Wednesday, June 27, 2007

"Trash"

I don't usually like to announce these things too far ahead, for fear of jinxing them, but I just approved the galleys of my new story "Trash" and have been told it will appear in the Sun in September.

This is a story I've been working on for about three years. I'm glad it has found a home.

This is description of the Sun from the magazine's website:

The Sun isn't "literary" or "political" or "spiritual" in the usual sense. It begins where those labels end, which is where life gets interesting. Each month, in essays, stories, interviews, and poetry, people write in The Sun of their struggle to understand their lives, often baring themselves with surprising intimacy. Our writers aren't afraid to take risks, to look at something ugly -- or beautiful -- and describe it honestly.

The Sun stands for everything I've come to understand about what writing needs to be for me.

4 comments:

ggw07 said...

"This is a story I've been working on for about three years."
Congratulations! Thanks for the inspiration!
Gretchen

Anonymous said...

Congratulations from Teagrapple!

emmapeelDallas said...

Congratulations, and I look forward to reading it!

Judi

Erin said...

CONGRATULATIONS! I can't wait to read this story. :-)

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Dreaming

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"I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken

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The Secret of Hurricanes : That article in the Waterville Scout said it was Shake- spearean, all that fatalism that guides the Kennedys' lives. The likelihood of untimely death. Recently, another one died in his prime, John-John in an airplane. Not long before that, Bobby's boy. While playing football at high speeds on snow skis. Those Kennedys take some crazy chances. I prefer my own easy ways. Which isn't to say my life hasn't been Shake-spearean. By the time I was sixteen, my life was like the darkened stage at the end of Hamlet or Macbeth. All littered with corpses and treachery.

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