Squirrel Play Between the Sheets

There'll be more The Space between Atoms shortly. I promise. I thought I'd stop to point out a new story publication—we struggling writers need a bit of encouragement every now and again!

My weird, perhaps unnerving tale "Between the Sheets" is now live on Yellow Mama. This story is about what happens when the unexplained comes home to stay. I'm willing to admit, as most honest people are, that strange things do happen in life. Often we can find an explanation. Sometimes we can't.

I suspect that's why I like speculative fiction so much. There's a sense of wonder to it. As a friend of mine who's a published novelist likes to say, stories need a flux capacitor. It's a reference to Back to the Future. It's how Doc's time machine works. It's never explained because it can't be, but without it there's no story.

Some day I may grow brave enough to publish nonfiction about the strange things I've noted in my life. This story, however, is fiction.

Now that we're stuck at home all day during the pandemic, it might mean it's even spookier than I'd anticipated when I wrote it. Most of my stories were completed months, or years, before they find publishers. I've got a backlog right now awaiting time for submitting them.

"Between the Sheets" marks my twenty-eighth fiction publication. It's time to get some more sent on their way. By my count I've got eleven ready to go. What I don't have is pandemic time to locate publishers for them.

"Squirrel Play" has also recently appeared in The Horror Zine, also in print format. It was one of the least re-written of my stories, which makes me wonder if I edit myself too much. It seems better than letting other edit me.

In any case, I'll publish the next installment of The Space between Atoms shortly. But good news, among those of us who struggle, deserves to be shared.

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

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,

K. Marvin Bruce

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