Cover letter
Dear Pulp Literature:
My name is Michael Osborne, and I have chosen to submit my story to Pulp Literature because your website indicates that you are open to a wide range of fictional works and I believe my story will add something different to the wide variety of stories you seek to publish. Much to my delight, you express an interest in stories that include "fiery feminism" and "indigenous and immigrant experiences." My story, about a Wild West town named Prospector’s Cross, has a unique feminist figure as the central character. She fits the feminist mold because she is a mayor in the 1800s and therefore a political and cultural pioneer. Also featured is a Native American sheriff who demonstrates a strong sense of justice coupled with a no-nonsense demeanor.
I would like to tell you a little about my journey as a reader, writer, and critical thinker. I am currently enrolled in a creative writing fiction class at Sierra College in California. During the pandemic, students in the class submit their work online and then meet in Zoom workshops to discuss each contribution. The experience has taught me a great deal about the art of telling a good story. During the semester, I have studied and applied the principles of character development, plot, imagery, sensory description, setting, conflict, action, dialog, and so much more.
As a child of the 60s, prior to many of today’s electronic forms of entertainment, I grew up reading a great deal of fiction. Animal stories, mythology, and science fiction were my favorites subjects. I cried when Old Yeller had to be put down. I shook my head over the foolishness of Icarus. I also puzzled over a story of alien abduction I read at age ten, when the main character mused about possible inflammation of the lungs if the aliens provided their captives with a pure oxygen atmosphere to breath.
This semester I had the opportunity to immerse myself once again in the fictional world, with stories of castles and chivalry, drug addiction and heartache, adventure and infatuation. All of these worlds are fascinating to me and I love the way in which the reading and writing of fiction frees the mind to explore the world of creative imagination. Among the professional authors we studied were Neil Gaiman and Margaret Attwood, the former presenting his sarcastic allegory for the secret of becoming a writer, and the latter sharing her tips for getting the job done and not boring the reader. We also read, among other works, Ursula K. Le Guin’s "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas", Margaret Attwood's intertextual fiction, "Bluebeard's Egg," and Herman Hesse's fairy tale about "The Poet," Han Fook.
This semester has also provided the incentive I needed in order to write a complete story from scratch, rather than working on some long-time resident of my in-process bin. The freedom I found in the process was awesome until I realized that my ambitions for the story were well beyond the time allowed. So, I dreamed and brainstormed, hemmed and hawed, found the path I wanted to take, killed many darlings, and slammed out a rough draft. In the process, I learned over and over again the slippery nature of maintaining consistency and continuity. Keeping the characters’ separate personalities intact and believable is a difficult task I had not previously encountered. Moreover, the opportunities for plot holes to appear from nowhere seemed to be a plague of bubonic (or COVID-like) proportions. Three drafts later, I felt much better about my ability to deal with these twin challenges, and then came the workshop.
At first, I was crushed by my critics and then amused upon noticing that the things some readers disliked were, conversely, enjoyed by others. Most helpful were the comments that really made me think about my story from the reader’s perspective. One of my classmates, Jax, used a phrase that I have reflected upon ever since. During our Zoom sessions he said of an awkward passage here and there, “It took me out of the story.” His comment has echoed in my mind ever since. I do not want to be guilty of ruining my own story by breaking the illusion I have worked so hard to create.
Writing for my class blog assignment recently, I attempted to summarize my feelings about this semester’s experience. “Like nearly everyone, my time is limited and my aspirations are not. Twelve weeks ago, I thought perhaps that I could go against the tide and achieve one of my lifelong goals without it falling prey to the limitations of time. Guess what? I did and it didn't. How wonderful! How marvelous! The thrill of writing a complete short story meeting my standards for entertainment, philosophical content, and satisfying conclusion was so delicious and energizing as to take me to a higher plane of existence where I dwelt for some days. It is an experience I want to repeat. I want to become addicted to the feeling of accomplishment associated with completed fiction. Prior to this semester of creative writing, I had no idea of the empowerment awaiting at the final sentence, the denouement of a fiction created by the focusing my creative energies.”
After decades of writing short pieces for classes and blogs, I found the recent experience of participating in a class filled with creative people exercising their imaginations in wonderful and novel directions had been very rewarding. Regarding my own work, I have been greatly encouraged by my teacher, Professor Christopher Hall, to seek a wider audience, and I am excited about the possibility of having my latest story published. The story I am submitting is a Western Thriller titled after the town in which it takes place, "Prospector's Cross." I hope you will find it acceptable for inclusion in your publication.
Here is an excerpt. “"Carl, what the hell? This guy is deader than last week's meatloaf. You should have just called Bighorse and left me out of it," complained Carrie, who was no doctor anyway. She was a dancer and a dance teacher, and so very far out of her element that it was ludicrous. All she ever did in cases like this was to try and stop the bleeding and give a fellow a sympathetic face to look at and a few kind words to listen to. But today she was busy and had better things to do than to waste time with another shot-to-pieces, bled-out cowpoke.”
And, here is my teaser for the story:
***In the Wild West town of Prospector’s Cross, the mayor has been murdered by a bullet in the back. The deceased mayor’s courageous wife is unanimously chosen by the city council to be the town’s new mayor. She hates the job, but reckons it will give her a chance to find her husband’s killer. Meanwhile, the patriarch of the town’s largest church is, for some mysterious reason, hell-bent on REVENGE against the town.***
Yours Sincerely,
Michael Osborne
