Trains for Thought

“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.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best. When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Too Much Writing?

Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

Gothica

The other day I asked a friend to define “gothic.” Heavy, dark, supernatural—these were a few of the words suggested. When autumn comes my thoughts turn gothic, and I’m always looking for good gothic things to read. I have blogged in the past about how reading literature that isn’t great is good. I’m serious about that. You can learn a lot by reading poor writing. Some gothic literature is more the former than the latter. Like Dark Shadows novels. Dark Shadows was running on daytime television when I was a child. As a teen I began to read the novelizations, by Marilyn Ross, whenever I could find them. Belles lettres they’re not. Gothic, most decidedly so. That’s why I keep coming back to them. They aren’t scary. In fact, they’re formulaic and predictable. But so, so gothic. Spooky mansions, the Maine woods, forlorn vampire, faded wealth. Even, yes, dark shadows. The stories create a mood I find difficult to locate elsewhere. Inspired by the most r

K. Marvin Bruce

Search This Blog