Idra Fallow
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idrafallow.bsky.social
Idra Fallow
@idrafallow.bsky.social
300 followers 95 following 1.1K posts
Garden hermit. Occasional persona of
Pinko Scare.
she/her
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idrafallow.bsky.social
I call dibs on this as a sci-fi thriller plot. Nobody else better steal it.
drandrewthaler.bsky.social Andrew D Thaler @drandrewthaler.bsky.social · 18h
This is one of the wildest deep-sea mining stories to me.

Paleodictyon is a 500-million-year-old trace fossil from an unknown organism. In the last 50 years, we've found their honeycomb traces on the seafloor. There is a living organism that has been doing its thing for half a billion years.
Recovery of Paleodictyon patterns after simulated mining activity on Pacific nodule fields - Marine Biodiversity
Since the late 1980s, various experiments have been conducted in polymetallic nodule fields of the Pacific Ocean to assess the potential environmental impacts of future mining, specifically in two are...
link.springer.com
January 6, 2026 at 12:46 AM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
drandrewthaler.bsky.social
We Don't Know What Paleodictyon Is.

We are studying our impacts on organisms that we haven't even identified.

Blows my mind, every time.
January 5, 2026 at 5:21 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
drandrewthaler.bsky.social
This is one of the wildest deep-sea mining stories to me.

Paleodictyon is a 500-million-year-old trace fossil from an unknown organism. In the last 50 years, we've found their honeycomb traces on the seafloor. There is a living organism that has been doing its thing for half a billion years.
Recovery of Paleodictyon patterns after simulated mining activity on Pacific nodule fields - Marine Biodiversity
Since the late 1980s, various experiments have been conducted in polymetallic nodule fields of the Pacific Ocean to assess the potential environmental impacts of future mining, specifically in two are...
link.springer.com
January 5, 2026 at 5:21 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
transnews.network
We have published the following update to our article following an email response from the New York Times.

Trans News Network has a policy against platforming bigotry. As such, we have declined to publish the Times' statement which included blatant transphobia.
Editors' Note, 1/4/26: A spokesperson from The New York Times emailed Trans News Network the Sunday after publication, disputing various parts of the interview. We reject their disputes as unsubstantiated, nitpicking or willful misreads. We have added minor clarifications at two points in the interview alongside the transcript, which remains as published. We stand by our reporting of the interview with Sweeney, former editor and 11-year veteran of the Times. The Times also provided TNN a statement responding to the interview, which we have declined to publish due to its inclusion of overt transphobia (such as framing the existence of trans people as “fiercely contested medical and legal debates”). Even in their PR, it seems that the Times can't stop denigrating our lives and communities. We do not have an obligation to publish damage control on the behalf of a news outlet undergoing a legitimacy crisis because of their own actions.
January 5, 2026 at 2:05 AM
idrafallow.bsky.social
Lost my favorite hat on the bus :(
January 5, 2026 at 11:17 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
verysmallanna.bsky.social
We love our frozen godless wilderness
January 5, 2026 at 6:29 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
clueless.bsky.social
probably bc it looked sick as hell
a headline from ZME Science showing a picture of a skull with a large nail going through it caption says Ancient Iberians Nailed Skulls to Walls — And It's Not Very Clear Why 4d
January 5, 2026 at 7:16 AM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
idrafallow.bsky.social
I need to clean up the prose a bit and think of a better name for the flowers (they're based on a type of crocus that I found by googling "poisonous blue flower"). But I was proud of myself for coming up with this on the fly in about five minutes. I put a couple of myths like this in the wip
“I didn’t know spirits had wives,” he said. “Or that geese did, either.” “Their story a sad one. Šamay was once a human woman, a skilled huntress, admired by all who knew her. One winter day she went to the marsh to hunt for geese. She aimed her bow at a big grey goose with a white belly and black-tipped wings, and was about to let her arrow fly, but she became so captivated by the goose’s beauty that she set down her weapons. She offered him some bread, and then he turned into a man. A beautiful man, tall and dark-haired, wearing a cloak of grey and black feathers. He told her his name was Awazwa, the goose spirit, and gave her some blue qulha flowers, and they fell in love. But Šamay had promised to marry a man in her village, and her mother and sisters convinced her it wouldn’t do to marry a spirit. Where will you live?, they said. In the marshgrass? In the mire? So Šamay married the village man, and she became so heartbroken that she began to wither away. Finally, when she couldn’t bear her unhappiness any longer, she went out to the marsh and ate the blue qulhas Awazwa had given her, which she kept in a pouch around her neck even though everyone knows they’re poison. Awazwa was so sick with grief that he stopped bringing the rain, and none of the grain grasses would grow, and everyone else began to wither just like Šamay. Finally Abashu, the sun, convinced the spirits beneath the earth to let Šamay go live in the heavens with him. That way Awazwa could still see her, even if he couldn’t reach her. And he turned the sky blue like the qulha flowers so that everyone would remember her.”  He raised his brows when I finished. “You’re right, that is sad. Are all Gir-yushi stories like that?” “Many of them.”
November 19, 2025 at 11:53 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
I forgot I just wrote this one, and I like it better than the other one I posted, so now I'm posting both. #WIPSnips
I hung the target from a low branch on an oak. When I took an arrow from the quiver, I paused to savor the familiar feel of it between my fingers, to admire the bright crimson of the fletching, the smooth straight shaft, the tiny flint barbs on the tip. This, at least, was something that brought me calm. Archery was straightforward, reasonable, an act that had a useful purpose, a process that made sense. It required skill and focus, of course, and it was all the better for it. Something I could work at, improve upon. Something to think about that didn’t make me sick with rage.
January 4, 2026 at 2:01 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
The meadow stretched out before me, dull and brittle, as colorless as the sky above it. I still felt weak and tired, and I was not looking forward to the long trek home. But the sooner I started, the sooner I would reach my village, where I knew a hot meal and a warm bed were waiting. I walked out into the grass. Somewhere across the meadow, a wolf howled.
January 4, 2026 at 1:48 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
Late one afternoon, I sat near the campfire, slicing thin strips of meat to lay across lengths of cordage strung over the embers. The drying process was slow, matching our unhurried journey across the steppe. I hummed to myself as I pulled the sharp flint through the bleeding cuts of mouflon and set them over the drying strings. The work was quiet and calming, and I was surprised to find myself at ease. When was the last time I had not been frightened, or angry, or lonely?
January 4, 2026 at 1:46 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
Who else forgot their resolutions already?
The music was everything I expected from them—a thunderous crash of drums and shouts, as ferocious as the stormclouds they painted on their tunics. The drums were joined by rattles and flutes, and a few bows that been attached to gourds so they resonated when the strings were plucked or rubbed with another bow. A wild cacophony that went on absurdly long before the players allowed it to resolve into a melody.
January 4, 2026 at 1:28 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
I've been avoiding social media lately, so I'm behind.

This was a tricky one. I feel I do so many scenery descriptions for #WIPSnips. I have several instances of "begin/beginning/began," but most either have spoilers, or else too violent/NSFW for me to feel comfortable using for a snip.
The rain finally stopped in the early evening, but the sky remained a stubborn, sullen grey. What few birds had kept on singing through the storm fell silent once the sun began to set, and the air went still. That seemed strange; the forest had been riotous every night of the journey, filled with a racket of nighttime insects, birds, and tree frogs. I brushed off the strangeness of the quiet. I was the stranger here, after all. Who was I to say how the night should sound?
January 4, 2026 at 1:24 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
CW: gross
When the insects had all disappeared—down my throat or deeper into the rocks—my frenzy ended. I rinsed my hands and mouth, fought the urge to vomit, and continued my journey north.
December 31, 2025 at 3:44 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
I've started a just-for-funsies wip, which is an epistolary novel told from the perspectives of two supporting characters in my almost-completed first novel. I don't think this is one I'll ever care to publish but I am having a lot of fun.
December 31, 2025 at 11:04 AM
idrafallow.bsky.social
One of my favorite little pieces of world-building. #WIPSnips
Abashu was hiding behind his shroud again the following morning. A weak, watery haze stained the edge of the eastern sky, while the rest remained a brooding shade of dark blue-grey, blank and starless as a piece of flint. It was a fittingly somber dawn—the first day of the festival was for honoring the dead.
December 31, 2025 at 4:25 AM
idrafallow.bsky.social
A new scene I wrote yesterday! It was not an easy one to get right but I'm pleased with how it came out. Names removed for spoiler reasons, as usual. And I'm subbing "strike" for "clobber." #WIPSnips #WriteSky
He shook his head and said nothing more. I stood. He remained kneeling at my feet, gazing up at me. My hand twitched with the urge to strike him. But we were in the Mother’s house, inside the circle, and any violence I did to him would break the edicts, though he was free to hurt me as he pleased. “You want me to be grateful.” He bowed his head. “I wish only to be merciful, and to serve the Mother.” I glared down at him, breathing hard, my blood a deafening drumbeat in my ears. As frightened as I’d been before, my anger was even worse. I was sick with it. I could not endure it. “Fuck you.” There was nothing more I could do or say, and so I left. I fell into the stars, I fell into the earth. I was swallowed by the hungry, pressing, black.
December 29, 2025 at 5:59 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
foxes.hourly.media
December 23, 2025 at 5:27 AM
idrafallow.bsky.social
This interview really resonates for me. Inside me there are two wolves (sorry, couldn't resist, wolves are a theme in my wip). One wants to write a fun, engaging fantasy novel. The other wants to write a long, pensive, somewhat weird and uncomfortable exploration of human social organization.
annakornbluh.bsky.social Anna Kornbluh @annakornbluh.bsky.social · 15d
"the novel has all of this technology we don’t use anymore. there has been a wholesale deaccessioning of narrative technology from the novel as a form"

instead:
scale, mediation, Lukacs, 3rd person, full Dickens, full Morrison - all the IMMEDIACY keywords
countercraft.substack.com/p/processing...
Processing: How Brandon Taylor Wrote Minor Black Figures
The author on embodied characters, writing process, and how “a novel should show people fighting and striving against and with and for and alongside each other.”
countercraft.substack.com
December 22, 2025 at 5:16 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
Another one about wolves, because why not? #WIPSnips
A long, mournful cry split the night. I stopped walking, head tilted, listening for the answering calls. But none came. The faraway wolf howled again, a lonely keening. I should have been afraid of it. I was afraid of it. But in that moment, I felt an ache of sadness for the creature. Where were its fellows? Its family, its pack? Wolves weren’t meant to run alone. It called again, and a mad urge to answer seized me. I drew a breath, cupped my hands around my mouth, and let out my own mournful, keening cry. I’m here too, and alone like you. A long pause. I thought perhaps the wolf was not fooled by my imitation. But then there came another howl, rising high and then deepening at the end. We are together in our aloneness.
December 19, 2025 at 1:50 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
tangledwilderness.bsky.social
As makers of anarchist zines, we are asking you to help this person who was arrested and is facing deportation for allegedly having anarchist zines.
December 4, 2025 at 9:18 PM
Reposted by Idra Fallow
mobydickatsea.bsky.social
I thought I might as well go below and make a rough draft of my will.
December 18, 2025 at 7:47 AM
idrafallow.bsky.social
This dude's lawyer is amazing
wereallyloveluigi.bsky.social 💚 24 / 7 Luigi Mangione Posts @wereallyloveluigi.bsky.social · 20d
UPDATE: in September, Luigi's bogus terrorism charges were dropped and he was cleared off all terroristic allegations. Today, the judge ruled the interrogation of Luigi Mangione inadmissible due to failure of police to Mirandize him and Luigi's repeated statements that he did not wish to talk.
Luigi Mangione looking thankful in court
December 17, 2025 at 2:54 AM
idrafallow.bsky.social
Finally got to a chapter that didn't need rewriting.
December 16, 2025 at 12:43 PM
idrafallow.bsky.social
Subbing in "damp" for this one.
I didn’t want for water, at least. There were springs hiding in the rocks, and shallow streams of snowmelt trickling away down the hillsides. And if I couldn’t find a spring or stream, there was always the morning dew. It formed droplets on the cedar branches and wet my clothes and hair. In the heat of the day, my damp tunic clung to my sticky skin, and at night I shivered, unable to get warm in my sodden garments.
December 16, 2025 at 12:37 PM