get something delicious when we’re done.
Inside his guts is warm, messy, moving. I move as quickly as I can, pick up the kidney from the dish, stitch it in where it belongs, attach the blood vessels and membranes, ease out the old one. The old kidney is wizened, dark. I knew that was why he kept getting sick.
“There you go,” I whisper in Minnow’s ear. “Just a few more stitches, darling.”
Soon he’s good as new. A little less dog, perhaps—the kidney belonged to a deer I shot just this morning, just a few hours ago. But still my Minnow, my eternal best boy. He nudges his nose up under my hand, instructing me to pet his head. I do, of course. Of course I do.

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Dec 6

Update: the socks

Two human feet in brown knit ankle socks

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Nov 7

Kelly Barnhill's THE CRANE HUSBAND has such a gorgeous cover, I can't get over it (the book is also very, very good)

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Nov 6

Recently finished @strawburriez.bsky.social 's WE WERE ONCE A FAMILY, and I'm still thinking about a few weeks later. I feel like we're in a cultural moment where we're struggling to know how to protect kids. Not just how but whether, how much, which kids, against whom...

The cover of We Were Once a Family: A Story of Love, Death, and Child Removal in America, by Roxanna Asgarian, which shows stylized typography and a cropped photo of Black children

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Nov 5

I bought a cake to celebrate the death of Dick Cheney (pineapple upside-down cake bc I’m not a huge fan of frosting; you’ll have to imagine the decorations saying ‘rot in hell, war criminal’) and when I went to post this pic I saw all the election news rolling in so now I’m really celebrating 🎉 🎉 🎉

A grocery store pineapple upside down cake

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Jul 31

I finished Margaret Killjoy's THE SAPLING CAGE this morning while waiting for my kid to get his cavities filled, so I can verify that this book is super cute and also full of subtly provocative politics and terrifying monsters. 5/5 stars I love it

The cover of Margaret Killjoy's THE SAPLING CAGE, which shows a skull in a golden birdcage sprouting leafy, flowering branches

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Jul 19

Rode Tacoma’s newest stretch of Pipeline Trail bike path today and had a delightful time. 26 miles, gorgeous wildflowers, three bike shops, a handful of yard sales, perfect views of the mountain, and vegan nachos at Church Cantina to top it off

Bright pink poppy-like wildflowers in the fresh dirt beside Pipeline Trail bike path

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Jun 15

3,500 people in Tacoma at People’s Park! This is with two protest locations in city limits. From where I was standing for this photo I could hear both the rally speakers and the Black teenagers blasting “Fuck Donald Trump” out their car stereo 💚💚💚

Backs of heads of the crowd at the big No Kings protest in Tacoma WA

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Jun 7

Bonus shot from a minute further down the road. You can see Mt Tahoma! The caution tape is bc the side of the road is collapsing into the waterway

Orange traffic cone and caution tape in front of a riverbank and waterway with warehouses and cranes on the other side. Beyond the industrial port, Mt Rainier/Tahoma is clearly visible, blue with distance and topped with glaciers

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Jun 7

Took the dogs to the park this afternoon and ended up driving past the location where this story takes place! The Hylebos Waterway looks much grayer and more industrial in January, of course

View from a vehicle of a waterway flanked by warehouses and industrial shipping cranes

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· May 22

I got my contributor copies of the May/June 2025 @analogsf.bsky.social ! I couldn’t write this story today. It’s so strange to see this in print the same day we see the Trump budget pass the House. If you like this story you should follow @prisonculture.bsky.social and do one thing she tells you

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Mar 29

Today at the NW Detention Center #FreeThemAll

Photo of concrete barrier and wire fence with chalked message for ICE/GEO employees: “Free them all / You could work anywhere / If you work here quit your job”

Chalked message on concrete barrier outside the employee parking of the NW Detention Center: “ all concentration camp guards are bad”

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Mar 12

I don’t photograph people at rallies but here’s a nice shot of the pop-up memorial for those who have passed away within the walls of the NWDC #BeckyBurke #FreeThemAll

An ofrenda style memorial for immigrants who have died while in the custody of ICE and GEO Group at the NWDC

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Oct 26

Most beautiful old man I’ve ever seen

A dog buried in a blanket, face visible below the ears

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Oct 24

One of my favorites from Voices Of #Tacoma (ed. Burl E. Battersby, out now!)

An illustration of a native dancer in abstract native/modern style and a poem: “Charro 4 Charro” by Vaquero Azul

The crackle of leather against another
The click of my botas as I dance upon the floor
Your delicious laughter as we twirl underneath the velvet stars
We joke about being “Charro 4 Charro” our “T4T”
A woman wearing a Folklorico skirt with Trans flag ribbons
Kisses a woman with Bi colored flores de papel in her hair
The fire illuminates our faces as we share tales
“I never had this as a kid/ I dreamed of things like this/
Ojalá tuviera esto mientras crecía”
Spanglish is spoken with giggles and not a single ounce of shame
Our corazones have all the love we never received
Pouring out in luscious red, hands open
“Ven aquí mi amor, bailemos toda la noche.”

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Oct 24

It’s so cool to see this book in physical form! #Tacoma has some great poets with a lot to say about our home

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Oct 23

Redid the binding and managed it with nine inches of yarn left lmao

A knit purple cowl beside a very small scrap of yarn

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Oct 22

Lost at yarn chicken 😭 11 stitches left to bind off but I always forget how much damn yarn you need for a stretchy bind off (This is an adaptation of Lesley Karpiuk’s Cousteau Cowl for a toddler. The pattern is on ravelry)

A knit cowl in bright plum colored yarn with eleven stitches left on the needle and no more yarn available to use to bind them off

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Oct 20

Ballots are in the box! #IVoted

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Sep 21

These two libraries were the only two I encountered between the Lincoln District and the South End that weren’t on the official map. They’re also the two most creative and nerdy

A little free library painted in brown and green with circular windows in the door and a sign that says “Bilbo’s Books”

A little free library decorated to look like the TARDIS

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Sep 19

Just a few of the Little Free Libraries I added Tacoma 2075 stories to today! I have four stories in circulation atm: “The Big Easy,” “Falling or Flying,” “Shelter,” and “The Wild”; links and ebooks are on my website if you’re not in range of a LFL in Tacoma

A bright blue Little Free Library full of kid’s books

A Little Free Library with an ornate metal door and an old fashioned phone box attached

A dark red Little Free Library with a roof covered in moss and grime

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Sep 18

This dog, man

A long haired daschund rolls on his back on carpet, ears splayed goofily

Joanne Rixon@joannerixon· Sep 17

At #CreativeColloquy in #Tacoma (confusing the lit fic audience with some weird genre cli-fi 😅)