Postive Rejections

‘Little Boy Lost,’ a horror piece I wrote at the very end of last year, has been rejected by the good people at ‘Flesh and Blood.’ Overall they felt it was a nicely written story with a good idea, but that it did not feel right for the magazine.
     Bless them.
     Now usually polite rejections hide true motivations, but I’ve been rejected by ‘Flesh and Blood’ before, and know their style. This rejection, despite the lack of an accompanying trolley load of monies and a plainitive note asking me to write for them for ever more, is actually a step forward. They liked the work, they just didn’t think it was suited to their magazine.
     Which, in truth, I should have realised. There is an article to be written on the singular horror that is trying to read a cross section of short genre fiction. I haven’t read the umpteen hundred ‘zines out there that are publishing in the horror genre, and I thus I can pretty much guarantee that I am missing out on the most suitable markets for what I write. More on this at another time.
     Positive rejections still hurt; that they liked the story is one thing, that you were stupid enough to send it to an inappropiate market is another (I’ve had quite a number, recently, of postive rejections). But the important aspect is that they encourage more work, and give you some reason to love the story.
     It is very easy to reject your own work when others see no merit in it.
     Anyway, since I have little shame and want money I’m going to submit the story elsewhere. I’ve got a pretty good idea of where, as well.
     And there are always the host of unwritten stories to sell.
     I could grow to like this, you know.

The Little Lytton

I had almost forgotten about these… My submissions to the ‘Little Lytton’ competition.

Contest A:

As its blood washed over me something stirred in my loins, reminding me of the first time Candice, the Irish wolfhound, made love to me.

Contest B:

Yet to no avail, for high above the cityscape Vice-General Balzurg prepared to press the button that would initiate firey death upon those limey cocksuckers.

To fully understand this post, go and read the relevant details on the website. Go on. It’ll show why I have no artistic soul; the winners show true genius.

Thus the hack goes to bed.

It seems strange, I suppose, that the second post to the blog should be the introductory piece. The former [no longer extant upon this page for metaphysical reasons], a little bit of narrative fluff that happened to me late one night, is a marker, a reminder that fiction is the basis of the factual.

Anyway, I’d forget about that event if there wasn’t something to remind me. The past and I don’t get on well. Memories are for other people.

This isn’t to be a blog of my daily activities. It is to be discussion in re my wish to be a published author. Expect lengthy diatribes and long waits between posts.

That is all.