Filed under: short fiction
Is it wrong to be slightly envious of my fiction for being better travelled than me?
I’ve never been sad about a story going to New Jersey instead of me, but I’m about to send a story to England. I’ve been to England, but it was in the late 1970s and I was a preteen. My main memories are that it was August and it was so overcast that it looked like pretty much the same amount of light the entire three days I was there, and I also have a copy of The Magician’s Nephew that I purchased from a newstand despite being utterly clueless about English money.
I’d kind of like to stuff myself into an envelope and mail myself to England right now.