Alas and Alack...

Hello all you international people who are spiking my daily page views! I don't think you're supposed to be here, but greetings all the same.

Now then...

A few literary responsibilities have come and gone in the past couple months. I didn't want to write about them until they were either finalized or more established.

I managed to finish the Reflections Contest judging a few days ahead of schedule. When my friend asked me to help with K-2 entries on the day of the deadline, I happened to have a head cold at the time and could barely concentrate on work. So I couldn't help him... which is a shame. I still don't know who won in my middle school level, though. It would be cool to know. Also, I haven't heard anything from my managing editor about whether we can publish some of the best runners up. Some of them were amazing, and I'd love to be able to present them with an amazing consolation prize. "Sorry you didn't win... but this magazine wants to publish you, which is an amazing opportunity for someone your age." My managing editor was excited about the idea, but we had to make sure to do everything legally and submit the idea to the other editors and to PTA. Alas, after I gave my managing editor and friend each other's emails, I no longer received updates about correspondences. I guess that's what happens when you step away from being the middle person.

A few months ago, when I attended a Bridges publishing conference at Chatham, I met a local literary agent. She's part of an agency and specializes in YA literature that is female-centric. I thought it would be an invaluable experience to work for her as a reader--someone who reads solicitations remotely and writes up impressions, and gets paid for it. Alas, the position no longer exists in the publishing world. That job is now done by interns who aren't paid because of the economy still being what it is. So we spoke for a little bit during the conference and she mentioned that she might have internship slots available during the summer. I emailed her earlier this week and received a response yesterday. Alas, there are no slots. She said to contact her again in August for fall positions and to remind her of our exchanges. She seems to be a really nice and fun lady, and I still think it would be great to work for her. Plus, it's remote work with only one day in the office. With my full-time job's flex hours, I could manage this internship well. So now I have to play the waiting game again.

On to better news.... One of my creative nonfiction pieces was accepted for publication! The notification came out of the blue, kinda. I had sent out simultaneous submissions about 100 days ago and after a couple months, you're supposed to either query or consider the submission to be rejected. But no! So that was an awesome discovery.

Judging a National Contest and Finding a Mini-Me

Again, I've encountered a situation that illustrates how hard work and chance encounters can create amazing opportunities.

To explain: I have two long-term friends from elementary school: Jess and Ethan. Jess I've known since Brownies (girl scouts) even though she went to a different elementary and middle school (but the same high school). Ethan I've known since elementary school. We've always been aware of each other, always nice to each other, but more acquaintances than friends. He's the kind of guy whom everyone liked. He always wears a smile. Always.

No, really. Always.

There's even a legend about him: One day around seventh or eighth grade, jock bullies were making fun of him for being so happy and smiling all the time, so they kept trying to find ways to get his smile to falter. Finally, they punched him in the gut. The smile faltered, but never left Ethan's face. His reaction, though one of pain, shocked the bullies and ever since then, they left him alone and showed him some respect.

I'm not sure how much of that is true. I should ask him.

Anyway...

Hard work. In my case, it was building a solid foundation through tiny actions that always, in some way, reinforced my potential and my future. Working for two campus lit mags, interning for a  publishing house, interning for a city magazine, earning a BA and MFA in writing, always reading, writing reviews, becoming a legit columnist, becoming an editorial assistant, becoming an unofficial review editor's assistant (that title doesn't exist, but it's basically when I'm doing until Weave can get a full-time review editor). Basically striving to maintain a successful literary career.

Chance encounters. After graduating from high school, Ethan and I lost touch until a few months ago (nearly 9 years later). We accepted friend requests on Facebook, exchanged comments... the typical stuff. Then a couple weeks ago around midnight, he randomly messages me by saying: "I know this is random, but..."

He proceeds to ask me if I'd be willing to judge the middle school level literature entries for the PTA Reflections Contest. For the national round. That alone made me freak out.

The PTA Reflections Program is a national program centered on developing a passion for art--be it traditional art, performance art, literature, or music composition. It's a BIG DEAL, but apparently not all schools participate in it. You win in your school, go on to a regional round, then a state round, and then a national round (if I have that order correct...). Then someone at the Library of Congress (I think) picks the grand prize winner.

I had won first prize for poetry during fourth grade. Just for my school, though. The poem was one I'd worked on for a few weeks and incorporated schools lessons about monarch butterflies into. It apparently made people cry. It wasn't as if I'd intended any emotion. I just wrote about the images in my head, as if the universe told me what to write and I dutifully typed everything down. The only purposeful part of it was the butterflies. So, riding on that win, I entered again that following year and didn't place. It was disappointing, but okay. That first place win the year before was the first time I'd won anything. But, alas, at some point over the subsequent years, we lost the winning poem. We have the trophy, the certificate of achievement, even the folder and the losing poem... It's heartbreaking that I can't remember the poem, there were no copies made, and I'll never see it again. Because, of course, digital copies weren't being archived until a number of years after fourth grade. And, apparently, the PTA is only allowed to keep the poem for three years and then it's scrapped.

It should be known that when we requested a copy during fifth or sixth grade, the organization wouldn't give it to me.... siting something about copyright that even at the time seemed wrong.

Well, Ethan knew about this because we'd talked about it a few weeks before he messaged me, when he posted a picture of all the other category submission CDs. So going off that and what little he knew about my literature life (just that I was into it), he asked me to judge.

It's as if everything came full circle with this contest.

I have 48 entries to go through by April 15. It seems like it should be more (one entry per state per grade), but apparently not all the entries were submitted. Odd... Basically, my top picks will go to that final person for the grand prize, national winner.

When he asked me to help him (because a position opened up that needed to be filled immediately), Ethan had no idea what I do during what is technically my spare time. He was astounded when I told him why April is a busy month for me: reviews, review editing, full-time job, literary event evenings, concerts, Weave submissions, and now contest submissions. Oh, and dancing lessons--that's another new development.

The process itself is intriguing. I have to look for raw talent. There's a rubric, of course--an educational assessment must always have a rubric... Interpretation of the theme, artistic merit and creative merit (which, for literature, is about the same thing anyway), and technical merit. I must be aware that many winners were picked based off context, not technical writing rules. They won't have a firm grasp on grammar, nor will they have a solid understanding and execution of craft. But talent is talent, and if something is freakin' amazing, then it doesn't matter how old that kid is. But because of the technical merit, the delivery can't be completely atrocious.

It is very interesting to hop between Weave submissions (wherein I'm looking for the best of the best) to contest submissions (wherein "best of the best" is a lot more lenient but still applicable.)

While going through submissions, I've already found a poem that blew me away and thus received a perfect score. And I found a different entrant, a girl, who's basically a mini-me. Her poem is the exact kind that I used to write in high school, when I'd sit at a computer during free time in a physics lab and let the universe tell me what to write. Lots of inspirational, abstract, and broad ideas. Corny. Amateurish. Not much thought involved. I made dozens upon dozens of those poems. And this girl wrote something that fits into that collection.

She won't win, but I posted on FB about how I want to hug her and provide reassuring words:

• Keep writing. 
• You'll  be great one day. 
• Don't give up. 
• I was just like you once. 

Well, Ethan saw that post and told me that he's planning to make a blog that enables judges to send messages to the students who submitted. And yes, it would be awesome to write that girl an official message of support and reassurance. 

So that's my big update of the month. I'm still in shock that it's happening.

Praised Questions from a Literary Evening with Paula McLain

Oh, where to begin? I really should take better care of this blog and update a day or so after things happen, to keep everything up to date and short. So instead of bombarding everyone with a massive update, let's do this one at a time.

A few weeks ago, Mike and I attended a Pittsburgh Arts and Lectures Literary Evening with Paula McLain.  The author is an adorable woman who lives nearby (Cleveland--in author speak, that's nearby) and managed to succeed when she had a moment of "inspiration meets desperation." Her personal history is astounding and at the time of the idea for The Paris Wife, she had quit teaching just to write the book. She said that if this book didn't work out (because the first one had flopped), then she would apply at Whole Foods. After listening to her talk about letter writing, personal language, and writing lifestyles, she actually persuaded Mike to read The Paris Wife, which is a rather feminist novel. He hasn't yet, but one day he might. It's at least on his list. Apparently her next big project is a book about Marie Currie, the announcement of which got all of our attentions. If she did this well with Hadley Richardson (Ernest Hemingway's first wife and main character of The Paris Wife), I can only imagine what she'll do with Marie.

At every event, we are allowed to stand up and ask a question. Mike and I always do this at these events. His question was about whether McLain had pieces of Hadley that were still part of her, whether Hadley's personality changed McLain's. She had already talked about falling in love with the character and immersing herself in this woman's language (which everyone can read because Ernest kept all their letters to each other and they're available at a library somewhere on the east coast). The question literally knocked McLain back a few steps. She said that a few pieces of Hadley's personality were there, and talked about the interaction and influence that comes from working so close with a character.

My question came next (not many people were standing by this point). I asked about whether she had intended to create a triangulation of events--how taking The Paris Wife, The Sun Also Rises, and A Moveable Feast reveals a central point of truth about what actually happened--and what she thinks about it if she hadn't intended that. It knocked her back again, and she praised the second balcony (general admission seating) for the questions, calling us the literary scholar balcony. She answered that she had intended something of the sort, kinda, and then chatted about it.

The problem with only reading one book by a favorable author is that when you stand in line for a signing, you don't know what to say. This is especially true when you say what you wanted to during the Q&A session. So in line, I said "Hi," to her again and thanked her for answering my question. I hope that one day, I'll meet her again... Maybe as equals. It would be nice to have an author friend who lives close.

Editorial assistant, and a stalled writing life

When compared to other writing friends (some of whom are currently at the AWP conference), I feel as if I am failing as a writer. They just seem to write more than I do, or do more literary activities than I do. This past week, in particular, has been especially hard because I've wanted to write, but my brain couldn't decide what to work on: first person present tense for my thesis story, third person past tense for my NaNoWriMo novel, or undecided POV and tense for a short story/novellette. The words are there, but they're trapped behind a brick wall and I can't even pry them out through the cracks. I've even slowed down reading books, except for a handful of thin poetry books from Autumn House Press. Even then, I needed a break from them after a few nights. 

But things aren't all dismal. I was recently appointed the editorial assistant for Weave magazine, a print literary magazine that concentrates on dark humor, magical realism, the strange and fantastical, realistic narratives in fiction and poetry, strong and well-developed characters as well as flawed ones, dynamic female characters, retellings of old stories and fairy tales and myths, the playing of language, women authors and characters, LGTBQ authors and characters, diversity, community... and... well... a bunch of really cool stuff. It seemed like an extremely good fit for me. I met the creator at a Bridges conference at Chatham recently and through talking with her and going through the application process, I got the job! It's non-paid but that's okay. On the literary panel at the conference, the panelists said that in order to maintain a job in publishing, you have to volunteer to read the slush piles and help out. Once you get a few of those jobs under your belt, along with some official internships, you'll be more likely to be accepted in a paying position elsewhere. 

I should get around 10 submissions a week. This week was 17 because about seven of them were pieces that had been already accepted. I had to read them in order to get a feel for what the comments on the side were like (in Submittable) and what stories they tend to accept. It will be interesting. I finished all the accepted ones tonight. Here's hoping I can read most of the pending submissions tomorrow to catch up. 

Also, Mike has read most of my thesis. He's taken to reading for an hour or so on Saturday mornings, when he has some quiet time while I get to sleep in. He's almost 3/4 of the way through. He hasn't said anything about it yet, though. But, this is a start. And he says that it might not be a habit, because you can't count something as a habit if it's only done two weeks in a row. Maybe three weeks. It is almost a push for me to continue working on either that story or the NaNo one so he has something else to continue of mine, but that might be hoping for too much. If it took him this long to read something relatively established... getting him to read a WIP is a long-shot, and he has so many other books to get to anyway. It would be nice if Saturday mornings became his official reading times, though. 

Valentines

The fantastic doesn't always have to occur in writing, or writing opportunities. Sometimes, it's just a few things throughout the day that make you smile.

This morning, I assembled an 8-bit flower bouquet from ThinkGeek, pulled two Shel Silverstein books from a hiding place underneath a pile of teddybears on a bookshelf, and stood up a Charlie Brown card--all for my boyfriend to discover on the table after I'd left for work. :)

He only had "Everything on It," so I figured that he'd enjoy "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and "Falling Up" because he admitted to liking Shel Silverstein but not having read much of his work. Poetry, Charlie Brown, and video game references on Valentine's Day seemed to be good choices for my guy.

And tonight, we're going to The Melting Pot. I fully anticipate a food hangover. The last and only time I've had one of those was the day after going to that same restaurant with my mother for our birthdays. The rich food in vast quantities will make us too stuffed to move, and we'll have to guzzle water to offset all the sodium, but it will be delicious and worth it.

A few weeks ago, I'd sent Mike an advertisement for it and told him that I'd contribute to the bill if we went (I've been trying to get him to go there for a while). He responded with: "What time do you want to eat?" I asked him how much he wanted me to pay him back, and he said he wouldn't hear of that. The whole thing is somewhere around $140. O.O

So! He received the surprise on the table this morning.

Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

Steps in the Right Direction

Recently, there have been a few steps in the right direction in terms of my writing career. 

1. Promotion. I was offered to be promoted to "Columnist" for Coal Hill Review. As it stood before, I was an occasional contributor for book reviews. This promotion means that my name is listed on the left side's panel with the other official bloggers and I get a bio paragraph. Basically, my name is more noticeable and it'll be easier to get to my reviews. The position still isn't paid, but that's okay. It's still the exposure that counts. I have to submit reviews or prose once a month. Should be doable. I'll probably stick to a literature/writing theme. The other themes are teaching experiences, culture clashes, poetry reviews, and "nature, humor, politics, and diet... the whole range of human experience, according to my editor.
2. Pittsburgh Quarterly. I've been an editorial intern for Pittsburgh Quarterly for almost a year. After the first required semester was complete, I didn't have to go to the weekly meetings anymore because I reached my credit requirement. However, the internship itself extended indefinitely because I was still able to proofread for them. Also, we started revising its style guide in order to make it coherent, cohesive, easier to navigate, and easier to access. Eventually, it'll be posted online. Because I'm the main copyediting intern, this project became my baby, so to speak. It stalled around the holidays and will pick up again in the next month or so. In the meantime, I was able to get in touch with my editor and learn that the spring issue is about to be released. In order to proofread for it, I'd need to get it this weekend. Surprise. I'm okay with this, though, because I wouldn't want my name listed as an intern on something that I hadn't touched.
3. Submissions. My pile of rejections is growing. So, I "submission bombed" last night. I'm not sure if six simultaneous submissions counts as bombing, though... My friend Beth seems to be on a roll with submission acceptances lately. I think she has at least six stories that have been published, and (so she claims) a pile of rejections. Compare that to my one acceptance, and I feel like I'm failing as a writer. Again. So instead of reading or writing last night, I chose to research lit mags and submit. It took most of the evening. Crazy...
4. Short story idea. The other night, I had an idea for a short story. I let it simmer for a bit and then, a couple days later, it hit me full force and I had to jot down scenes. It's nice when this happens, while it lasts. I feel like I've been off more than I can chew, though, because of its themes and actions. It will be about the concept of mercy, and the main character is a nurse. It lacks a definitive conflict, though, and I'm afraid people will consider it to be boring. We'll see... The idea has since stopped yelling at me, so I'm not sure how long it will take to write. But! It's the first feasible short story idea I've had in a long time.
5. Agent contest. I recently entered the Lucky Day Agent contest. The theme this year was sci-fi or YA. No, I am not yet prepared for an agent. However, the contest itself was easy to enter. All I needed to do was post about it twice on social media platforms, provide proof of those posts, and submit the first 150-200 words of a first chapter. Winners of this national contest receive reviews of their first 10 pages from the agent judge, and a year's free prescription to Writersmarket.com, I think. I don't expect much from this considering it's a national contest and many, many people entered. However, I took a shot and it pushed me to start revising portions of my NaNoWriMo novel in the meantime, even though it's not yet finished and probably won't be for a while. I've gotten stuck on some points... Anyway, the winners will be announced at the end of this month.

He Wouldn't Like It Anyway

Backstory:

A year or so ago, my boyfriend became angry at me. When he was talking to online friends, they asked if I was a good writer. He said yes. Then they asked what I wrote about, and he said that he didn't know. He then realized that he'd never read anything I wrote. The two poems I'd shown him didn't count because I was a fiction writer.

He then confronted me. He told me that he was angry and a bit hurt that I hadn't showed him anything. The whole thing caught me off guard. I was astounded that anyone would actively seek to read what I wrote. Throughout high school, I'd hand people new revisions of the same stories, just because things had changed that they might want to know about--no matter how subtle. I thought I'd spare him from that. Just because he's my boyfriend, that doesn't mean he's my editor, too. Especially because he's not a writer or an avid reader. But here he was, demanding to see what I wrote.

So I read him a draft of a chapter. It was half of a chapter, actually. In fact, it had won a small monetary award during an international honor society's convention that previous year. When I finished, he was quiet. He didn't want me to read him anything else that night because he was still registering that chapter. He said it made him feel sad, which is a fantastic compliment because that meant I did something right.

But he hasn't read anything since, except for book reviews. He doesn't read much fiction. Most of his audiobooks are nonfiction. And he's not a fan of fantasy or sci-fi. So my book reviews grab his attention, but nothing else. That story I got published? He skimmed it. My thesis? The most work I'd done in one legitimate story at the time? The story I used as a personal challenge and succeeded? The story that was good enough to permit my graduation, and that other friends and mentors love and demand that I write more in?

He read up to chapter two and stopped. (Similarly, my mother read the boring but mandatory introduction, became half-jokingly hurt that I hadn't thanked her on my acknowledgments page, and put it down, too. It would have been the first fiction story she'd read of mine since.... grade school.)

He said the voice was hard to follow, despite knowing that it shifts into better coherence throughout the third and fourth chapters (the main character is recovering from shock). And then he said that the character's choices angered him, despite the fact that he helped me figure out what the guy should do.

He said he'd pick it up again.

He said he'd give it another shot, knowing that the voice changes.

He hasn't touched it since June.

Current Events:

There is an expectation that because he's my boyfriend, he should read works that I'm proud about. It's minor, though, because I've heard that same argument about friendship and I still wasn't able to read a friend's attempt at a novel. It actually helped to break that friendship a few years ago. But... my expectations with him stem from his previous actions. Re: Him yelling at me.

So every day that I know it's on his To Do list, and he doesn't do it, it chips away at me.

Every day that he's bored and wonders what to do to fill his evening, I suggest that he read, in general. He doesn't. He decides to play Halo 4 instead. Typical guy. And every night he spends staring at his back-lit devices before bed (and can't sleep because of them), I suggest that he read instead. He doesn't. He said that if I gave him a .pdf of the story, he'd read it easier on his iPad. He doesn't. He says that if he gets a Kindle, he'll read more. I don't believe him because he's unlikely to read a print book. It does happen, gradually, but most of the time he's playing a game or searching the Internet. He hasn't proven to me that he'd use the Kindle to read. And he hasn't proven to me that he'll ever return to my thesis. And when I used to ask if he'd ever read the story, he got mad at me for suggesting that he wasn't going to. He still hasn't done it, though, because he said he forgets and I should remind him.

But I shouldn't have to remind him to do something that meant so much to me. I shouldn't have to badger him like that, especially if there's a chance that he won't like the story. And I don't want to force him to read it, either.

What happened to the guy who wanted to read my stuff?

He found out that I write magical realism, and wasn't interested anymore.

Enough of me has been chipped away that it started to affect our relationship. He knows I've been feeling down lately, but doesn't know all of the causes. The thesis is only a small portion of that. So the other night it was bad enough that I was crying when I came to bed. I don't know if he knew.

But as I laid there, I had one line going through my head: He wouldn't like it anyway.

Why make him read something if he wouldn't like it anyway? Why put up with a smile and a hug and a statement that "it was good," when he wouldn't like it anyway? I'd rather he not read it than have him save face like that.

And oddly, the mantra has worked so far. That was the mental trick I needed to glue myself back together. I'll just go back to the way things were before he yelled at me. And it'll be fine. In time. I just wanted to get this out because I'm still fixing myself. This post isn't meant as some sort of passive-aggressive attempt to get him to read my stories. It's just something long overdue to get off my chest.