Introduction to Issue 53 • Strange Mixology

Some of my first adventures in speculative writing happened around 9 or 10 years old when my sister, Heidi, our two cousins, Scott and Andy, and I used to play a make-believe game very creatively called “Potions.” It was exactly how it sounded.

We came up with recipes for spells and imagined drinks with ingredients I can’t even remember. I assume the standard feathers, leaves, flowers and pebbles were involved (and maybe the less conventional three drops of Capri-Sun, two rips of fruit roll-up, rainbow hair of Troll, voice-box of Tamagotchi, etc.). We would write them down in our little potion books and then we would stir up our fanciful concoctions in airy pots and pans. We’d offer the first steaming cup of air to the bravest among us…and the test subject would promptly become a monster who chased us all around the house. Best game ever.

Anyway, fast forward a few years and all of us have retained a love for mixing potions, if more the kind you find in the wine cellar and the liquor cabinet. It’s ordinary magic, for sure. But magic, nonetheless. All those cocktail shakers and pretty glass bottles, tall and squat, cobalt-blue and teal-green, gold-flecked and silver-foiled, corked and shiny, reminiscent of an old-style apothecary shop. And a shout out to the non-alcoholic brews too, because nothing breaks a sleeping spell better than morning coffee. Or captures the spirit of a summer day like sparkling pink lemonade. Or speaks of otherworldly secrets like that kettle of hot tea whistling on the stove, its unearthly voice screaming out from white mist.

There were so many wonderful poems sent in, far more than could fit in one issue. But as an upstanding and responsible barmaid who would never think to overserve her patrons (being ever conscious of the relevant Dram Shop(pe) Acts and Eye to the Telescope space/budget limitations), I have chosen what I hope is a premium selection, while freely admitting that I’ve had to leave some delicious offerings on the shelf for another time.

In the spirit of mixology, I chose a blend of genres and takes on the theme, with runes stolen from the kraken’s wine cave, rhymes scooped out of gnarled-oak barrels behind the crone’s cottage. I bartered a few verses from a Belter-tinker just outside Neptune and found a few others scribbled on napkins at our favorite deep-space dive bar. You know the one, with the reclaimed wood floors and red-leather corner booths, porch tables lit up under a string of star lights.

I’ve got bitters and botanicals at your pleasure, nostalgia and daydreams to garnish. As always, please read responsibly and sip slowly for the full effect. Cheers!