After some delay, the Winter 2004 issue of Hardluck Stories Zine is out. I submitted a story--more precisely a revision of a story I wrote shortly after catching up to the Spenser series in 1993--that was rejected. I have no problem seeing from the editor's perspective being an editor myself. My story frankly should have been rejected. What I am feeling, though, is a more personal kind of failure. The story missed a mark I set for myself, and I'm wondering (again) if I'll be published in the genre I most enjoy reading.
On another level, I feel very limited by the P.I. genre. Some people have the knack for it, and those people I applaud. I've begun to wonder whether I as a writer fit in the genre. Am I better off following a road less taken?
Currently I decide what to write from whatever floods my imagination. Maybe I'm not dissatisfied enough with existing P.I. fiction to believe I need to write my own. As I posted the other day, I don't feel I've taken my best swing at crime/P.I. fiction. Time will tell if that's in the offing:
So when he'd finished speakin', he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.