My tale “Empty of Words, The Page” is appearing in issue #27 of that fine periodical, with lovely art and all.
Here’s the snippet excerpted at the magazine’s webpage:
Smoke and burnt paper and scorched glue: John Whitney stank of all of them, of those hideous pseudo-murders, as he slid down on his haunches until his backside thumped against the chilly floor of the Gare Central. His shivering worsened as a frigid gust from outdoors slapped him across the face. He blinked at the main outdoor exitways, violence surging back into the muscles of his fingers. A few feet away from him, a rotten-mouthed old wino stared, coughing. Whitney’s Underwood typewriter wobbled on Whitney’s lap as he slipped a sheet of paper into its maw.
It’s my first publication in the “horror /dark fantasy,” genre, which is funny mainly because it took a long time for me to come back to this bit of literary terrain: in fact, I started out my fiction writing emulating authors like F. Paul Wilson and Peter Straub — well, what little I managed to read of their work, that is, and always reading in the shadow of old H.P. Lovecraft. It wasn’t until I was disaffected with horror and fantasy that I got into SF, but I have to say, it was fun to revisit the genre. I like telling unsettling tales, and have been moving more in that direction — not in general, but on occasion.