by Beth Thomas Read author interview March 15, 2007
She stayed in bed and listened to him shuffle around in the dark looking for something: a lighter, a cigarette. She watched from half-closed eyes as he stalked the bedroom on bare footpads, as quiet as someone so clumsy can be. When the room shook, he paused mid-step, hands out for balance, a stupefied look on his face. Her favorite blue vase rocked on the bookshelf, fell, shattered. He swore; she closed her eyes and pretended not to notice. The earthquake was brief and easy, like a heavy door slamming shut elsewhere in the house.
About the Author:
Beth Thomas is originally from New Mexico but currently lives in California due to military relocation. She works as a technical writer in the aerospace/defense industry—don't ask what she writes about 'cause she can't really tell you. She has a BA and an MA in writerly things from New Mexico universities. Her work has recently appeared in Pindeldyboz Online, SmokeLong Quarterly, Juked, Word Riot, and other places.