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desperanceFor something like the last thirty years, since the first time I was asked to write a short biography for a publisher, I have been claiming that I've published more than 500 stories.
It's still true.
I have no idea what the actual total is. What I do know is that the annual increase is falling off too far. I did get a flying start in my babywriter days, working for magazines where I could publish two or three a week in the good weeks, and I don't expect to emulate those heady days; but I do want to write more than I currently am. And submit more, that too. That's another falling-off, which is odd for total-professional me. I think it's largely an artefact of subject matter: many of the stories I have written - for Phantoms at the Phil and other venues - are about Quin and AIDS, mostly in the form of ghost stories, which is appropriate in all manner of ways, but they kind of want to lurk close to home. I'm cagey about sending them out sight unseen, as part of a random submission process. But then a story-specific reluctance has become a more general custom. There's the Pi story I wrote for Karen, eg; you know, the one I nearly sold to the New Yorker. (Hee, I love saying that. It's not true, of course. The truth is that they turned it down. But they did it very nicely, and did ask to see more stories. Which I have not written.) One might think that if the New Yorker were nice about a story, it might be worth sending it elsewhere. Might one not? But I haven't. Don't ask me. Maybe it's Karen's story, and that's enough. *shrugs*
Anyway. The point of all this is not just to distract me from giant eels and a desperate chase with a bottle of whisky in hand. The point is, I want to write more stories. And I get to make new-life resolutions next month, and this is one of them. I'm not proposing to reinvent myself as a short-story writer sui generis - I haven't at any point stopped being a short-story writer, I've only become an idle one; and I don't propose to give up novels either - but as of next month I won't have an active novel contract, for the first time in whoo, I don't know how long. So I need to do something about that; but I also need to reboot my storywriting credentials.
So, yeah. More stories, out in the world there. Trudging from door to door, doffing their caps and asking for situations.
So if you hear of markets looking, anthos open, new magazines, whatever, let me know, huh?
Today's action-this-day: I sent a story to the vanderMeers' reprint steampunk antho. Probably so should you.
It's still true.
I have no idea what the actual total is. What I do know is that the annual increase is falling off too far. I did get a flying start in my babywriter days, working for magazines where I could publish two or three a week in the good weeks, and I don't expect to emulate those heady days; but I do want to write more than I currently am. And submit more, that too. That's another falling-off, which is odd for total-professional me. I think it's largely an artefact of subject matter: many of the stories I have written - for Phantoms at the Phil and other venues - are about Quin and AIDS, mostly in the form of ghost stories, which is appropriate in all manner of ways, but they kind of want to lurk close to home. I'm cagey about sending them out sight unseen, as part of a random submission process. But then a story-specific reluctance has become a more general custom. There's the Pi story I wrote for Karen, eg; you know, the one I nearly sold to the New Yorker. (Hee, I love saying that. It's not true, of course. The truth is that they turned it down. But they did it very nicely, and did ask to see more stories. Which I have not written.) One might think that if the New Yorker were nice about a story, it might be worth sending it elsewhere. Might one not? But I haven't. Don't ask me. Maybe it's Karen's story, and that's enough. *shrugs*
Anyway. The point of all this is not just to distract me from giant eels and a desperate chase with a bottle of whisky in hand. The point is, I want to write more stories. And I get to make new-life resolutions next month, and this is one of them. I'm not proposing to reinvent myself as a short-story writer sui generis - I haven't at any point stopped being a short-story writer, I've only become an idle one; and I don't propose to give up novels either - but as of next month I won't have an active novel contract, for the first time in whoo, I don't know how long. So I need to do something about that; but I also need to reboot my storywriting credentials.
So, yeah. More stories, out in the world there. Trudging from door to door, doffing their caps and asking for situations.
So if you hear of markets looking, anthos open, new magazines, whatever, let me know, huh?
Today's action-this-day: I sent a story to the vanderMeers' reprint steampunk antho. Probably so should you.