I don’t have much to say about this week’s story, “Baby
Grand,” except that it is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever written, and
that I am exceedingly fond of it; that I felt the spirit of Ray Bradbury very
much at my elbow as I wrote it; that three markets have rejected it, all taking
their time to do so, as if they kind of
wanted to run it but were ultimately put off by how unabashedly dopey it is;
and that for a while it was called “Tuesday Night at the 88 Lounge,” as if a
more respectable title could save it, but that eventually I just decided to
drop the pretense and double down on the stupid. It’s about 4,000 words, and it
will go live tomorrow at noon EDT.
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