Friday, January 29, 2010

Back on the horse

"And I tell you, it has taken many years to put together what I've shown you today, and I don't know what to make of it either. Who can tell? Maybe the Indians are taking their revenge, reaching out across time to wreak the same havoc that was so unmercifully wrought upon them. Or maybe there's a kind of magnetic force at work, something cosmic or quantum that we don't yet understand. Maybe it's a portal to another world, or another dimension, something akin to a black hole. But you know what I think, Chief? What I truly think? What sixty-seven years on this Earth has taught me?"

Well . . . unless you're one of my beta readers or the editor for the next issue of Necrotic Tissue, you may have to wait a while for the answer to that question.

But I wanted to check in and say that, while I have not fully achieved my goal for this month, I'm proud to say I've finished something, something that has been half-finished for more than a year.

I suck at titles, but halfway through this one it became clear what the title should be, the only title it could possibly have.

It is called The Intersection, and concerns a small town police chief with a vexing traffic problem . . .

Funny thing about this one, I already had a strong start, and also knew exactly how it would end. It was the middle part that was all mushy.

But I said I was going to pick up one of my half-finished jobbies and finish it, then send it off to Necrotic Tissue before their submission period ends tomorrow. Done and done.

At almost 5,000 words, this one scrapes the upper word limit for NT, and they only accept one of those (I think) for each issue.

I've also heard this issue is kind of special, that whichever long story gets selected wins some sort of contest, so the odds are very much against it.

But if they don't accept it, with a little more polish, I think it may be perfect for Shroud. Their submissions open again in May.

Until then, lots more half-finished tales to begin anew, and miles to go before I sleep . . .

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