Apex Magazine Vol. 3 Issue 1

Editorial DispositionsEditorial Dispositions

Jason B. Sizemore

A favorite question of fans is the simple “Why doyou keep applying the pain and publishing amagazine?” There’s no money to be made in thesmall press ‘zine racket. It’s full of heartbreakand despair. And did I mention the stress?There’s stress beyond belief.And I love it.The other question, especially with me just pull-ing the magazine out of hiatus is “How?”Here’s the part where I say “I’m counting on

you

.”I have a three-pronged plan of attack. The first isthrough sponsorship and web advertising. Wehave different levels of sponsorship ($50/$250/$1000) that grants you certain privileges. Also,we sell banner ad space for $25 and tower adspace for $30. If you don’t want to sponsor ordon’t have anything you’d like to advertise, thenyou can always donate to the cause.The second set of revenue involves sales of themagazine, either digital PDF sales (for $2.50) orsales of the magazine in print format via Mag-Cloud.com.A third source of revenue will be through sales ofthe anthology

Descended From Darkness: Apex Magazine Vol. I

. This anthology contains all theoriginal online published fiction from January1st, 2008 through June 30th, 2009. That’s twenty-four stories, over 100,000 words of concentratedApex. All proceeds from sales of

Descended FromDarkness

go directly to the upkeep of

Apex Maga-zine

.The answer to the question of “Who?” this monthare the authors Glenn Lewis Gillette, Jennifer Pel-land, and Jeff Carlson. I think you’ll enjoy theirstories as much as the Apex staff did.I’m dedicating this issue to the hard workingApex editorial team: Deb Taber, Gill Ainsworth,Sarah Brandel, Mari Adkins, Chris Einhaus, Jen-nifer Brozek, Maggie Jamison, Justin Stewart andEmily Dettmar. You folks rock!

—Jason Sizemore, editor-in-chief

Sneak peek of

Descended From Darkness: Apex Magazine Vol. I

She Called Me SweetieShe Called Me Sweetie

G

LENN

L

EWIS

G

ILLETTE

M

y throat clogging. My nose running. My eyes stinging with tears. I trackdown R in our game room. He’s playing backgammon with O. He rolls his eyes,gaze panning up from the board to me. “What now?”I want to cry,

It’s not fair!

But I stick to the facts, the ones affecting the other boys in the room—

The Rest,

I call them. A few peek over at my sniveling. I wipe mynose with the back of my hand and stand straight to report: “Mrs. Ma’am says nomore evenings with Mommy.”That gets them. Heads snap up or around from all the game boards. The clockover the mantel chimes twice for 7:30pm—I should be sitting with Mommy! Laugh-ing with Mommy! Reading to her!R stands and towers over me. A couple sudden inches in the past months. Willthat happen to me? Am I different enough to resist that?“Tell us,” he says.The clock spits out more clicks, as I grab a breath.“On, on—” Even more air. “On my way to Mommy’s sitting room.” Out of ourwing of Gilchrist Manor into the Central Hall. Along the walkway at the top of theGrand Staircase. “Right by the Crimson Knight.” Dumpy old suit of armor with ared crest on its helmet. “She stopped me. Mrs. Ma’am.” Our teacher, 8am to 2pmevery day, when Mr. Sir took over in the gym. “She said...” I struggled to get thewords right, though I can’t do her voice like Y can. “

Evening visits with Mommy havebeen cancelled for the time being. You will keep the afternoon schedule. Tell the others. Runalong now.

” Run along now, like I was still five, like O2! I hated her for that, in thatmoment but, of course, that hadn’t lasted as I returned to our part of the Manor.Mrs. Ma’am treats each of us too nicely to stay mad at her.“Just like that?” R says.I look up at him, and the words rocket up from my soul again. This time, I don’tcut them off. I don’t care what The Rest think, including R.“It’s not fair! When you come out of Mommy’s chute, there’s supposed to be justone of you, now and ever. Nobody else like you. Nobody!”Only I hadn’t come out of Mommy. None of us had. R knows that because I toldhim otherwise in the secrecy of the belfry, but none of The Rest realizes.I know lots The Rest don’t because I explore. The Rest don’t seem to likethat...except maybe A—I’ll find out for sure next year when he turns eight, the age Istarted sneaking around and crawling through the heating ductwork and watching.I know our home like the back of my hand. Or R’s. Or A’s. Or G’s, for that matter.I’ve discovered that we get born in the clinic room over the tool room, next toGlenn Lewis Gillette has astoried publishing recordreaching back to the early1970s when two of his sto-ries appeared in Analog.More recently, his workedhas appeared in

The Edge of Propinquity

,

The JewishSpectator

, and the anthol-ogy

Mystic Signals 2

. Youcan read more aboutGlenn’s writing and careerat www.glgwrites.com.

Only I hadn’t come out of Mommy. None of us had. R knows that because I told him otherwise