ksmith | Just musing along

For some reason, I have this dream of selling a story to The New Yorker. I nursed it along before I started writing short work, even though I felt that there was no way in hell that they would be interested in anything I wrote. Still, I bought a few issues of the magazine over the past couple of years. Read the fiction offerings. Some of it ranked with the worst stuff I had ever read, although I've read enough similar stuff to think that some literary style was passing me by and I simply didn't get it. Some of it was "eh." They didn't publish "Brokeback Mountain" every month.

So I was curious when I saw that one of their stories won the World Fantasy Award for Short Story, CommComm, by George Saunders. I read it. It falls into the section of the styleverse that I don't quite have a handle on, which may simply mean that I need to read more non-genre short stuff. I liked the ending. I don't think I could write a story like that, with that feel. I'm not sure my brain works like that.

I know. I'm supposed to write what I write, and let it find its own home.