Story Notes about "Island Funeral" from It's For You published by White Noise Press:
I keep a manila folder for every story I ever tried to write. Some folders contain only a scribbled idea on a scrap of paper; others are full of research, drafts, and correspondence. A lucky few even have a galley proof stuck in them. Island Funeral’s folder is the thickest of them all, and that’s because there are more than a half-dozen false starts, attempted over a span of about twelve years, stuffed into it. Different starting points, different viewpoints, even different protagonists. I would get Tim, or Tim and Sarah, or just Sarah, into Arthur’s driveway and it would just die, right there. I knew what the story was, and I knew where I wanted it to go. Getting there, though, was the bitch. After I sold the longish story “Up in the Boneyard” to the Shivers anthology series, I figured I might have a market for another long piece. I also finally saw that pudgy local artiste walking up Arthur’s drive unannounced, and I knew I had somebody to help me move the story along at last. So I got off my ass and finished the damn thing. The title comes from the name of a very touching egg tempera painting by the great American artist and illustrator N.C. Wyeth. The whole story reeks of Wyeths, actually.
I keep a manila folder for every story I ever tried to write. Some folders contain only a scribbled idea on a scrap of paper; others are full of research, drafts, and correspondence. A lucky few even have a galley proof stuck in them. Island Funeral’s folder is the thickest of them all, and that’s because there are more than a half-dozen false starts, attempted over a span of about twelve years, stuffed into it. Different starting points, different viewpoints, even different protagonists. I would get Tim, or Tim and Sarah, or just Sarah, into Arthur’s driveway and it would just die, right there. I knew what the story was, and I knew where I wanted it to go. Getting there, though, was the bitch. After I sold the longish story “Up in the Boneyard” to the Shivers anthology series, I figured I might have a market for another long piece. I also finally saw that pudgy local artiste walking up Arthur’s drive unannounced, and I knew I had somebody to help me move the story along at last. So I got off my ass and finished the damn thing. The title comes from the name of a very touching egg tempera painting by the great American artist and illustrator N.C. Wyeth. The whole story reeks of Wyeths, actually.
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