When the news of Farrah Fawcett's death broke a couple of days ago, it was all the media could talk about - for a few hours. Then we learned Michael Jackson had passed away and Farrah was more or less relegated to secondary status in terms of coverage, miles behind the "King of Pop."
But for me personally, the fact that Farrah Fawcett was dead carried much more weight. While it is undeniable that Michael Jackson being dead at fifty is a tragedy, I've long viewed him as a tragic character anyway. The endless plastic surgeries, the seemingly desperate attempt to hold onto his childhood decades after it ended, the scandalous allegations of inappropriate sexual conduct with minor boys, the fade into pop music irrelevence after dominating the charts for years; all these things added up to a figure that was sad and kind of pathetic to me.
Maybe Jackson was on the verge of a huge comeback; we'll certainly never know now. Hopefully he can find the peace in death that he never seemed able to find in life.
So when Michael Jackson died it didn't even really surprise me that much. But Farrah Fawcett, that's a different story. My first thought upon hearing the news was, "How in the hell could she possibly have been 62?" Time really does move faster the older you get.
When I was a kid, I had the famous Farrah Poster hanging on the wall in my bedroom, like probably every other teenage boy at that time. You know the one - a mid-twenties Farrah is sitting in a bright red one-piece swimsuit, smiling into the camera lens with her perfect dazzling teeth, blonde locks tumbling over her bare shoulders. She was everyone's image of the All-American Girl, America's Sweetheart in a one-piece, oozing an innocent sexuality. That poster is still the best-selling poster ever.
She took the world by storm in 1976, starring in the Charlie's Angels TV movie in the spring and then, in the fall, in the series of the same name, along with Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith. The show was a huge hit, and even though Fawcett's stint on it lasted just that one season, it is Charlie's Angels that she is most closely associated with, even now, 33 years later.
But to consider Farrah nothing more than a sex symbol is to do her a great injustice. After leaving Charlie's Angels, she went on to star on Broadway and in numerous movies, including a made-for-TV picture titled "The Burning Bed," which I will never forget.
By the time "The Burning Bed" came out, in 1984, I was married, and my wife talked me into watching it with her. I had no desire to see this movie - I figured it was some chick flick without a single car chase or gunfight or anything making it worth my time. But from the first few minutes until the shocking final scene I was transfixed.
Gone was America's Sweetheart, gone was the eye-candy I remembered from her Charlie's Angels days. That relic of an innocent time was replaced by the haggard, harried housewife she played; by a woman suffering from the ravages of spousal abuse, bruised and battered, both spritually and physically. I sat with my wife and watched this broken woman regain control of her life in the most shocking way imaginable. This Farrah Fawcett could act.
I've never really bought into the notion that a beautiful woman can be a "victim" of her good looks. In my opinion the pretty people of the world gain a lot more than they ever lose. But if there was ever a case which might convince me to rethink that theory, Farrah might have been it. She could have played the most serious and in fluential roles available and to many, she would never have been anything more than the chick on the wall to be leered at.
In many ways it's a shame that the one thing Farrah Fawcett will be most remembered for is probably one of the most forgettable things she ever did - pose for a picture in a swimsuit. But she was a multitalented woman who was much more than a picture on a wall; or even a picture on hundreds of thousands of walls.
Rest in peace, Farrah Fawcett.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Giving my Keyboard the Finger
Considering how much time I spend pounding (And believe me, I mean this literally, not figuratively) on a keyboard, you would think my life would be much easier if I could actually use, you know, all of my fingers to type. Instead, I am a two-finger man, relegating the other eight digits on my two hands to the role of useless cheerleaders as I weave my webs of thrillers, suspense and horror.
I actually took a typing class years ago in high school, when home computers were still the stuff of science fiction. We practiced not on laptops or desktop keyboards, not even on word processors, but on old-fashioned typewriters. They were electric typewriters at least, as I recall, but then again my memories may be distorted by all the time that's passed since then.
The point is, though, that at one time I did know how to type correctly, sort of. But in the decades since leaving high school that I spent earning a living and raising a family, what little typing talent I had - and it was very little - completely disappeared from my muscle memory, undoubtedly never to return.
And I'm not even a normal two-finger typist. A few years ago I broke the index finger on my right hand and was forced to compensate by typing with my middle finger. Typing with the index finger of my left hand while using the middle finger of my right was way too confusing for me, so I ended up learning to type with the middle finger of both hands. Eventually my broken finger healed, sort of, but I never went back to using those index fingers when I was writing.
So now I might just be the only person in the world who writes on a regular basis using the fingers most people reserve for flashing at motorists who piss them off when they're driving. I'm pretty good at it too, from all the practice, but it still seems I could save a lot of time or get a lot more done if I really knew how to type properly.
On the bright side, I don't think all that fast anyway, so my relatively slow typing skills almost always keep up with my relatively slow brain when I'm writing a story. I guess I'll just continue muddling along. I hope Mrs. Sanderson, my old typing teacher, is still alive, because if not, I guarantee she's rolling over in her grave.
I actually took a typing class years ago in high school, when home computers were still the stuff of science fiction. We practiced not on laptops or desktop keyboards, not even on word processors, but on old-fashioned typewriters. They were electric typewriters at least, as I recall, but then again my memories may be distorted by all the time that's passed since then.
The point is, though, that at one time I did know how to type correctly, sort of. But in the decades since leaving high school that I spent earning a living and raising a family, what little typing talent I had - and it was very little - completely disappeared from my muscle memory, undoubtedly never to return.
And I'm not even a normal two-finger typist. A few years ago I broke the index finger on my right hand and was forced to compensate by typing with my middle finger. Typing with the index finger of my left hand while using the middle finger of my right was way too confusing for me, so I ended up learning to type with the middle finger of both hands. Eventually my broken finger healed, sort of, but I never went back to using those index fingers when I was writing.
So now I might just be the only person in the world who writes on a regular basis using the fingers most people reserve for flashing at motorists who piss them off when they're driving. I'm pretty good at it too, from all the practice, but it still seems I could save a lot of time or get a lot more done if I really knew how to type properly.
On the bright side, I don't think all that fast anyway, so my relatively slow typing skills almost always keep up with my relatively slow brain when I'm writing a story. I guess I'll just continue muddling along. I hope Mrs. Sanderson, my old typing teacher, is still alive, because if not, I guarantee she's rolling over in her grave.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
I'm Baaaad, I'm Nationwiiiide
I walked into Barnes and Noble yesterday on my way to work and picked up the latest issue of one of the coolest up-and-coming dark fiction magazines on the market - Shroud Magazine. This was a big moment for me for a couple of reasons, not the least of which was that this particular issue of this particular magazine has one of MY stories in it!
Big deal, right? I've had short stories published before; I'm happy to say that my short story career seems to be gathering momentum. After having one story published in 2007, and then three in 2008, I have been fortunate to break through this year, with six publishing credits already in the first six months of 2009, with more to come. This one is special to me, though, because yesterday marked the first time I've been able to walk into a bookstore and see work I created sitting on a shelf waiting for people to read. It's an unbelievable thrill!
But enough about me (unless you'd like to hear more about me - if so, feel free to contact me and we can talk about me for hours), back to Shroud. In a down economy, where publishing entities seem to be circling the wagons, with periodicals and publishers folding and downsizing, and opportunities for authors drying up, Shroud has burst onto the scene with a flourish. In just one year, this "Journal of Dark Fiction and Art," as it says under the banner at the top of the glossy cover, has grown from the dream and vision of publisher/editor Tim Deal into a nationally distributed force in the dark fiction world.
Issue #6 of Shroud, the first to be distributed through hundreds of Hastings and Barnes and Noble stores across the country, features over 150 pages of creepy material from authors like Steve Vernon, Dan Keohane, Jeff Strand and L.L. Soares, as well as...well...me.
Previous issues over the past year have included names like Tom Piccirilli, Michael Laimo, Ken Bruen, Kim Paffenroth and many others. Without belaboring the point (unless I already have), this is a quality publication, from the stunning cover artwork right through the heartfelt introduction from publisher/editor Tim Deal to the first story from Natalie Sin which made the hairs on my arms stand up (I don't have any hairs on my head, otherwise they would have stood on end too), right on through all 152 pages.
I'm proud to be a part of this rapidly growing success story and grateful to fellow Granite Stater Tim Deal for deeming "Suspicions" worthy of inclusion in the first nationally distributed issue of his baby. The cost of a single issue is just $6.99, a bargain if you love dark/speculative fiction. Check it out at your local Barnes and Noble, or if you'd rather shop right from where you're sitting, you can follow this link and order a copy of this issue or any of the previous five, direct from Amazon.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do...
Big deal, right? I've had short stories published before; I'm happy to say that my short story career seems to be gathering momentum. After having one story published in 2007, and then three in 2008, I have been fortunate to break through this year, with six publishing credits already in the first six months of 2009, with more to come. This one is special to me, though, because yesterday marked the first time I've been able to walk into a bookstore and see work I created sitting on a shelf waiting for people to read. It's an unbelievable thrill!
But enough about me (unless you'd like to hear more about me - if so, feel free to contact me and we can talk about me for hours), back to Shroud. In a down economy, where publishing entities seem to be circling the wagons, with periodicals and publishers folding and downsizing, and opportunities for authors drying up, Shroud has burst onto the scene with a flourish. In just one year, this "Journal of Dark Fiction and Art," as it says under the banner at the top of the glossy cover, has grown from the dream and vision of publisher/editor Tim Deal into a nationally distributed force in the dark fiction world.
Issue #6 of Shroud, the first to be distributed through hundreds of Hastings and Barnes and Noble stores across the country, features over 150 pages of creepy material from authors like Steve Vernon, Dan Keohane, Jeff Strand and L.L. Soares, as well as...well...me.
Previous issues over the past year have included names like Tom Piccirilli, Michael Laimo, Ken Bruen, Kim Paffenroth and many others. Without belaboring the point (unless I already have), this is a quality publication, from the stunning cover artwork right through the heartfelt introduction from publisher/editor Tim Deal to the first story from Natalie Sin which made the hairs on my arms stand up (I don't have any hairs on my head, otherwise they would have stood on end too), right on through all 152 pages.
I'm proud to be a part of this rapidly growing success story and grateful to fellow Granite Stater Tim Deal for deeming "Suspicions" worthy of inclusion in the first nationally distributed issue of his baby. The cost of a single issue is just $6.99, a bargain if you love dark/speculative fiction. Check it out at your local Barnes and Noble, or if you'd rather shop right from where you're sitting, you can follow this link and order a copy of this issue or any of the previous five, direct from Amazon.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do...
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Ten Things You Might Not Know About Me (Or Care)
10) I was born on a military base even though my parents were civilians. The hospital at Moore Army Airfield in Ayer, Massachusetts was the closest one to our little town in 1959, so I was literally "Ayer-born."
9) I had never been on an airplane until I flew to Oklahoma in 1982 to go to air traffic control school.
8) I truly admire people who have the ability to stay grounded after achieving success. Likewise, I can't stand those people who seem to think they're better than everyone else just because they make more money or are more gifted in some way than most people.
7) I'm a sucker for sob stories. Movies, books, real life, it doesn't matter. If it's a tear-jerker of a story, I'm probably going to cry. I hate that about myself but there's nothing I can do about it. I especially can't take people crying in front of me. Jeez, what a wuss.
6) My father and grandfather both died of prostate cancer at exactly the same age, so I already have a pretty good idea when I'll be exiting this mortal coil.
5) I'm continually amazed at the number and quality of authors who, like me, are struggling to break through and get not just published but recognized for their ability. There's a lot of talent out there creating outstanding material in a lot of different genres.
4) Writing for me is like some sort of addiction. If I go too long without doing it, say more than about a day, I start to feel edgy and uncomfortable and begin to get grouchy. Er. Than usual.
3) I once made the front page of MSN.com with a Top Ten List I did for my Foxsports blog about my favorite things in sports. They ran it with a photograph connected to each item. It was an unbelievable rush to know that literally hundreds of thousands of people were enjoying my work.
On a related note, I couldn't believe how many people seemed truly pissed off about the items on my list. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but a lot of people took it personally that I included an item about golf, say, rather than about their favorite sport. Sorry folks, I just don't get synchronized swimming. But, hey, to each his own.
2) Most of the people I work with in my Evil Day Job had a passion for aviation their entire lives, but I never really did. To me, the career I've spent virtually my entire adult life doing was never really much more than a way to make a decent living and support my family. That said, there is no better feeling than getting off Boston's Final Vector position after working an hour-and-a-half of busy traffic and knowing you did a kick-ass job and actually made a difference.
Aside from actually working position, though, the bureaucracy and red tape that I see every day in the federal government is staggering.
1) My wife and I have been married for over 25 years now. She was just barely 19 and I was almost 24 when we got married and I know a lot of people figured it would never last. We've had the last laugh, though. Hah.
9) I had never been on an airplane until I flew to Oklahoma in 1982 to go to air traffic control school.
8) I truly admire people who have the ability to stay grounded after achieving success. Likewise, I can't stand those people who seem to think they're better than everyone else just because they make more money or are more gifted in some way than most people.
7) I'm a sucker for sob stories. Movies, books, real life, it doesn't matter. If it's a tear-jerker of a story, I'm probably going to cry. I hate that about myself but there's nothing I can do about it. I especially can't take people crying in front of me. Jeez, what a wuss.
6) My father and grandfather both died of prostate cancer at exactly the same age, so I already have a pretty good idea when I'll be exiting this mortal coil.
5) I'm continually amazed at the number and quality of authors who, like me, are struggling to break through and get not just published but recognized for their ability. There's a lot of talent out there creating outstanding material in a lot of different genres.
4) Writing for me is like some sort of addiction. If I go too long without doing it, say more than about a day, I start to feel edgy and uncomfortable and begin to get grouchy. Er. Than usual.
3) I once made the front page of MSN.com with a Top Ten List I did for my Foxsports blog about my favorite things in sports. They ran it with a photograph connected to each item. It was an unbelievable rush to know that literally hundreds of thousands of people were enjoying my work.
On a related note, I couldn't believe how many people seemed truly pissed off about the items on my list. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but a lot of people took it personally that I included an item about golf, say, rather than about their favorite sport. Sorry folks, I just don't get synchronized swimming. But, hey, to each his own.
2) Most of the people I work with in my Evil Day Job had a passion for aviation their entire lives, but I never really did. To me, the career I've spent virtually my entire adult life doing was never really much more than a way to make a decent living and support my family. That said, there is no better feeling than getting off Boston's Final Vector position after working an hour-and-a-half of busy traffic and knowing you did a kick-ass job and actually made a difference.
Aside from actually working position, though, the bureaucracy and red tape that I see every day in the federal government is staggering.
1) My wife and I have been married for over 25 years now. She was just barely 19 and I was almost 24 when we got married and I know a lot of people figured it would never last. We've had the last laugh, though. Hah.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Dream a Twisted Dream of Me
I've mentioned this in the past, but things seem to move with glacial slowness in this writing gig. That's what makes the occurrence of this past few days so magical. I found out a three or four days ago that the first nationally distributed issue of Shroud Magazine - you know, the one with MY story in it - will be available at Barnes and Noble stores around the country in about two weeks, and then last night I discovered that the Twisted Dreams Magazine June-September issue - you know, the one with MY story in it - is available now!
Twisted Dreams is an independent horror/dark fiction mag published four times a year, featuring deliciously twisted (as the magazine's name implies) short fiction as well as reviews, artwork and poetry. At over one hundred pages, this issue is packed full of stuff to keep you awake at night, wondering if that noise you heard in the basement is really just your house settling, or if it might actually be something...else...
My entry in Twisted Dreams is titled "The Bridal Veil," and tells the story of a frightening legend and a midnight visit to a creepy cemetery by three teenagers, whose motivations for the visit may or may not be what they appear. Here's a little teaser:
"By now our nerves were threatening to get the best of us. I flicked my flashlight up to Cassie’s face and she seemed pale and washed out, although that might have been a trick of the light. A similar look at Wade revealed a horizontal slash of a mouth, his lips pressed together so tightly they were almost invisible. “Get that light out of my eyes,” he snarled.
I went first. It seemed only right; after all, it had been my idea to come out here in the first place. I knelt in front of the crypt’s door and shone my light through the half-inch seam at the hinges, while simultaneously pressing my eyeball against the keyhole-sized crack under the cold iron doorknob. I sucked in a short breath, gasping at what I saw, before leaping backward and falling flat on my back.
Cassie took my place at the door, moving quickly; as if afraid she might lose her nerve if she didn’t go NOW..."
I received an advance copy of this issue, and believe me when I tell you it's well worth your money if you're into things that go bump in the night. It's available in two different formats - a digital download for just $3.15 if you want to read it right on your computer or Kindle or similar device, or a hard copy at the bargain basement price of $6.50 plus shipping. Click here to order.
I want to pass along my thanks to editor/publisher Andrea Dean Von Scoyoc for including "The Bridal Veil" in this outstanding collection. Check it out; you won't be sorry!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
A Violent and Messy Miracle
I always find it amusing when some well-meaning soul talks about what a beautiful, life-affirming miracle childbirth is. I heard a lot of that stuff a couple of decades ago when my three children were being born, and then again a couple of years ago, when my own daughter was having her baby.
Having been privileged to take part, even if in only a peripheral way, in the birth of my kids, I can testify that, while it is in many ways a miracle - a life comes into being where before there was none - the word "beautiful" doesn't in any way describe the process accurately. Childbirth is a violent, messy and frightening process, the end result of which is beautiful. But the process itself is incredibly scary.
I mention this because, with Mother's Day upon us, I have been giving a lot of thought to the mother-child bond. A lot of people look at Mother's Day as one of those Hallmark, Made-For-Corporate-America holidays, invented largely to sell cards and flowers and contribute to various successful commercial enterprises.
But if there was only one single human relationship that could be celebrated wih its own "Day," I believe Mother's Day might just be that one. All of us have a mother to whom we owe our very existence. Mothers put their lives on hold for their children, give up careers and often their own dreams, do untold damage to their bodies carrying and delivering children, and the good ones put their kids' needs ahead of their own for a good solid two decades.
The bond is not just a mental or emotional one, but a physical one as well. A mother's children are literally a part of her in ways that a father can never know. I believe completely that a strong father-figure is essential to the well-being of a developing child, but the mother-child relationship goes to the deepest cellular level. At one time, you were a part of your mother.
What's the point? I'm not sure, other than that as a writer, I like to try to investigate human relationships; to take them apart and try to discover why they work or don't work. Suspense and drama are, I believe, developed not from situations, but rather from how characters react to those situations and how those reactions affect the people around them.
I know my wife loves me deeply; there is no question about that in my mind. But I also know that, hypothetically, if there was a situation where she could either save me or her child from the attacking aliens, I would be on my way to the mother ship, no pun intended. See you later, it's been great, thanks for the twenty-five years, good luck and hasta luego. Again, I know my wife loves me and is totally committed to me. But she is connected to her children in a way that goes far beyond anything else.
Mother's Day isn't about flowers or chocolates or Hallmark cards or going out to dinner. It's about the violent, messy and frightening miracle that occurs in that delivery room. To my wife Sue, to my daughter Stefanie, and to my own mom, I'd like to take a moment to celebrate that miracle. Happy Mother's Day.
Having been privileged to take part, even if in only a peripheral way, in the birth of my kids, I can testify that, while it is in many ways a miracle - a life comes into being where before there was none - the word "beautiful" doesn't in any way describe the process accurately. Childbirth is a violent, messy and frightening process, the end result of which is beautiful. But the process itself is incredibly scary.
I mention this because, with Mother's Day upon us, I have been giving a lot of thought to the mother-child bond. A lot of people look at Mother's Day as one of those Hallmark, Made-For-Corporate-America holidays, invented largely to sell cards and flowers and contribute to various successful commercial enterprises.
But if there was only one single human relationship that could be celebrated wih its own "Day," I believe Mother's Day might just be that one. All of us have a mother to whom we owe our very existence. Mothers put their lives on hold for their children, give up careers and often their own dreams, do untold damage to their bodies carrying and delivering children, and the good ones put their kids' needs ahead of their own for a good solid two decades.
The bond is not just a mental or emotional one, but a physical one as well. A mother's children are literally a part of her in ways that a father can never know. I believe completely that a strong father-figure is essential to the well-being of a developing child, but the mother-child relationship goes to the deepest cellular level. At one time, you were a part of your mother.
What's the point? I'm not sure, other than that as a writer, I like to try to investigate human relationships; to take them apart and try to discover why they work or don't work. Suspense and drama are, I believe, developed not from situations, but rather from how characters react to those situations and how those reactions affect the people around them.
I know my wife loves me deeply; there is no question about that in my mind. But I also know that, hypothetically, if there was a situation where she could either save me or her child from the attacking aliens, I would be on my way to the mother ship, no pun intended. See you later, it's been great, thanks for the twenty-five years, good luck and hasta luego. Again, I know my wife loves me and is totally committed to me. But she is connected to her children in a way that goes far beyond anything else.
Mother's Day isn't about flowers or chocolates or Hallmark cards or going out to dinner. It's about the violent, messy and frightening miracle that occurs in that delivery room. To my wife Sue, to my daughter Stefanie, and to my own mom, I'd like to take a moment to celebrate that miracle. Happy Mother's Day.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
A Little Less Crime and Suspense in the World
I think most people would agree that the less crime in the world, the better. Suspense might be a different story - everybody likes a little of that, if only to keep life interesting.
But for a short story writer, crime and suspense (along with a generous dose of romance in a lot of cases) are the bread and butter of most stories, the gasoline that drives the engine (or the electricity, if you're not a big believer in fossil fuels). So life just got a little bit harder with the news that the outstanding webzine, Crime and Suspense, has published its' final issue with the May/June 2009 release.
Crime and Suspense was released monthly from 2005 through 2007, when publisher Tony Burton reconfigured the ezine to a bimonthly publication. I'm partial to this magazine because it was where my very first published story appeared, the tale of a chance meeting between a young boy and gangster John Dillinger in 1930's Kansas, titled "The Road to Olathe."
At the time the story was accepted, I had written several short stories and submitted them to a number of different magazines, both print and online, and been universally rejected. So, to say I was excited when I got the email from Tony telling me that he was going to use "The Road to Olathe" in the June 2007 edition of C&S would be a massive understatement.
I was surprised again in the early summer of 2008, when Tony Burton contacted me to ask if he could include the story in TEN FOR TEN, a print anthology he was putting together that included ten of his favorite stories from the 2007 issues of Crime and Suspense.
The ezine has since run three of my short stories, and I have been published in a pretty wide variety of other venues. I am a two-time Derringer Award Finalist (I never get tired of saying that) and I have high hopes for my novel-writing career, although so far I don't really have anything to base that on other than my own optimism.
But my point is this: Breaking into this field of fiction writing is incredibly difficult - much more so than I imagined when I started. I feel like I owe a lot to Tony Burton's Crime and Suspense webzine as well as to Wolfmont Publishing, the company Tony runs which published TEN FOR TEN and which is taking off to the point where he no longer has the time available to devote to C&S.
Would I have eventually gotten something published and broken in anyway? I like to think so, but the fact of the matter is that Mr. Burton used my material at a time when no one else had, and I'm incredibly grateful for that. I am happy for Tony Burton that Wolfmont is doing well, but for those of us who have enjoyed C&S over the past few years, both as readers and writers, a little less Crime and Suspense in the world isn't necessarily something to celebrate.
If you've never checked it out, go to www.crimeandsuspense.com and see if you don't agree. Click on the subscribers area from the main page and you can read any of the great archived material.
But for a short story writer, crime and suspense (along with a generous dose of romance in a lot of cases) are the bread and butter of most stories, the gasoline that drives the engine (or the electricity, if you're not a big believer in fossil fuels). So life just got a little bit harder with the news that the outstanding webzine, Crime and Suspense, has published its' final issue with the May/June 2009 release.
Crime and Suspense was released monthly from 2005 through 2007, when publisher Tony Burton reconfigured the ezine to a bimonthly publication. I'm partial to this magazine because it was where my very first published story appeared, the tale of a chance meeting between a young boy and gangster John Dillinger in 1930's Kansas, titled "The Road to Olathe."
At the time the story was accepted, I had written several short stories and submitted them to a number of different magazines, both print and online, and been universally rejected. So, to say I was excited when I got the email from Tony telling me that he was going to use "The Road to Olathe" in the June 2007 edition of C&S would be a massive understatement.
I was surprised again in the early summer of 2008, when Tony Burton contacted me to ask if he could include the story in TEN FOR TEN, a print anthology he was putting together that included ten of his favorite stories from the 2007 issues of Crime and Suspense.
The ezine has since run three of my short stories, and I have been published in a pretty wide variety of other venues. I am a two-time Derringer Award Finalist (I never get tired of saying that) and I have high hopes for my novel-writing career, although so far I don't really have anything to base that on other than my own optimism.
But my point is this: Breaking into this field of fiction writing is incredibly difficult - much more so than I imagined when I started. I feel like I owe a lot to Tony Burton's Crime and Suspense webzine as well as to Wolfmont Publishing, the company Tony runs which published TEN FOR TEN and which is taking off to the point where he no longer has the time available to devote to C&S.
Would I have eventually gotten something published and broken in anyway? I like to think so, but the fact of the matter is that Mr. Burton used my material at a time when no one else had, and I'm incredibly grateful for that. I am happy for Tony Burton that Wolfmont is doing well, but for those of us who have enjoyed C&S over the past few years, both as readers and writers, a little less Crime and Suspense in the world isn't necessarily something to celebrate.
If you've never checked it out, go to www.crimeandsuspense.com and see if you don't agree. Click on the subscribers area from the main page and you can read any of the great archived material.
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