I have a new short story up at Revolution John, titled “When We Came to City of the Stars.” It was, like “The Wenceslas Men” before it, written for a Halloween-themed reading; like that story, it get a bit weird. (And right about here, I should give credit where credit is due, and thank Eric Boyd for publishing it and Alex Houstoun for asking me to be a part of the reading to begin with.)
[UPDATE: due to a number of reasons, this story is now located at Medium.]
This story is, in its own way, a kind of extension of something I’d tried out in “Some Things I Botched,” which was written at roughly the same time. In there, I’d used the first person plural a few times, and figured I’d see how far I could take it. Also rattling around in my head: people relocating out of New York to smaller spaces nearby; suburbia gone weird; and a couple of odd images that have been lurking in my head for years now.
We had tired of city life, and we’d heard good things from friends who had stayed at a bed and breakfast there in the days before it shuttered. We were told that there were great views, that the river nearby was clear, that it never got too humid–something about a valley or a mountain, some quality of the landscape. We heard that artists lived there: painters and writers and filmmakers. At least,one or two lived there. Or one or two had bought property there, but hadn’t actually moved there all the way, not yet. Stories were told about an art-house theater and decent galleries. The rumor mill seemed promising.
Anyway: you can read the whole thing here.