Cowboy Jamboree Magazine published a short story of mine today. I took the title from a line in the novel Comanche Moon by McMurtry, "Her Little Place of Dying."
The story is one of several I've finished and had published for an upcoming western collection called Seven Drums.
It's western with a twist of horror and was a lot of fun to write. It had been several months since I'd finished a story, so I'm doubly happy to see it appear today.
If you'd like to read it just visit the following link:
Ahhhh, just sitting here thinking about how I can't really write a novel. I mean I've written and had published three (kind of four, cause hybrid and all) but I still don't feel like I can do it well enough to be noticed. Now that's not saying the books were bad. My publishers for each (especially Adam Van Winkle) have great taste and wouldn't have published them if they weren't, you know, publishable. But can I really write a novel well enough to stand out? Well, no.
Can I write a short story that stands out? Hell, yes. I know this about myself, as a writer. I know my strengths; I know when I feel comfortable inside the room of words that's my brain when writing is happening. And it's in the short story, the most difficult form we have, canvasly.
So I'm thinking about this novel I have going, Oblivion Angels. I have lots of it figured out in my head. It's all spaced out crazy like right now. Example: I'm writing different sections starring different characters at different time periods right now. And with no idea how it's all going to tie together. Or if it even will. Or if there's a narrative there at all. Right now.
I do know that the first chapter and the last chapter (this last chapter because of the way it brings things back to the third chapter) are going to be strong. Really good, in fact. It will be poignant and heart-wrenching and beautiful all at the same time. I'm confident in those chapters. The others...I don't know. My plan is to get in there and just start writing. The more I plan things, the more of an absolute horror show it becomes usually. Every bit of humanness and heart gets sucked out of it. It ends up dry as a New Yorker short story. Dry as a Iowa Writer's Workshop short story.
That was mean of me. I take it back. Wait, I don't take back the New Yorker comment. That stands.
My short story " I Am War, Mr. Tolstoy " was published today on my author's page at Cowboy Jamboree Press. I pull from some p...
