ALOHA, FROM THE GENRE GHETTO
I was going to post about my latest attempt at gardening, but then this came in the mail:
It's the latest issue of Rosebud magazine, which features, among many other weird and speculative stories, my own "Kinderkochen."
Despite wishing I could revise the thing one more time (and that the editors had left in my spacing between scenes), I was pretty pleased with the finished product. Right now I'm in the middle of reading "Living with Creely," the short story that won Rosebud's biennial Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award for Imaginative Fiction. There's nothing like a telepath with a substance abuse problem to get those pages turning.
I really appreciate magazines like Rosebud treating "genre" fiction seriously. If we didn't have mystery, science fiction, or horror, the literary world would be a tepid place. That isn't to say I don't enjoy some kitchen-sink realism from time to time, but I think literature in general benefits from a healthy cross-pollination of genres.
And since there isn't a lot of money to be made in writing any kind of fiction, I might as well try to write the kind of stories I love to read. I'll just have to set my sights on Weird Tales or Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet instead of The New Yorker.