“The Last Train from New York” is a story I wrote while working for a New York publisher. Being unemployed was on my mind, and the story is a metaphor for a loser trying to find his place.
This past week I heard the glad news that “The Last Train from New York” has been accepted for publication in Corvus Review. This makes eighteen stories published, and also marks another literary magazine that seems to think I’m capable.
That may sound gratuitous on my part, but I assure you it's not. Like many writers I suffer from lack of self-esteem. All the advice givers say to take rejection lightly, but as someone who puts a lot of effort into each piece I decide to send out, how can I not take rejection personally? When I do get a hit, it makes my day. Week, even.
Only a writer understands how publication is validation. Someone who has a louder voice than me—a longer reach—says yes, this guy has something interesting to say. Part of the problem is my stories are often meant to do more than entertain. I want to make people think.
I suppose that’s the definition of the genre, “literary fiction.” It’s more than just eye candy. Stories with substance can be fun to read. I take the craft a little too seriously to just throw it away, however.
Another writer once wrote that writing is a way of protesting against being forgotten. I don’t write to get rich (good thing!), but to be heard. In a life where very few pay attention to what anyone does or says, writing is a lifeline thrown past irrelevance.
When “The Last Train from New York” shows up in published form, I’ll put in my usual link here on my little blog. I hope some people will find it fun and that others will find it has a message. And I’ll keep on writing because I hope to be heard.
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