Today delivered a lovely reminder that hey, there was this thing I used to have time for, called writing…
My contributor copies of Cemetery Dance #71 arrived!
And the internal artwork for my story, "Teratogen", is awesome:
As soon as I put Squawk to bed tonight, I couldn't help but sit down and re-read my own story. Is that weird? It's probably weird. But there's something about seeing my own words typeset and professionally produced. I don't normally read the whole thing so much as thumb through it, appreciate the texture of the pages and the crispness of the ink against the paper, and just enjoy being published. For me, a story isn't finished, not truly, until it's published. (And not really even then. I mentally edited the story as I was reading it…) This one I truly read because it's short and because, well, I started writing it in 2004, put the finishing touches on in 2005, sold it in December 2007, and I've waited until now for it to see print. It was not unlike reading a stranger's work.
So, there you have it, I have a new (old) story officially released into the wilds.