K. Marvin Bruce

I’m not afraid of electronic publication.  Despite the fact that it could all be wiped out by a comet’s tail or power surge, it is clearly the way of the future.  Some of my earliest stories have, in fact, already disappeared as servers have shut down, reverting rights along with words. My earliest pieces appeared in Danse Macabre , a literary journal that seems to get what I’m trying to do.  Certainly the vast majority of literary magazines don’t “get” me, as I’ve had a great deal of trouble finding editors who’ll give my tales a chance.  I was pleased, then, to see myself as a part of two anthologies by Hammer and Anvil Press. Hammer and Anvil—a most appropriate name—is the book-publishing side of Danse Macabre ’s Adam Henry Carrière, the first editor to take a chance on my fiction.  I discovered two of my stories in anthologies, and I am very pleased that they still have a little staying power. Stories are memes that we cast out into the universe...

This is the title of a story that Danse Macabre published some months ago.  I wrote it under the influence of Ray Bradbury, who, it must be understood, can take no blame for my admiration.  It used to be if you wrote like Bradbury you’d find a publisher.  Those days have gone. The story concerns a magic necktie.  The necktie in itself is a suggestive accessory.  Not unlike a noose, it often represents the cost of the business world.  It is also the article of clothing most often to fall into your soup or sauce and become utterly destroyed. In one of my classes I had a student who commented on a particular tie I wore.  This one was vibrant with primary colors—flashy for my personality—that my mother had bought me.  It went with nothing, so it went with everything.  A white shirt showed it off best. In the right light the tie seemed to move.  That was, I suppose, the genesis of this story.  A man finds a tie on an accide...

The giddying heights, the abysmal lows.  Being published, being rejected.  Opposites make excellent fodder for stories. I was cheered by the arrival of Calliope 144, Summer 2014.  My story, “Initiating an Apocalypse,” won third place in the contest for this issue, and, among other things, represents the first time my fiction has actually appeared in print form.  Heights! The story is, as the editor instantly recognized, satire.  The plot revolves around a professor who lost his job and who wants the world to share his misery.  Having studied ancient religions (the protagonist is based on a friend of mine) our hero calls on the ancient gods to help exact his revenge. In the background here is Zoroastrianism, perhaps the oldest continually practiced religion in the world.  The great god of the Zoroastrians was Ahura Mazda.  Since the world appeared to be governed by opposites, he had a foe who was totally evil: Angra Mainyu.  Zara...

In my unguarded (i.e., optimistic) moments, I sometimes wonder if underselling oneself is a self-fulfilling prophecy.  For example, sending your writing only to small publishers might lead to small returns.  The big guys are scary, however. Sometimes it seems a small press can’t handle big ideas.  Some fiction goes beyond the usual need to tell a story and contains a much deeper message.  After all, all books are farewell letters to the world.  We want to say something important. Although I keep a spreadsheet with my submissions, sometimes stories get lost in the mix.  Once in a while I’ll stumble upon one that I’d forgotten, an orphan of my feverish imagination.  I wonder why I never tried to get it published.  Then I look at my spreadsheet. It is kind of like an idea graveyard.  Big ideas, small ideas.  Lying side by side in unmarked graves since, never having been published, they’ll never be read by anyone other than thei...