Because, Yes, I AM That Full of Myself
I’ve launched my literary speculative fiction web zine at:
It’s named after the street that I work on sort of. My job’s paying for this endeavor, so I figure I may as well give the street where the offices are located credit, because without that street, I wouldn’t have a job. Obviously. Except that the street name changes to Irvine Boulevard right when it passes by our building. So the office address isn’t really Trabuco Road. But it *almost* is.
Further justification, because this is critical knowledge that you can’t live without: I wanted a name that was connotation-neutral and that didn’t sound nerdy. So I settled for bland and meaningless. But “trabuco” is a cool word. Anything that implies violence is cool.
Which I suppose brings me to the $103 question: What kind of crap am I going to publish? We’ll see how it goes. I’d like it to be “high-brow” spec-lit, but possibly more “aggressive” than the other “high-brow” pubs. I’m going to be paying, right, $103/story (or rather, $0.03/word up *to*), at least until the glory and honor of publication in TR becomes reward enough, then I can kill the honorarium. Or cut it off at the knees. Unless I get a big promotion at work, then â€” I KNOW! I’LL MAKE IT A PRO-PUB! WE’LL GO FULL-COLOR PRINT, GET SUBSCRIPTIONS, HIRE A SALES STAFF AND…
Hopefully publishing 1-2 new stories monthly. No poetry. Because I hate poetry. I have more brazen things I could say about poetry, especially “speculative poetry”, but I’ll refrain. Plenty of time for a full-fledged assault once my forces have been marshalled. And my ducks have been rowed-up. Me and half a duck aren’t going to be able to take on the writhing masses of SF-poetry fan boyee-dom. But we’ll recruit more ducks and then return, stronger than ever; we will fight, we will win, and we will rule over you with an iron fist. We’ll share the fist, depending on the moon phase.
So wish me luck â€” good or bad, don’t matter none. I’m thinking I’ll micromanage it for a while until TRABUCO ROAD has an identity of some sort, then hopefully I can refer the crap work over to a choice set of highly qualified lackeys. You can wish me luck on that point as well. Whichever kind, I’m not picky. Not about luck-wishing.