Excessica Publishing has re-opened submissions. . (I don't know when they re-opened or how long they'll stay open.)
They take almost everything, provided everyone indulging is over 18, not a dead body, and not an animal. (Exception: vampires are OK, as are werewolves, shapeshifters and all those folks.)
Pretty good terms: 10% cut; non-exclusive rights, contract to be terminated at any time by either party.
Curated collection: Your work must pass their editorial review.
bb
provided everyone indulging is over 18
Dammit, high school kids have sex too!
I just read a NY Times review of, and then perused the Amazon peak inside, of Mrs. Fletcher. In the opening scene the eponymous character is taking her son to his first day of college (OK, he's 18) when his romper wearing girlfriend rides up on her bicycle and drops it in the front yard. She only needs a minute, presumably to say goodbye, but when mom returns and is ready to hit the road she hears "Suck it, bitch" from the other side of her son's bedroom door. I think those were all subtle clues that the girl is no more than 15.
I just met the girlfriend of one of my nephews who left for the Marines a year ago. She just turned 17 this month. Last June she was a 15 year old high school sophomore with a boyfriend at Camp Lejeune.
I just want know if she does her son.
Here, as in his last novel, Perrotta offers a thoughtful depiction of a 46-year-old woman.
Despite her constant rumination, or perhaps because of it, Eve makes what the contemporary parent might call "bad choices." Like Brendan's, Eve's indiscretions arise not from deep character flaws — recklessness, lust, self-sabotage — but rather, Perrotta suggests, from a contradictory cultural logic of sexuality, according to which fantasies and desires should be indulged, and also they should definitely not be indulged. Brendan does not examine his sexual impulses, while Eve relentlessly examines hers, but it makes no difference — both son and mother find themselves in need of a good lawyer.
Perrotta, however, is not interested in pressing charges. Eve and Brendan avoid the devastating consequences (and familiar headlines) that the novel clearly conjures. Lessons are learned — perhaps college is not for everyone, and neither for that matter is polyamory — but, as in classic comedy, order is restored at novel's end, and here it is restored in the most classic of ways. This is no biblical fall, nor does it hew closely to "The Graduate," to which the title seemingly alludes. Rather, it is as if Eve and Brendan (and readers as well) are given a glimpse of something both titillating and terrifying, as if we all awake, at the end, from the madness and tumult of a mid-semester night's dream.
