Skip to main content

A Couple More

 It looks like there may be a little more space between the atoms since I have a bit of news to share this week.  My story “Planet Heaven” has appeared in Sein und Werden—check it out.  This is an irreverent tale that I wrote years ago.  It was rejected for making fun of religion, but I know whereof I speak.


Right on the heels of this happy appearance came the news that my tale “Between the Sheets” has been accepted by Yellow Mama for its Valentine issue.  Love and horror often go together, but this is very gentle horror.  Unsettling rather than terrifying.


“Planet Heaven,” however, came from my somewhat common experience of being raised religious only to wonder about those who’d been raised in other religions.  Why were they damned to hell just for being born elsewhere?  Why couldn’t true believers just sit down together and talk about it?


The story, although set in space, isn’t really science fiction.  I grew up reading sci fi, and it has (or had, at least, in those days) a specific orientation that focused on the future.  My story is more a parable about the present set in the future.  It’s free, so go ahead and read.





Perhaps one of the reasons I classify myself as a struggling writer is that my work doesn’t fall easily into a genre.  Traditionally this is called “literary fiction,” but mine has a more speculative element to it.  Speculative often puts you into the realm of horror and science fiction, but they both have conventions I don’t often use.


Editors and agents often have trouble with literature that doesn’t fit.  I try to get a sense of what an editor likes and if something that appeals to her or him flows from my fingers I tend to send it along until they start rejecting my work.  Then I move on.


“Between the Sheets” is my twenty-fifth story accepted for publication.  It will be, like most of my work, difficult to classify.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

Neglectful Parents

If I was a parent I’d be accused of neglect.   I have to say 2017 was the least published year of recent memory.   Not that I’ve been neglecting my fiction, but I had a non-fiction book accepted and I work full-time and commute to that job—you get the picture. I’ve also had a personal epiphany.   If you can write, you should get paid for it.   I know a publicist (not my own; I don’t have one) and she says she won’t let her authors even write an op-ed if they don’t get paid.   I guess I’d never get published then. My Medusa novel had a flicker of hope for a few moments.   A publisher actually wrote back asking for the rest of the manuscript.   That’s never happened before.   Then the editor disappeared.   Even called me by the wrong pseudonym.   I’ve gotta wonder about that because the second half of the novel’s even better than the first. While looking for an agent for my non-fiction (couldn’t find one of those either) I came across several who said they liked quirky ficti

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,