It warms the cold, black rock that is this editor's heart

Most editors pretty much toil in anonymity, except when battling massive piles of slush or when writers are trying to kiss up by buying you drinks at conventions. Being the editor of a non-paying market, I've been spared such torments. But today, that anonymity crumbled just a bit. Not for me, necessarily, but for a story I recently published at RevSF: Jay Lake's The Redundant Order of the Night.

Being very short, this writing doesn't have to do much to be worth the time spent on it. It is, however, more interesting than many stories ten times its length, and more deserving of repeated reading than the majority of stories published in the major SF magazines recently. It's the kind of story you'd get from the love child of Gertrude Stein and Frank Zappa.

Now if that doesn't pique your interest, nothing will. The author is one Matthew Cheney, and the quote from his blog The Mumpsimus. Nobody ever praises editors, and that's pretty much as it should be. Where editors get their ego boo is from the acclaim bestowed upon the fiction they pluck from the wilderness and publish for all the world to see. Would that all my writers earn such praise.

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