Several years ago, a few of my critique partners in my Speculative Fiction Writers group were toying with the idea of an anthology. I do not consider myself a short fiction writer. I plot too intricately and like to really bring my characters to life on the page, and those elements do not lend themselves well to brevity. The theme for the aforementioned anthology, one which never happened by the way, required a tale that delved into Science Fiction. So that's a double whammy, with the exception of Andy Weir, I don't read much sci-fi, and I don't often write short. But my partners wanted me to submit something. My critique partners are my team. We intermittently nurture and brutalize one another in an effort to help members of our team succeed. If they wanted a story from me, I was going to give it my best.
I sat at my laptop with no idea where to start, and then it hit me. I was already out of my comfort zone, so why not throw all the normal point of view and plotting constructs out the window. I opted for a story that would read like the opening credits of The Simpsons. With each mini-chapter, the snarky, omniscient narrator would latch onto another POV character. At one point, the POV character is the town's firetruck. The absurdity of it leant itself well to a character-driven crisis that unfolds in a small, farming community when a burning rock falls from the sky. I had a great time writing it, and was pleased with it when it was done.
As is sometimes the case when a group of people endeavor to create a project, things got complicated with that anthology, so that plan evaporated, and my story was homeless. When the Florida Writers Association asked for submissions for the 2023 Royal Palm Literary Awards, I was honored and totally surprised when THE EMERGENCY won in the short fiction category. But that joy was short lived, because once again, the story had no home. More than a year later, an open submission call came through my inbox looking for short, weird, Lovecraftian fiction. I gave THE EMERGENCY another once-over and sent it in to Cosmic Horror Monthly. Days went by, weeks went by, then months.
Often open calls get so many submissions that no response is the response. I kind of forgot about it. Then, out of the blue, on a day that had been a pretty crummy day, I get an email congratulating me on making the short list. Now, that means I'm still just a maybe, but there's a big pile of nos out there, and so far, I'm not in that pile.
I'm honored and excited just to know that reading my story was as weird as fun for others to read as it was for me to write. It still has the steepest part of that uphill climb to go, but I'm going to sit for a bit and just enjoy the view.
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