It's the mark of the very best stories that you never want them to end, and if you're like me, maybe you even get a little upset when you realize it's over and wish the author would write another one (I'm looking at you JK Rowling!). I think I can speak for all PodCastle fans when I say, Dave and Anna, that your editorial stint was one of the very best stories.
I think what it takes to be a really fantastic editor is an underappreciated art, especially from the outside. It reminds me of those friends I have with really ridiculously good taste in music, who'll let you name a few songs you like, and then immediately hand you something completely new that you're going to love. I feel like what Dave and Anna have done on PodCastle has been like that: thinking about their audience, reading through the great stories out there, and making us a playlist designed to create a unique mental space. That's no small task.
So I'd like to encourage everyone who's enjoyed Dave and Anna's run on PodCastle--whether you're a forumite, fan, staffer, author, narrator, or some combination of all these--to take a moment and let them know what their work has meant to you. I think the mods have set up this thread for discussion, but I'd also suggest this would be a great time to drop them some proper fan mail at their Escape Artists email (dave (at) escapeartists.net and anna (at) escapeartists.net). I've already done so myself.
Dave, Anna: go chase those dreams. We'll still be here, cheering you along. And I dearly hope we finally get to hear a Dave Thompson story on PodCastle in the near future.
"As the weeks turn to months to years, it all runs into one smooth stream, and amid the worst there was still good, because we did it all together. We got through it with our greatswords and glaives, and with kind words and clever plans. We learned not to worship Agani. We learned to see ghosts in the gallery, and little gods in the cinnamon.
"We met angels in the shower. We balanced tiny assassins on our fingertips and fed them our blood. We held hearts in hands and pumped them,
lub-dub, the lives of our friends resting in our palms, and at night we slept and dreamed. We called down foxes and furious suns. We caught paper tigers which were letters from our dead mothers. We were sorcerous puppets and apprentice dragons and we did not speak of our dreams. Our memories bled away into wind, and we got drunk in the human fashion with dead Jane Austens. Our brothers were bad gods. Our sisters spoke to crickets. On Easter, we became werewolves and on Christmas, Tim Pratt. All of us slept with Karnun Nameless Dae. We escaped, and we escaped, and we tried to forget the dreams, because they were the one place we could not escape to."