I’ve submitted another story out into the wide-wide world of publications. I have to admit; I cheated a little this month and updated an old story rather then write an entirely new one. If there is one thing I can definitively say about the writing process it is that I will find any excuse possible to not write. That being said, I have made some significant progress on some old projects recently by starting fresh. There is nothing I dislike more than my own writing when it’s more than a few months old. Apparently it has a shelf life, who knew?
The story I re-tooled and sent out is one of my favorites, Large Slug. There is really nothing more to the story then what is implied in its title, it’s a story about one very big slug. Let’s hope it slithers me a little closer to publication. Still no word on Dark yet, but the editorial process takes about 8 weeks so no surprise there.
Showing posts with label Short Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Stories. Show all posts
Monday, July 20, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
On Submission and Twitter
Well I went and did it. I dropped Dark in the mail. That marks my first submission to a magazine for possible publication. It took me the space of about three hours to wish fervently that I hadn’t made the final changes on it before letting it go, such is life though. The only thing I can do now is get started with my next story and try and forget about it.
In looking at the steadily growing pile of my written work I’m starting to see the beginnings of a pattern emerge. A good deal of what I write could easily be categorized as horror, another large section would fit neatly into the humor category. All of my short stories have in common is the fact that they are weird. No matter the occasion, I can never seem to resist adding a touch of the fantastic to a story. I’m not apologizing mind, that’s just seems to be my way. What does give me pause for thought is the fact that I haven’t really branched out much. I don’t pretend to be an expert in the writing game but I know enough to say that I have no real idea what I am doing. What? It might be clearer to say that I am still trying to figure out just what kind of writer I want to be. Anyway, I am going to try and hammer out something that is a little less horrific and a little less funny and perhaps a good deal more personal. That’s what Danielle recommended anyway and she’s pretty smart.
I can see how writing a story that strikes close to home could improve my writing just by virtue of it being easier for me to understand and identify with. Still, without the comforting distance of a good joke or the otherworldly abstraction of horror I can see how this could get a little too close for comfort. You never know the meaning of the word “hot” until you stick your hand on an iron.
In other news I’ve taken another step down the wide, straight road of technological damnation and signed myself up for twitter. I’m not proud of myself, but I can’t fight the future forever can I? My username is ByThePen if you feel like following along.
In looking at the steadily growing pile of my written work I’m starting to see the beginnings of a pattern emerge. A good deal of what I write could easily be categorized as horror, another large section would fit neatly into the humor category. All of my short stories have in common is the fact that they are weird. No matter the occasion, I can never seem to resist adding a touch of the fantastic to a story. I’m not apologizing mind, that’s just seems to be my way. What does give me pause for thought is the fact that I haven’t really branched out much. I don’t pretend to be an expert in the writing game but I know enough to say that I have no real idea what I am doing. What? It might be clearer to say that I am still trying to figure out just what kind of writer I want to be. Anyway, I am going to try and hammer out something that is a little less horrific and a little less funny and perhaps a good deal more personal. That’s what Danielle recommended anyway and she’s pretty smart.
I can see how writing a story that strikes close to home could improve my writing just by virtue of it being easier for me to understand and identify with. Still, without the comforting distance of a good joke or the otherworldly abstraction of horror I can see how this could get a little too close for comfort. You never know the meaning of the word “hot” until you stick your hand on an iron.
In other news I’ve taken another step down the wide, straight road of technological damnation and signed myself up for twitter. I’m not proud of myself, but I can’t fight the future forever can I? My username is ByThePen if you feel like following along.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Food Rage
This was my submission for a 750 word short story for Writer's Digest.
“You’re in trouble doughboy.” said Sergeant Atkins.
Cop clichés appear again and again on T.V. shows and in movies for a reason, there is some truth to them. Perhaps the most well known and therefore truest of these familiar scenes is the “good cop bad cop” routine. Trust me, it works. The best way to get a confession out of a sobbing butterball like Duncan Starger was, is to have one dick be his buddy while the other one becomes Torquemada.
“Look at me when I’m talking crap-stack!”
Atkins always played the boogieman, sick bastard probably loved those Saw movies. It was hard to argue with his methods though, he almost always got results and from the way this sack of Jello was wobbling I figured it was only a matter of time before he confessed to the whole thing.
Atkins and I were called into investigate a series of arsons at several Krispy Kreme donut franchises around North West. Setting fires is a big no-no anywhere, but DC has seven different law enforcement services. That makes burning down a donut shop like abducting the commissioner’s daughter, very stupid. On top of picking bad targets Stager was spotted fleeing the latest scene on a motor-scooter with two Molotov cocktails in the saddlebags. I’m surprised he made it as far as he did, between the helicopter, the seven police cars, and the secret service van; he had zero chance of making a getaway. It was a bike cop that nailed him in the end, jumped right off his cycle and tackled him.
“No, no it wasn’t me. I, I, I’d ne-never do that.” Starger said.
He had one of those high pitched voices that made you want to cram a plunger over his mouth.
“Look, Duncan, we’re going to do what we can for you, but Molotov cocktails, those are pretty serious.” I said
“Th-those aren’t mine. I sw-swe swear.”
Running this meatball into the ground was taking a surprisingly long time. There was no question that he was guilty, but a confession was still a hell of a lot cheaper than the lab work to actually prove that he did it, so until he cracked, there was no going home.
“You make me sick! How much do you weigh lardo?” said Atkins.
“Th-three, th-three, th-three-“
“Yeah yeah, so what do you got against donuts huh? Big fella like you must put them away by the box.”
“I love donuts, it’s just that, it’s just that, th, th, the.”
“Spit it out big boy.”
“Krispy Kreme is bullcrap.”
All of a sudden Atkins and I were looking at a different person. Duncan wasn’t shaking anymore, his voice dropped an octave and he was eyeballing both of us like he was ready to take a bite.
“Is that so?” I asked.
“Factory processed trash, if you ask me.”
Atkins opened his lunch box and brought out a small bag with orange and pink lettering. He pulled out a confection slathered in half-melted chocolate frosting and set it on the table between them. If I had known what he was planning, I would have stopped him.
“What’s that?” asked Atkins, smiling.
“That my friend, is a real donut, Boston crème if I’m not mistaken. Freshly baked, hand stuffed, and served with a smile that’s the way it’s supposed be, anything else is just garbage.”
“Atkins what are you-“
Suddenly, the sergeant brought his fist crashing down on the pastry sending a spray of crème and sprinkles everywhere. Seeing the donut destroyed like that sent Starger over the deep end. Despite the fact that the tables are bolted into the ground he flipped it over like it was made of cardboard sending me straight into the wall. Atkins tried to pull his gun but Starger threw him into the one-way mirror and then crushed him against it with his big fat body. When I came to I could see Atkins flailing getting weaker and weaker and figured I only had one chance to save him. I jammed my taser into Starger’s back and let him have it. He squealed like a branded hog and passed out.
Atkins was in the hospital overnight for his busted ribs. Starger ended up in some nut house, split personalities they call it. The interview room still smells like bacon left out on a hot day. This job may be half clichés, but occasionally something comes along they would never put on T.V.
“You’re in trouble doughboy.” said Sergeant Atkins.
Cop clichés appear again and again on T.V. shows and in movies for a reason, there is some truth to them. Perhaps the most well known and therefore truest of these familiar scenes is the “good cop bad cop” routine. Trust me, it works. The best way to get a confession out of a sobbing butterball like Duncan Starger was, is to have one dick be his buddy while the other one becomes Torquemada.
“Look at me when I’m talking crap-stack!”
Atkins always played the boogieman, sick bastard probably loved those Saw movies. It was hard to argue with his methods though, he almost always got results and from the way this sack of Jello was wobbling I figured it was only a matter of time before he confessed to the whole thing.
Atkins and I were called into investigate a series of arsons at several Krispy Kreme donut franchises around North West. Setting fires is a big no-no anywhere, but DC has seven different law enforcement services. That makes burning down a donut shop like abducting the commissioner’s daughter, very stupid. On top of picking bad targets Stager was spotted fleeing the latest scene on a motor-scooter with two Molotov cocktails in the saddlebags. I’m surprised he made it as far as he did, between the helicopter, the seven police cars, and the secret service van; he had zero chance of making a getaway. It was a bike cop that nailed him in the end, jumped right off his cycle and tackled him.
“No, no it wasn’t me. I, I, I’d ne-never do that.” Starger said.
He had one of those high pitched voices that made you want to cram a plunger over his mouth.
“Look, Duncan, we’re going to do what we can for you, but Molotov cocktails, those are pretty serious.” I said
“Th-those aren’t mine. I sw-swe swear.”
Running this meatball into the ground was taking a surprisingly long time. There was no question that he was guilty, but a confession was still a hell of a lot cheaper than the lab work to actually prove that he did it, so until he cracked, there was no going home.
“You make me sick! How much do you weigh lardo?” said Atkins.
“Th-three, th-three, th-three-“
“Yeah yeah, so what do you got against donuts huh? Big fella like you must put them away by the box.”
“I love donuts, it’s just that, it’s just that, th, th, the.”
“Spit it out big boy.”
“Krispy Kreme is bullcrap.”
All of a sudden Atkins and I were looking at a different person. Duncan wasn’t shaking anymore, his voice dropped an octave and he was eyeballing both of us like he was ready to take a bite.
“Is that so?” I asked.
“Factory processed trash, if you ask me.”
Atkins opened his lunch box and brought out a small bag with orange and pink lettering. He pulled out a confection slathered in half-melted chocolate frosting and set it on the table between them. If I had known what he was planning, I would have stopped him.
“What’s that?” asked Atkins, smiling.
“That my friend, is a real donut, Boston crème if I’m not mistaken. Freshly baked, hand stuffed, and served with a smile that’s the way it’s supposed be, anything else is just garbage.”
“Atkins what are you-“
Suddenly, the sergeant brought his fist crashing down on the pastry sending a spray of crème and sprinkles everywhere. Seeing the donut destroyed like that sent Starger over the deep end. Despite the fact that the tables are bolted into the ground he flipped it over like it was made of cardboard sending me straight into the wall. Atkins tried to pull his gun but Starger threw him into the one-way mirror and then crushed him against it with his big fat body. When I came to I could see Atkins flailing getting weaker and weaker and figured I only had one chance to save him. I jammed my taser into Starger’s back and let him have it. He squealed like a branded hog and passed out.
Atkins was in the hospital overnight for his busted ribs. Starger ended up in some nut house, split personalities they call it. The interview room still smells like bacon left out on a hot day. This job may be half clichés, but occasionally something comes along they would never put on T.V.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Gauntlet
While going through the agonizing process of applying for grad school I had the good fortune of coming across a fellow named Stephen Graham Jones, a writer and professor at the UC Boulder. (Check out his website here) Once I was accepted into the program and made the decision to defer I asked him for a challenge to tide me through the months between now and when I actually get to school. He came back with this
“Get publishes in WEIRD TALES and FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION. Or collect about ten rejections from each. It’s the kind of assignment that entails writing better, writing a lot, writing when people say you shouldn't, writing even better, tailoring your work to fit, doing the research to make it fit, all that.”
Having never submitted anything for publication, this is a mighty task indeed. I am determined to make it happen. It’s going to require me to really step up my game in terms of the amount of work I am producing each month.
“Get publishes in WEIRD TALES and FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION. Or collect about ten rejections from each. It’s the kind of assignment that entails writing better, writing a lot, writing when people say you shouldn't, writing even better, tailoring your work to fit, doing the research to make it fit, all that.”
Having never submitted anything for publication, this is a mighty task indeed. I am determined to make it happen. It’s going to require me to really step up my game in terms of the amount of work I am producing each month.
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