In modest recompense for losing a month's work, I have learned that my short story, "Elmira 1895," has been accepted by ANALOG.
He came with the night mail on the West Shore Line at just that moment when the world teetered between one day and the next. Midnight is a magic time, the single instant when there is no present; only a receding past and an unrealized future. He stood alone on the platform with his greatcoat and valise and watched the red lanterns of the caboose vanish into the night.
No comments:
Post a Comment