Clarification on Tough's Future

By

 Hi y'all. Just a note. I needed some time--perspective--away from short stories to get a handle on Tough for the future. During 2026 and early 2027, I am and will be working with other presses to help further their plans, mostly involving novellas. More on that on my socials--(@rustybarnes23-- in the near future. 

Tough will continue eventually with an updated website and perhaps better pay. I'm hopeful to have this straight before 2/27. But that's the plan right now. :-)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Coffin Corner, fiction by James McCrone

By
Image
In a small corner of Philadelphia, a funeral director steals a man’s car as payment on a debt… “Where’s my fucking car?” Joey shouted over the phone. “Where’s my fucking money?” Dean shouted back. “You can’t just—” “But I did,” said Dean interrupting him. “I need the money you owe me.” “You don’t understand,” Joey implored. “This ain’t a fucking charity, Joey.” And he hung up. Dean Sassuolo tossed his cellphone onto the stainless-steel table next to him and went back to preparing Mrs. Chalmers for embalming. As he tied the rubber apron around his substantial girth, the phone buzzed angrily on the table, resonating with the steel. Joey again. He could wait. Friendships, good intentions. That’s what fucks you , he thought. Not that Joey was a friend. Not really. His father, Old Joe Tedesco, had been someone Dean looked up to, and for Old Joe’s sake, he had tried to be kindly with Little Joe, had agreed to work with him when he was short on funds for burying his...
Read more

Newton’s Butterfly: An Oral History, by David Rachels

By
Image
  Nicholas Freeman, county sheriff: The incident began during the opening hour of Elderwood’s 3 rd Annual Juneteenth Festival when 25-year-old Chance Gondry of Elderwood chained himself to the statue of Ambrose Collingwood on the courthouse square. He had gotten a bullhorn from somewhere, and he started shouting about “principles” and “Galveston” and “the real Juneteenth” and about how people would tear down that statue over his dead body, which didn’t make any sense because nobody had said anything about tearing down the statue. Everybody was just trying to enjoy the festival, and Chance was definitely making that hard to do. Will Prescott, the accused: Chance Gondry was an asshole, and he was being too loud. I just wanted to shut him up, and next thing I knew he was dead. Thank god I had a lawyer who knows all about science. Ephraim Foster, mayor: It was a terrible, terrible tragedy, really, really terrible. He was such a fine young man, and in the prime of his life, too. Th...
Read more

Sugar Pie Honey Bunch, fiction by Steve Liskow

By
Image
  F rank bent Mandy over the counter, one hand clamped over her mouth and his other groping under her skirt. I came in the back door, the key in one hand and the trash barrel in the other, and saw the fluorescent light reflecting off the tears on Mandy’s cheeks and casting jagged shadows on Frank’s face. Before they could see me, I pushed the door open again so it slammed behind me. By the time I mounted the stairs to the store proper, Mandy was gone and Frank held the day’s receipts. He nodded at me, his eyes like cinders. “All the registers are cashed out, Jerry, so you can take off.” I dropped the keys on the counter and went back downstairs for my jacket. I waited until Mandy appeared from the restroom, her face a frozen mask except for her eyes. “I saw,” I whispered. “Are you all right?” “Compared to what?” She was a year older than me, and a few inches shorter. Even in the flats the store made all the women wear, she had beautiful brown legs. I smelled fear...
Read more