A Vacation From Everything
Even Writing
From the Forge…
For the last week, I’ve been on vacation in Colorado. It started with a road trip through the Midwest, an overnight in Kansas City, detours in Kansas (did you know Dwight Eisenhower was born in a small town just off I-70? Me neither!), and finally a week-long stay in an AirBnB in a northern suburb of Denver. I normally find these trips inspirational, dedicating time each morning to writing, but something was different this time. Could be the vibe. Or it could be the looming dread of returning to work next week. Or it could be ‘cause we’re going hard on this vacation. It took so long to get here, we’re visiting every town, nearby state, trailhead, and mountain we can find.
Regardless, I haven’t written anything. But I have submitted some short stories for publication and spent ALOT of time driving, dreaming up premises for new short stories or plotting out the novel I wish I was writing now (see last week’s post about Act II). I’ve had this short story idea for years now, since my earliest attempts at writing, about alternate realities. I love the concept of infinite realities where every path we could’ve chosen plays out to its end. I read the Midnight Library by Matt Haig recently and was left with jealousy over his handling of the alternate realities premise. Anytime I try to write something born out of this premise, I end up a quarter-of-the-way through plotting with a “shit…this is Quantum Leap”.
Anyway, this one may have legs without any copyright infringement. I’ll be more confident in that statement after the 15-hour return trip home.
Word Count Since Last Time…
Stamped & Sent
While I haven’t written anything, I have submitted the only piece of literary fiction I’ve ever written to a handful of short story contests. Here’s the blurb:
Off the Rails follows a disoriented narrator aboard a long-distance train as he drifts between memory, regret, and imagined connection. Through shifting encounters with fellow passengers—some real, some possibly not—the story explores the quiet ache of a life unraveling.
I mean…come on…that screams literary fiction. Also, I don’t know where else it fits, so that’s what I’m calling it. It started at 7500 words in 2020, becoming 3700 words today. Same story, less fat. It’s also the only piece of fiction I’ve submitted that received unsolicited feedback from an editor. I submitted to the Masters Review Winter Short Story Contest a few years ago and thought I was receiving the stock “Thank you for allowing us to read your work, but…” denial. Instead, I got a “We really enjoyed this piece and it was nearly chosen for a runner-up award, but another submission was just cleaner. Great prose and dialogue. But needs trimmed down.” So, I did that and now I have what I believe to be the strongest thing I’ve ever written. I delusionally believe this to the point I only submit it to contests that have cash awards, national reach and maybe an agent-review kicker. In keeping with this strategy, I’ve submitted to the following in June and July (so far):
The Atlantic - (in-progress)
Sewanee Review: Short Fiction Contest - (in-progress)
Writer’s Digest: Annual Writing Competition - (in-progress)
I’ll keep everyone updated as the “humble letters” roll in.
