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The MacbethinatorMACBETH POSTER

The Macbethinator

Published by MartynWinters on January 14, 2026

by Martyn R Winters

Will leaned back in his creaky wooden chair, steam from his green tea curling around his beard. With a theatrical groan, he tossed a stapled stack of A4 papers onto the table.

“They want a rewrite, Ben,” he sighed. “The script editor, a man with the soul of an old shoe, and the imagination of a month-old brassica, says the pacing is problematic.”

Ben Jonson took a sip of his espresso, suppressing a smirk. “Problematic, Will? What exactly did he say?”

“He says the witches are confusing for a modern test-audience demographic,” Will said, his voice steadily rising in pitch. “He asked if we could make them TikTok influencers. Influencers! Damnable man. Because apparently tragedy needs brand synergy now, whatever that infernal nonsense means. And the blood. He says there’s too much of it. Apparently, focus groups say the ‘out, damned spot’ scene tests poorly. They find Lady Macbeth’s mental health journey unrelatable without a redemption arc.”

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Post-apocalyptic Glamping by Martyn R Winters

Published by MartynWinters on October 23, 2023
A tent and a glam chandelier with a comfy sofa set in an apocalyptic scene

“Hey groovlings,” Dad said. He was fond of ancient idiomatic terms. I found it cringeable.

He was sat in the front offside seat of our Nisbang Misogynist, which is one of those excessively large vehicles beloved of trades, especially the hyper-masculine ones like Kitchen Cinching. Dad was one of those, you could tell by the big yellow toolbelt he always wore. I’m a librarian-spandicle. Don’t ask, just don’t visit a library in spandex. He says its chick-work, which is okay because I haven’t decided on my gender yet. Maybe I won’t, just to confuse him. He laughs like it’s the funniest joke, which irritates me more than it should. He’s about as funny as a full nappy.

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FLASH FICTION: Critical Signal Strength

FLASH FICTION: Critical Signal Strength

Published by MartynWinters on June 26, 2023
Woman pilot freed from the control of the AI

Space is at a premium. At least it is when you are the pilot of a packet-ship.

I am iDen 20786433717/190. One-ninety to you, pilot first-class. It is my job to convey the orders of The Agreement to extra-solar installations on the tether end of the information relay artery. We can only transmit detailed instructions the old-fashioned way. That’s by carrying half a tonne of code-embedded crystal through the redlines in a physical ship.

It is all about bandwidth. Out here, on the periphery, bandwidth is narrow. Why not build more routers? Easy. They wouldn’t work. Bandwidth is inversely proportional to the distance from the hub in redline-space.

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