There's a writing competition coming up, and its theme is 'dystopia'. I've been working on one so this could be good practice.
Submitting any kind of story to an editor is pot luck. One editor might like it, while another might rate it lower than 'The Gordon Brown Compendium of Fun' or Cameron's early exercise video, 'How To Get A Head'. The only thing that matters in this game is a thick skin and bloody-minded persistence. An ability to spell does help a bit too.
So I am busy trying to write about a fictional mad world. Meanwhile, in the real world, I see Elvis has risen from the grave to rob betting shops in Brighton, the Nazis had life-size Barbie dolls to shag, global warming heralds the coldest summer for 18 years and still calls it global warming, and after decades of trying to gender-neutralise all children, it now appears that children who don't display gender-specific traits will turn out gay. Oh, and shampooing your hair now makes you fat, too.
SoI have to write a dystopia. It's not going to be easy to imagine something more bizarre than what's really happening out there. Politics? Oh, that left the realms of credibility long ago.
I'm going to have to get very, very drunk for this one.