Drifting, floating

I have a lot of story starts that go nowhere. For instance, I jotted this down, but there isn’t really a point.

He is an old man now. Old enough, anyway, that his hair is now mostly grey, his face a deeply craggy terrain. Sometimes he thinks that the years passed so quickly–though he isn’t sure how that can be, when the days crawled past, a tedious war against boredom. He sat in his toll booth, day in, day out, and he planned for better things, and the moments went by, 50 cents at a time, then a dollar, then a dollar fifty.

In his head he has been many things. A cop. A truck driver. A farmer. A sculptor. On rare occasion, an investments broker, sharp in his suit and tie, with clever remarks for the equally sharp women he imagines he would consort with.

I’d never heard of this market before but a friend tweeted about it, and I love the idea of it . A magazine for Scifi/fantasy + another genre? LOVE! And the next genres are Superheroes, sidekicks, and villains? SUPER LOVE! If I could get my writing act together…