My short story, Slipping Through, got accepted for publication at FictionWarehouse. It's my second acceptance in as many weeks (Comfort Foods got accepted in the Swamp). And to think, I didn't care a few hours ago if I never wrote another word again, much less got anything published. Is the war over yet? There is a quiet peace, a surrender on both sides, a display of goodwill, an effort not to dwell on the bitter battles, the soldiers lost, the destroyed infrasctructure. Right now there is only soft, quiet peace in the dawn and a hope that the sun will rise again.