Just went on a spree...a submission spree. A short story submission spree, to be precise (and because I can now refer to this throughout the remainder of this post as The Great SSSS of 2010). Two short stories got a spit polish, pep talk and a little checkered kerchief filled with pemmican and cans of beans to tie to a stick and carry over their shoulder, before being rudely thrust back into the world. (FYI, if you google "hobo children" under images, you get some really weird pictures, including a movie poster for "Hobo with a Shotgun" and whatever this is.) They are, respectively, one-time and two-time rejects.
A third short is going out for the first time, all wide-eyed and nervous about its new outfit. It's an odd one, written to a high-context anthology prompt, and I had a big, red devil of a time writing it. It's set in the 1920s, and I wanted a contemporary sound in the prose, especially the dialog. I think I might have captured that. At least, it moves to a different rhythm in my head when I read it. I also wanted modern urban fantasy events portrayed with a noir fiction sensibility that didn't feel too dark. The anthology asked for "fun" stories, and while I consider dark noir fun, I don't think that's the universal consensus.
I think one of the reasons I love reading noir is that it's not intuitive to me. I don't have an innate talent for writing it well (I know, I know - we could say that I don't have an innate talent for writing anything well, but we won't, because that would be colossally rude.) which makes me appreciate it that much more.
So, off my three little pups go. I hoped I packed enough beans to get them through the journey.