Venturing into New Territory by KM Rockwood

Did you ever write one of those stories that burst on the scene fully formed in your mind? The kind where you feel like a stenographer, not an author, scribbling (or, these days, keyboarding) a complete tale that hammers incessantly in your head, demanding to be told.

In my experience, these stories can be more than a bit exotic. They aren’t very long—they go from idea to page in one frenzied session, although of course they need the same amount of critiquing and editing that any story does. They can certainly push the borders of what I usually write.

One of my stories that falls into that category is “Wheelie.”

The main character, which is the narrator, is a sentient wheelchair with the rather unimaginative nickname of “Wheelie.”

This doesn’t fit my usual crime story plots, the gritty factories and back alleys which many of my characters inhabit, or the flawed characters who strive to overcome the obstacles they face.

It is speculative fiction, and perhaps the best word to describe the story is “gruesome,” although in the end Wheelie is hopeful for an ultimate positive outcome.

My stories often don’t fit neatly into the cozy category, but they do tend to be traditional crime tales, sometimes with a psychological suspense category.

“Wheelie” is different.

I’m pleased to say the “Wheelie” found a home at Yellow Mama, a popular webzine that features extreme noir and horror stories. I think it fits right in.

Link to “Wheelie:”

https://blackpetalsks.tripod.com/yellowmama/id3131.html

Yellow Mama takes its name from the electric chair used in Alabama executions from 1927 to 2002. Since it needed to be painted, and the highway department nearby had plenty of bright yellow paint for street markings, it was painted with that paint. It’s an appropriate name for an webzine that features stories like "Wheelie."

Source: "Yellow Mama," Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Yellow_Mama&oldid=1176431096 (accessed 2/12 2024).

Art by Bernice Holtzman copyright 2024