In Which I Get All Literary

While waiting for a discerning agent/publisher to pick up one of my many, many novel-length manuscripts, I thought I would shop around some old short stories to various Lit Mags.  Lo and behold, yesterday evening I find that a new start-up,  Indigo Rising U.K., has accepted Harold Of The Rocks, which I wrote several years ago.  It's on the website, and hopefully will make their first print edition. 

Harold of the Rocks

Echo Mountain

On Wednesday, June 14th, 1994, I accompanied Roy, Sandra, and Harold Medaugh on a trip to one of their big resort properties, this one onPotashLake inNorthern Ontario. I was there in my capacity as nurse to Harold, the oldest Medaugh brother, who was schizophrenic and could not be left unattended. About fifty miles East of the complex, our Cessna developed engine problems and plunged into the Wabakimi Forest. Harold and I, some tinned food, and not much else came out of the flaming wreck, and even I came out damaged, having sprained an ankle and broken two fingers.

(word count: 5,000 approx)
Warning: Don't read it after dark!