Thoughts on Stranded

Regardless of format wars, e-readers and the continuing economic strangeness that is Conde Nast, there's something wonderfully decadent about a well-made glossy magazine. Which is to say that my copy of Stranded finally arrived, and it is gorgeous. Having a piece in there (and with illustration, it takes up four pages - I'm such a column inch hog) makes me feel positively louche.

One of the nice things about the mag is that the "assignments" that were handed out - turn being stranded into a course of study, take pictures of a waiter, describe a local drink called a volcano - are posted with each of the pieces. And along with that are the notes of apology from people who initially got involved with the project and then were able to scurry home, and then for one reason or another didn't quite come through. It can be read one of two ways: "thanks for at least being part of it" or "it's easy to get involved in something bigger under extraordinary circumstances, but back in familiar circumstances, it's just as easy to fall away." I do not judge; read the mag yourself if you're so inclined and decide.

As for my piece, I wrote it in a mostly-empty hotel out on the far end of Heathrow, tucked in on the cheap because the smart business travelers had long since departed ahead of the badness. Susan O'Connor pointed me at the project, and, after a brief email exchange with editor Andrew Losowsky, I was offered two potential assignments: a horror story set inside the ash cloud, or something game-related. I picked the former, and ended up hammering out something very different than any other short fiction piece I've ever done.

Then again, I'd never been stranded by a volcano before.