Oh, Irv

So the statue featured on the cover of FS No. 3 (nice work, Victoria) is a bust of Washington Irving. Our neighborhood in Indianapolis -- Irvington -- is so named because the area brought to mind the setting of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," Irving's most famous story, which has seeped into popular culture in a way that "Rip Van Winkle" never will.

Here's why I celebrate Washington Irving today, in the month that we traditionally consider his most famous story:

"As America's first genuine internationally best-selling author, Irving advocated for writing as a legitimate profession, and argued for stronger laws to protect American writers from copyright infringement."

That's right. Irving was the first American writer to really make a name for himself in Europe and elsewhere, and he is the first American writer to make a living from his writing. And a good living, at that. Yes, he wrote biographies, as well, and later served as the U.S. minister to Spain. But it's his fiction that got the ball rolling.

So when I walk or drive past that statue of Irv, I give him props. I'm sure to say hello. And, if I'm walking by, I'll quickly rub his rough forehead for good luck.

new books by McNally and Minor

John McNally visited Indianapolis last week and offered a great reading -- three shorter pieces from his new book, Ghosts of Chicago, including "Ascension," which first appeared in the debut issue of Freight Stories earlier this year. John tells us he also designed the cover, which is a beauty.

This marks the first time an FS story has appeared in book form, followed closely by Kyle Minor's "The Navy Man," which is now available in Kyle's debut collection from Dzanc Books, In the Devil's Territory.



Both books are highly recommended.

No. 3 Loves You!

Every time we put out an issue, I think it's my favorite one yet. I think: how will we ever top this? I wallow in its excellence for about a minute before I get anxious about doing it all over again.

Predictably, the next couple of months pass. We read submissions, make selections, and take or find photos. We also do the other jobs, the ones we get paid to do. We work on our own writing. Once in a while we sleep.

Then, suddenly, the quarter has passed and the next issue is upon us, and I freak out. Will we get it done on time? Will our authors be pleased? How can it possibly be as good as the last one, and the one before it? WHAT DID WE GET OURSELVES INTO?

And each time, as in most of life, everything works out. Some weird, unprecedented tech glitch pops up, and I think it's going to take forever to fix, and it doesn't, and the nerdy production stuff is actually easier than it was the time before, and we find an image that's just perfect for each story, and then that e-mail shows up in your inbox letting you know that we've gone and done it again. We start to get congratulatory e-mails from readers, messages that delight us no end, praising all the stories, and generally making us feel great about the work we're doing. And if we're really lucky, we even hear from the writers we've published.

So pretty soon, the anxiety is going to set in. But for now, everybody roll around in No. 3 with me like little kids in a leaf pile.