The new issue of Plots with Guns is now up and it features a story of mine, "Friday Night at Trout's," along with offerings from Bryon Quertermous, Patti Abbott, Todd Robinson and others.
Many thanks to Neil for choosing my story.
The first issue of the reborn Plots with Guns is now live. It includes a story by FOTD (Friend of the Dossier) Tim Maleeny.
Check it out!
There's a new issue of Demolition Magazine available. It contains stories from Keith Snyder, Jordan Harper, Lyn Lejeune, David Harrison and John McFetridge. I haven't read any of them yet, but surely at least one of them is good. Check it out and let me know.
There's a new issue of Demotion Magazine up. It contains stories from Scott Wolven, Fred Zackel, Mike MacLean, Patricia Abbott, Steven M. Messner, Brian Ross, Stephen D. Rogers, Chris F. Holm and Tony Black.
Check it out!
I received an email this morning from a reader looking for places to read short crime fiction. I suggested a few likely candidates, then thought that other people might like to see the list as well.
Short fiction isn't really my area of expertise, but here are some of the publications I've either read, or had recommended to me:
Print:
Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine
Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine
Murdaland
Online:
Demolition Magazine (this year's Gumshoe Award winner)
Hardluck Stories
ThugLit
Thrilling Detective Website
Shots Mag
There are other fine publications, I'm sure. (I'm just not remembering them at the moment.) But those are all good places to start.
Bryon Quertermous and Dave White put together the third Blog Short Story Project and several writers chose to play along. The requirements this time were that the story had to be under 1000 words and it had to involve blogs.
The stories (to be updated):
Patricia Abbott - "RE: University Protocol on Incidents of Student Plagiarism"
Stephen Allan - "Take That, You Prick"
Bill Crider - The Sunshine of My Wife
John DuMond - "The Truth Hurts"
JT Ellison - "Bits and Pieces"
Mike MacLean - "How Does It Feel?"
Christa M. Miller - Blogging a Fantasy
David J. Montgomery - "AmberSki77"
Karen E. Olson - "Smoking Gun"
Bryon Quertermous - "I Am Not Paul Avery"
Anthony Rainone - "Burning Down The House"
Stephen D. Rogers - "Comments Enabled"
John Rickards - "Your Friends"
Gerald So - Confession of a Spenser Fan
AmberSki77
By David J. Montgomery
I hit reload to see if she’d posted a response to my comment. Not yet. It had been exactly sixteen minutes since my comment appeared. Maybe she wasn’t online, although she wasn’t due to leave for work for twenty-four minutes. I knew she wouldn’t deliberately ignore me. She’s not like that.
Five minutes later, I hit reload again. There it was! She’d finally replied.
LOL. You know me too well, SteveBlack. I wish you’d talk to my husband!
Smiling, I leaned back in my chair. I did know her. I knew her better than anyone. Especially Mark, that piece of shit husband of hers. She’d made it clear on her blog that he didn’t get her at all. Didn’t love her or respect her. Not like I did.
And I’d seen it with my own eyes. Seen the way he treated her. The way his face creased with anger and spit flew from his mouth. I usually couldn’t hear the words he said, but I could imagine them.
I looked at the clock. Fourteen minutes to go. It was time to finish getting ready. I hit reload one more time, but there was nothing new.
I first met AmberSki77 a little over two years ago. That was just her internet handle, of course. Her real name was Amber Marie Jackson. I should say, that was her married name. Her real name was Bronson, like Charles Bronson, the actor. She was born in Bakersfield, California and would turn thirty years old on August 17th.
Even though she called herself AmberSki, she hadn’t been skiing the whole time I’d known her. Mammoth was only a five hour drive, but I don’t think Mark liked skiing. He never seemed to like much of anything, except watching the NBA on his big screen TV and drinking Rolling Rock.
I looked at the clock and saw that it was time to go. I liked to think of it as escort duty. Kind of like the Secret Service or something. You never knew when her car might break down or she might run out of gas. If that happened, I wouldn’t want her to have to worry. I could take care of things. I’d be good at taking care of things for her.
After I got home I checked the blog, but of course she hadn’t posted anything. She’d been in her car the whole time. I decided to get some sleep before I went for my run. Our lunchtime wasn’t until noon, so I had a good four hours to kill.
When I woke up ninety minutes later, I checked the blog by reflex, but the only thing new was a stupid comment from one of her friends.
When I checked my email, though, I couldn’t believe what leaped out at me from the screen. There in the sender list was the name amberski77@yahoo.com. Had she finally written? I couldn’t believe it. I opened the message.
Hey Steve,
I meant what I said this morning. You do know me so well. As for Mark…Well, you know how that goes. I just wish there was some way to make him understand.
Know what I mean?
xoxo,
Amber
I closed the browser and headed out for my run. I never ran far; just a mile out and a mile back. But it helped me think. Helped me clear my head, get control of things.
I couldn’t clear my head today, though. I kept thinking about Amber’s email. I couldn’t believe she finally wrote. We’d only ever talked on the blog before. Not in person like this and it felt strange. Great, but strange.
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Make him understand what? Mark never understood anything. I’m not sure he was capable of it. He was a lost cause.
Or was she saying something else? Was she really saying what I thought she was saying?
I’d been dreaming about that for the past two years, but I didn’t know she felt the same way. I mean, I thought she did. I was pretty sure she did. But she’d never come right out and said it before.
Now, just to think that there was a chance for us. I got her. I really got her, deep down. And she knew it. If only Mark weren’t in the way.
That night, he sat there in his recliner, watching as Kobe dropped forty on the Knicks. Amber was at Lucy’s house and would be there until at least ten. She never came home early when the Lakers were on. She hated basketball, just like me.
It would be so easy. Mark had already drunk a six pack of beer and was half-asleep as it was. Who said he had to wake up? Where was that written?
Who would even miss him? Not Amber. She’d said so. He was the only thing left standing in our way.
I slipped in the back door and did what I had to do. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. He only struggled a little bit, but even that seemed half-hearted. It was like he knew it was coming and that he deserved it. By the end, it was almost like he gave me his blessing. I didn’t think he had it in him, but I’ll give him credit for that.
As I stepped onto the front lawn, a bright light shined in my eyes. A voice called out from behind the light: “Police! Don’t move!”
I was too surprised to move or do anything else. A moment later, two dark shapes knocked me to the ground and wrenched my arms around behind my back. The same voice from before was saying something, but I didn’t understand.
I still wasn’t sure what was happening. I sat there on the lumpy seat in the back of the car as it started up and pulled away. The last thing I saw was Amber, standing on the sidewalk.
She was smiling.
(Written as part of Blog Short Story Project 3.)
Demolition Magazine has published my short story, "Mi Vida de Lucha." I don't write short fiction very often, and I don't think I'm particularly good at it, but I thought this story came out pretty well.
Many thanks to Bryon Quertermous and Dave White for giving me my first fiction publication.
David J. Montgomery writes about authors and books for several of the country's largest newspapers, including the Chicago Sun-Times, Washington Post, Philadelphia Inquirer and Boston Globe.
In the past, he has contributed to such publications as USA Today, the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, Kansas City Star, Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel and National Review Online.
He lives in the Washington, DC suburbs with his wife and daughter.
