Category: Previously Published Stories
Just about every weekend since I started this blog four months ago I have posted a copy of one of my published stories. Posting my previously published work is at the center of what this blog is about, though I have posted and will post again pieces previously unpublished.
The other and almost-daily posts I make to the site are to keep the place from getting stagnant. They’re mostly quotes from whatever I’m reading, which are far more interesting than what I’m doing, except for the interesting parts of what I do, which I best not be writing about in public.
There are only about a half-dozen previously published stories left in my inventory. This week I’m posting the oldest, “My Friend!” This piece took over fifteen years to go from first draft to the draft that got published, in March of 2009, by Gloom Cupboard. It’s essentially a celebration of language.
The last of the lower-case very short stories I wrote in 1995 to be published is “latrodectus, loxosceles, lycosa tarentula,” which was accepted by Denver Quarterly in 2003 and published by them in 2006. Last week, in “mama when she’s really pretty,” I was channeling a six-year-old girl. This week in “latrodectus, [etc.],” I’m channeling a seven-year-old boy.
This week I’m posting another of the very short pieces I wrote sans capitalization in the mid-90s, “the german for it, the french.” It was first published in Quarter After Eight in early 1997. As with everything I write, it is a true story. That’s why I write fiction.
There was a time when I was writing everything in lower case. Abandoning caps changed the way the words flowed together in a piece. Every once in a while I still write a lower-case piece, but it’s mostly something I did in the mid-90s.
Another thing I did in the mid-90s and still sometimes do is write very short pieces. Abandoning caps works better in shorter pieces, since total lower case is not just a little hard on the eyes, it’s also a little more challenging to the mind. Have to be careful with all that.
But going deep campo for lower case wasn’t the principal reason I wrote short pieces. I had it in mind to see how short I could get a story to go and still have a full and symmetrical piece. It seemed about 350 words was the bottom limit. Pieces also seemed to develop their own internal necessity of length, with around 450 words and 675 words being approximate “natural” lengths for my work.
My first published piece of fiction was in all lower case, and this week it’s the story I’m posting: “eleanor in uncertain way, pulling.” It was published in NuCity in July of 1995. (NuCity later became The Weekly Alibi and continued to publish my stuff from time to time.)
“Mourning: a cruel country where I am no longer afraid.” — Roland Barthes, 1977.
The Center for Bioethics and Humanities at SUNY Upstate Medical University publishes an annual litmag called The Healing Muse. In their most recent issue (#10) they included my short piece, “The Take-Out,” which is the story I’m posting this week.
The story I’m posting this week, “The Congenital Fiance”, first appeared in Caketrain a couple of years ago. I wrote it some years back, not long before the Umpteenth World War started. The world wasn’t any younger or more innocent or necessarily safer or nicer in those days, but part of the world that ended on the bright autumn day when the towers came down–ending in the unpredictable way in which worlds end–was the world in which an American could casually engage in street photography with a 35mm SLR without being suspected of being either a terrorist or a government agent.
Which is neither here nor there and has practically nothing to do with “The Congenital Fiance”.
For two years I worked as a criminal defense paralegal. As with everything I’ve done since I was twelve or thirteen years old, I did the job with one eye on how I could milk it for stories to write. Some might call that “bearing witness,” which would be a very nice thing to call it. Others might call it things that are not so nice, but would probably be just as true.
Last week I posted “Legal Advice,” one of the stories derived from my criminal defense paralegal days. This week I’m posting “Taking Calls,” another such story. It was first published a year ago in Cutthroat.
Twenty years ago I began working in legal support, first as a data entry clerk and soon after that as a paralegal. The story I’m posting this week, “Legal Advice”, is written from my experiences in the trade. It was first published a half-dozen years ago in Ontario Review.
The Weekly Alibi is an alternative paper in Albuquerque, going on twenty years old. I don’t often read it these days, as I am getting older and and am feeling the pressing need to slough off the unnecessary. But back in the 1990s and on up until the middle of the last decade, hardly a week would go by that I didn’t snag the latest Alibi to find out what movies and shows were current and tantalizing.
Besides its movie and art listings, its reviews and commentaries and other features, its personals–I looked at the “I Saw You” listings week after week, hoping to have been seen–The Alibi also ran writing contests. They ran a Valentine’s Day poetry contest I won so many times, I finally stopped entering. They also ran a short story contest every year. When they first started out, they were called NuCity, but some other publication with a similar name and more money threatened to sue them, so they changed their name. Right before the name change, one of my stories won an honorable mention in the annual contest, and was published. I was thirty-seven years old, had been a creative writer since early adolescence, but had not had a short story published until that time (because I was not naturally very good at it, and it took me a long time to get any good at it at all).
That story isn’t the one I posted this week. In 2000, I won The Alibi‘s short fiction contest with a piece called “Linear Perspective”. I was very happy. The prize was admission to the Southwest Writers something something that fall, where I got to hang around with real writers who wrote mysteries and romances and true crime and all that kind of stuff that actually sells. I got to meet editors and agents, and buy things, and watch a fellow writer get shit-faced drunk at the big banquet.
“Linear Perspective” got more hits on my old website than anything besides “The Gordon Lish Notes”. I expect that people would Google “linear perspective”, hoping to get some practical information about visual art, and end up touching upon my site by accident.
There was a different story I was going to post this week, but I got a piece of fan mail drawing my attention to “The Year Our Children Left”, so I’m posting that story instead. It was published last year in Neon, a sharp online litmag out of the UK.
I posted another story this morning. This one is “Sandhills”, which was published in New York Tyrant, Volume 1, Number 1, in 2006. It’s a story I first sketched out in 1993, as part of another, longer work. It didn’t really fit in, though, so I cut it and in the next year or so I reworked it into its present form. It was accepted by The Quarterly in 1995, providing I changed the title to “The Crane Game”. I changed the title and made the other minor but necessary revisions required by Gordon Lish, who edited The Quarterly, but then his mag went bust (for the second and so far final time).
It took me another eleven years to find a publisher for it. The editor at the Tyrant (I can no longer remember her name, but it may have been Sarah) also required a few minor changes, which I accepted when she was right and I could not make a convincing case otherwise, either to her or myself. I had long since changed the title back to “Sandhills”. I never cared for “The Crane Game”, in large part because The Crying Game had come out in ’92 and broke big in ’93 and the two titles were far too close to one another acoustically and temporally.