Circumstance of Victims

The folks at Danse Macabre are most accommodating. I’m pleased to announce the appearance of my latest short story, “Circumstance of Victims,” In Danse Macabre 72, Oubliette.

This is an experimental piece, but, if read with patience, it makes sense. It is also, like most fiction, somewhat autobiographical. If you would like to learn what that means, I would encourage you to read my story. Those who hold power over employees don’t realize just how awful that responsibility is.

I’ve been alive long enough, and with a personality strong enough, to have lost a job or two. It is never shy of anything but devastating. The first novel I attempted (unsuccessfully) to publish was about just this. I suspect the editors who threw it on the slush-pile had never experienced it.

I sent the manuscript to my friend Sluggo to read. S/he said that it was pretty long, but the parts about what it feels like to lose a job were spot on. Authentic. Compelling. Sluggo had been there too.

It’s not that writers can’t make things up out of whole cloth. I’ve written stories with no basis in any reality in this universe. Nevertheless, if we don’t show a part of ourselves, the lack of authenticity will show through. I try not to be too shy.

Being unemployed is all about being naked. Your pain is so obvious that anyone can see it. Anyone, that is, who is willing to take the trouble to look. And if it fucks you up in the head, well, nobody who’s been there should be surprised.

So as I cast my seed out there in the internet, hoping that someone may someday notice, I am pleased to find the fertile pages of Danse Macabre. It is nice to know that all the work these weary fingers do sometimes stands a chance of being noticed.

It should be clear that we are all circumstances of our own victims. They know I am.

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,

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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

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