CV, A – Small God of Anonymity

He will not kill us if we tell you who he is, what he does, his purpose, his portfolio.  He promises he won’t.

But he’ll make us never have been.  We will be erased from all of time and history, and our deeds will come to nothing.  Even our account will not be seen, and we will have unmade ourselves for nothing.

We are sorry, but we can tell you nothing more.

We are also sorry to have told you he existed.

This is not your fault; it is ours.


[image description: A stark asymmetrical poster in red and black with a thin sliver of green edge-light. It shows the face of someone with long black hair wearing a plastic Guy Fawkes mask under a brimmed black hat. Text reads, “CV, A – Small God of Anonymity.”]


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Woo Woo – Small God of New Relationship Energy

They say that no one is immune to their song, and it’s true, it’s true; people who try to claim that because they don’t experience romantic attraction, they can’t be wooed, are likely to find themselves swept into an overwhelmingly intimate friendship which has nothing to do with romance, but everything to do with the all-consuming sparks created when two people of compatible minds strike against each other for the first time.

It can all too easily become an inferno, consuming everything in its path, and older friendships will often find themselves immolated, ignored, disregarded until the flames die down.  This is normal and natural and inescapable, and those truths do not undo the damage done, or heal the wounds created by suddenly absent attention, by jealous and envy and shame.

Woo Woo is sorry for the damage that they do, but they consider the scales balanced by the joys they bring, those bright moments of sudden synchronicity with someone who wasn’t in your life a week ago, but is now one of the fixed stars in your sky.

They are an exhausting god.  Fortunately, they don’t stay with anyone for long: it is their destinate to have no faithful, only faithless, for they are transitory by nature, fleeting, and all the sweeter for it.  They would no more linger with a single soul than they would allow themself to be caged.  And some, who seek new people more often than most, can spend enough time in their company to become all but priests of their short-lived religion, adored and anointed.

But soon enough, the god will tire of them as well, and fly away to perch in someone else’s heart.

Do not think of them as good, or evil, or malicious, or kind.  Think of them as fickle, and you will be closer than any other descriptor in the dictionary.

Over the course of this documentary description, they have already flown away.


[image description: An adorable cuckoo sits atop a crooked wooden cuckoo clock, its green plumage a contrast with the clock’s traditional carved wooden oak leaves and classic cruciform details. The red clock face is in the shape of a heart – as are its hands, the demarcations of hours, and the 3 hanging carved wooden weights. The door of the clock is open, and its perch empty. Inside the wee door, nothing remains save a busted spring. In the background, a field of hundreds of light pink hearts. Spritely text with curling serifs on its capitals reads, “#104 Woo Woo – Small God of New Relationship Energy.”]


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Blitzkreig Bob – The Small God Of Suburban Punks

Some people say he can’t exist, or, when confronted with the reality of his presence—and remember that even a small god is still a god, better not provoked with statements such as “you’re a shit divinity, aren’t you?” or “you don’t exist, you can’t possibly be real”—that his believers are misguided about their own existence.  He doesn’t take kindly to any of these things, but his ability to take revenge is limited by the shape and scope of his portfolio, which he loves too wildly and too well to ever set aside, even for the sake of blackening a few eyes.

Blitzkrieg Bob is the patron and god of suburban punks and mall goths, frustrated teens seeking something to rebel against and grown adults finding themselves in new subcultures well past the age when they’d been written off as unremarkable, serene.  He guides the hands that select the bottle of Manic Panic and the shears, and if he doesn’t always guarantee those things are paid for, well.  He’s happy to stick it to any Man available, even the ones who can’t afford another injury.

(Penny Ante, small god of local businesses and community support, wishes he would enforce certain commandments more strictly on his followers.  He understands her concern—some of hers are also some of his, or were once, or will be eventually—but punk is about breaking rules, and the more rules he sets before his faithful, the more they will rebel.)

He doesn’t care if their nail polish is blotchy or their music is secondhand or their stompy boots aren’t quite fitted to their feet.  He cares about their hearts, and the passion he finds sleeping there.  Punk and goth are their combinations are sacred things, and he allows no gatekeepers, no barriers between his faithful and his word and their holy, hurting hearts.


[image description: A dark portrait of a young person inside a dark stone frame. Their long sallow face is framed by long unkempt black hair. They wear wide oval glasses and a sneer. Barely visible in the background, a sign that might read ‘OMFUG’ (which might, in turn, stand for ‘Other Music for Uplifting Gormandizers’). Text reads, “#103 Blitzkreig Bob – Small God of Suburban Punks.”]


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Serra Hawks-Hitchcock – Small God Of Silence

“Ladies should be seen and not heard,” and she is there, just behind the speaker, a smile on her lips and mischief in her eyes.

“Silence is a virtue,” and she is there, pulling faces, fingers in her ears and tongue peeking out to brush her chin, a gleeful obscenity.

“Loose lips sink ships,” and she is there, a cutlass in her hand, ready to sail for the Spanish Main at dawn, the colors already hoisted in her heart.

She doesn’t have a lot to say, but she allows others to speak for her with giddy willingness, bending their pious proverbs to her own ends.  She finds her strength and her divinity in the space between the silence and the sigh, the blossoming room where she can undermine her own ideals and make of silence something screaming.

Ladies should be seen and not heard?  Fine, then, she will make of their precious ladies a spectacle too grand to be ignored.  She will make sure they can be seen from space.  Silence is a virtue?  Then silence enough should make them virtuous; they need not a single virtue more.  Loose lips sink ships?  Then she will build a graveyard all her own, schooners and galleons at the bottom of the sea.

Do not tempt the quiet ones, for their vengeance will be swift and unrelenting.  But she smiles and smiles and sips her tea, and the ones who worship her—either willingly or because they have no given choice—understand that her wrath, when it descends, will be unending.  And they love her for it.  Oh, how they love her.

They do not sing her praises.  Instead, they hold them close and quiet in their hearts, and she is theirs, and they are hers, and all those who fail to understand their bonds will one day see them in the screaming silence of the dawn.


[image description: A formally dressed woman sits at a table. In front of her a tea set decorated with gilt snowflakes and a plate of cucumber sandwiches rest on a lace tablecloth. She is haloed in gold against a darker golden background. She has a finger to her lips as she shushes a hummingbird with a tiny crown. The hummingbird is #54 Hummel – Small God of Not Knowing the Words. Text reads, “#102 Serra Hawks-Hitchcock, Small God of Silence.”]


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Brother Blair – Thoughtcriminal / Small God: Teetotalitarianism

He could have been a god of so many things, when he finally shrugged off the tyranny of mortal flesh and a mortal world.  He could have been a god of journalism, of poetry, even of fishing and bucolic afternoons in the golden country sun.  He could have been a god of peace, if he had to be a god at all.

That he is none of those things is the reason that he hates us so.

He gave us the warnings, both blunt and coached in pretty metaphor: he told us where these roads would lead, mapped and charted out their dangers, made it as exquisitely clear as he knew how that we had little enough time to save ourselves.  He told us that when the enemy came before us, they would do so dressed as brothers, and offering pretty slogans that went down easily, coated as they were with sugar, but that would turn to poison pills in our throats, once it was too late to spit them back.

War is peace.  Wisdom is ignorance.  Freedom is slavery.  Lies, all lies, and he told us as much; he was very clear, very precise and plain, and his reward is divinity and distortion, his words turned into praises of the exact thing he protested against, into weapons raised against the things he most believed.

For some of those who ascend to godhood upon their deaths, small divinity is a blessing, a last reward from a universe which treated them as it treats all living things: with casual, unconcerned unfairness, just one more piece of an eternity as yet unfolding, in need of nothing beyond the bare necessities.  It is a reward for everything they have suffered.

For Brother Blair, it is a punishment he’s still not entirely sure what he did to earn, but would give almost anything to take back.


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

The Great One – The Small God Of Small Gods

We started early in the Pandemic. We hoped – we still hope – to bring a little joy to all of you, wherever you may be. But this is our first real anniversary – the 100th Small God!

Of course there are many more to come, but we believe in celebrating where we can. So here’s to you and the Great One. And the next hundred!


By now, we’ve spent enough time together for you to understand one of the deep secrets of the universe, one of the conceptual underpinnings around which all things rotate and extend:

If a thing exists, it can believe. And if a thing believes, it can and will accrete divinity around itself, even as an oyster forms a pearl. The universe self-organizes into gods, for the sake of all those who are made of baser stuff.

The small gods themselves exist. They think, they know, and they believe. So why would they be the only creatures in creation not to have a god to call their own?

They call him The Great One, and he walks the world with ponderous grace, implacable and inevitable. He is there when new gods come into being, watching with his single narrow, ancient eye. He is there when they surrender to the inevitable and fade finally away, their last believer gone, their purpose lost. He remembers them all, even the ones the gods of memory and history have themselves forgotten; he judges none.

No one knows what happened to his eye, but some have noted that in a cosmos with small gods, large gods exist as well, and one of them may have taken their toll. If this is so, then he has paid for the safety of the pantheon, and they at times reward him with strawberries and clover, things sweet to a tortoise’s palate, things to please him well.

He was not always a tortoise. That form was set for him, by one who believed that the divinity of man was intrinsic as much as external, and that humanity was capable of glorious things when they thought themselves worthy of the effort. He likes it well enough. He liked the man who gave him this shape; he liked his books, and his hat, and the smell of chalk on green grassy hillsides. The man is gone. The Great One remains.

He thinks the man would have liked that best of all.

He doesn’t need us to believe in him.

The gods themselves have that covered.

He would, however, like some clover.


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Doctor Craterface – Small God Of Recurring Childhood Nightmares

I mean, he’s not necessarily scary to anyone except for the person he’s intended to be scary for, and for that person, he’s the worst thing in the entire world.  He’s horror beyond imagining, terror beyond dreams, and his touch is death and his gaze is…

Well, his gaze is somehow worse.

To the mind that makes him, he is the most horrific thing ever to exist, and his laughter steals souls.  To anyone else who happens to catch a glimpse, he’s charming, even quaint; he’s a moon with a laughing face, or a piece of broccoli as large as a person, or a guinea pig with bloodlust in its eyes.  He’s nothing all that terrible at all.

But the strength of childhood fears is in how difficult they are to share.  When you can’t tell anyone what you’re really afraid of, they can’t make the little reassuring noises that allow you to chase the fear away.  “Wolves won’t really come through the living room window and eat you alive” is easy.  “The dinosaurs all died millions of years ago, they can’t come out of your closet and eat you alive” is slightly harder—why did the dinosaurs die?  What killed them?  All too easy to turn a fear of prehistoric predators into a fear of giant meteors.  But “the vacuum cleaner is not alive, aware, and malicious” is very difficult, not least because it’s hard to utter that sentence without laughing.

Doctor Craterface grows strongest in the space between screams and laughter, the place where everyone knows his name, and his face is always different, and the terror is always the same.  Children leave him, but he has his roots in the hearts of the adults they will become, and for them, he will always be at least a little unsettling, even if they can never quite articulate why without a chuckle and a wry expression.

He gets them young.

He has them forever.


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Small God Build Number 98 – The Invincible Irony Man

People who don’t really know him think he’s a carefree guy.   After all, he’s always joking, always ready with a quip or witty comeback.  He never takes anything seriously.  He’s the celestial class clown.

People tend to forget that the person who never takes anything seriously never gets anything done.  He can’t keep a relationship past the first few dates; even someone who finds his witty repartee charming over dinner and a glass of ambrosia will likely find it old once the clothes are on the floor and they want him to listen to what they’re actually saying.  His worshippers come and go with alacrity, seeking gods who will actually listen to their problems, seeking temples with substance, divinity with holy texts instead of snide put-downs and negging.

He is the patron of pickup artists and the insecure, beloved of teenage boys who believe that sincerity is a sin and showing genuine interest in a thing means it will be taken away at the first opportunity.  They come to him with empty hands and broken hearts, and he cannot heal them, and he cannot truly help them, but he can patch their broken places with his own brand of rot and cool dismissal.

He wishes he could be better.  He can never teach anyone else how to reach that fabled state.

People who don’t really know him think he’s carefree.  People who do know that he cares more than he can ever express, that his jokes are at their root a form of self-protection, and he can no more stop than he can change the core of his existence.  He is a shallow god.

He wishes he were more.


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Bloody Herr Loess – The Very Small God Of Hostile Combovers

Not every small god is a pleasant one, or serves a pleasant purpose.

His domain is narcissistic and cruel.  He demands obeisance while doing nothing to earn it beyond existing, which in his mind should be enough.  He deserves to be worshipped because he wants to be worshipped, his logic holds forth; he deserves the world because he wants the world.  If he wants it, he deserves it, and there is no rhyme and there is no reason and there is no reasoning with him, because he can never be satiated, he can never be fulfilled, and he can never be convinced that he has enough.  He will never, never have enough.

He began as a god of self-esteem and acceptance, ironically enough, summoned into being by those with thinning hair who worried it would make them less attractive in the eyes of their fellows.  In this regard he is kin to Tesla and to Polly, although they would not claim him if questioned.  But sadly, those who chose him as their patron all too often carried with them pride and denial, refusing to accept the reality of their situation, and he began to change.

He has never been innocent.  Don’t think we credit him with that.  But he was less harmful, once, than he became.

As he gathered more worshippers and learned to reshape himself to fit their needs, he grew in strength and in viciousness, until his manifestation was complete, and he walked the world a colossus of pride and greed and endless hunger.  Too many mock him for the things outside his control, call him fat or old as if those things are somehow greater crimes than his actions, and thus obfuscate the reality of the danger he presents.

For he is a seductive god.  He will tell you that you, too, do not have enough; that you deserve to desire more.  And if you listen, he will make you believe it.

Beware.


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Unijackasus – The Small God Of American Chimera

First European to see one took it for a raurakl, believing it had immigrated from his homeland same as he had, probably packed into a crate in the belly of some rich man’s ship, intended to be hunted in the New World same as they’d been hunted in the Old.  Good eating on a raurakl, if you could catch them—more cunning than a fox, more difficult to shoot out of the sky than a drake, they were the perfect sport animal.  He saw it, he knew it, and he thought no more of it, not even to ask himself if anyone had ever seen a raurakl with a single horn, or with such gloriously colorful wings.

Of small dismissals is conservation sometimes made.

Second European to see one took it for a wolpertinger, and assumed much the same as the first, that it had been carried over in a ship, that it had escaped from a private zoo, that it was some kind of sport even by the admittedly odd standards of the species, giving it rainbow wings and dawn-colored fur.

First American—not Native, for they had other names for themselves, not immigrant, but colonist all the same—to see one took it for something entirely new, his ancestors having come from the British Isles, where their horned lapines had long since been hunted to extinction.  He called it a marvel, and when he described it the other men at the bar deemed it both a hallucination and a jackalope.

They were wrong and they were right and the fact that they could be both at the same time is no more a contradiction than the unijackasus.

It is a wolpertinger.  It is a raurakl.  It is a jackalope.  It is a thousand different creatures that look almost like the thing the viewer expects to see, but aren’t quiet there.  It is perfect and it is strange and it is only in America, and it is happy there.

The unijackasus keeps watch over all the American chimera, however odd, and hopes they will one day be understood in all their impossible complexity.

If they aren’t, it will understand, and it will forgive.

It always does.


Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/