Yearly Archives: 2020

90 posts

The Pesky Business Side to Writing

wallet

The trickiest thing about writing for money is the most obvious one: there’s an artistic side and a business side.

What’s tricky about that? Few writers are accomplished at both. Some generate all manner of writing, often very good, but fail because they market themselves poorly or send to the wrong markets.

Then we have writers who are sharp on the marketing strategy, but the goods aren’t high enough in quality for editors to commit.

It used to be that writers had to keep track of expenses like paper, envelopes, and stamps. Remember the SASE? How your own handwriting came back to greet you in the mailbox? Seems forever ago, doesn’t it?

Nowadays, those lacking on the business side have two main issues. First, they do not have the patience to research. On submissions pages of most magazines, editors practically beg writers to first read work they have already accepted, but the anxious writers either give the content a cursory glance or none at all.

The point of this research? For a writer, there are two. First, do you as a writer like the editor’s tastes? Second, do you as a writer feel your work is a good fit with this magazine? Would you be proud to see your words under its banner?

The second fault has a lot to do with Submittable. While the go-between site has become a Godsend of sorts for both journals and writers, it is not without its problems. It is, for instance, so convenient and easy that writers tend to rely on it too much. They over-submit. They submit before their work is fully cooked and ready for serving.

Then there’s the money thing. More and more we see fee-based reading. There are any number of reasons (or excuses, if you are opposed) for these fees, usually averaging $3 per submission.

Still, few writers bother to track these expenses. If they did, it might give them pause. The old-fashioned term “nickel and dime-ing someone” means that what appears small actually becomes large over time.

Would writers, looking at their yearly total in reading fees compared to acceptances, be so bowled over by the lopsided ratio that they might switch their allegiance to no-fee markets only? It depends on the writer and said writer’s wallet, I guess. When Submittable has your credit card or Paypal on file, it’s all-too-easy to click submit and not think twice. It’s the old delusion: If you can’t see it, it’s not happening.

Then we have the siren call of contests. Now we’re talking $20, $30, and $40 a hit. Writers need to ask themselves: “Am I willing to pay this kind of money? Is my work really that polished? Is it truly ready to go up against the incredible competition it is surely about to meet? And do I have honest friends and fellow writers who have read my work and agreed that it is, indeed, equipped to compete against other, very talented writers who have done their homework and put in the time to get their work as ready as it can be?”

Sometimes the money just evaporates because writers are kidding themselves. Granted, a little of that is necessary to win contests—dreaming big, I mean—but how many works go out before they’re ready for prime time? And what would the authors say if they saw the total damages of both reading fees, which bring magazines a profit even after paying Submittable, and contest fees across the span of a year?

That’s all business, which many writers find unpleasant and so adopt the ostrich strategy of heads-in-sand-and-carry-on.

Reconsider that! Work on both your artistic side and your business side this year. They are of equal importance because, frankly, if you want to be paid for your work (and you should be because it is work), then you have to be both diligent and savvy about it. And if you are falling behind in other financial areas of your life while rolling up the submission fees in the artistic aspect of your life, you might need to reconsider your strategy.

There are other options. It does not have to be so expensive over time.

 

Advice From 10 Who Made It to the Promised Land (Read: Publication)

pw

I there’s one thing people can’t get enough of, it’s chocolate. (Wait. Did I say chocolate? I meant inspiration.) This is why I like Poet & Writers Inspiration issue the most. In the Jan./Feb. 2020 issue, we get surveys of ten poets who scored debut collections in 2019.

These ten are asked the same questions, answered under these categories: “How It Began,” “Inspiration,” “Writer’s Block Remedy,” “Advice,” “Age/Residence,” “Time Spent Writing the Book,” and “Time Spent Finding a Home for It.”

And while there’s a lot of interesting stuff here by people you can’t help but cheer for (they made it!), let’s focus on the advice, shall we? Because if there’s one thing people can’t get enough of, it’s advice. (Um. After they’re inspired and full of chocolate, I mean.)

  • Patty Crane (Bell I Wake To): “Believe in the work, be patient, persist. Quiet all the voices except the inner one. Less is more. If you’re not sure whether the poem belongs in the collection, it probably doesn’t. Make the book the final poem. Submit the manuscript to presses whose publications you love. Keep moving forward, thinking about poems for the next book.”
  • Camonghne Felix (Build Yourself a Boat): “You’ll never get another debut! Your first is your first. Fight for yourself, advocate for your project, and trust your community if they tell you it’s not ready.”
  • Jake Skeets (Eyes Bottle Dark With a Mouthful of Flowers): “Carry your manuscript everywhere with you.”
  • Yanyi (The Year of Blue Water): “I’ve found that it is more important to love your own book than getting it published. I mean the kind of nourishing love you feel when you read the poetry you admire. This is the love that will help you edit it. It will help you advocate for it and send it out again and maybe one day read it over and over as though it is still new to you. Because it should be. Become your own reader and someone else will read it too.”
  • Marwa Helal (Invasive Species): “Take your time—or, I am paraphrasing, ‘Time is your friend,’ which is what my teacher Sigrid Nunez once told me. Trust your path and your work. Talk about it; don’t be shy about sharing your dreams. You never know who is listening or willing to point you to the next step in your path.”
  • Maya C. Popa (American Faith): “Don’t worry about how much or how little you write. It’s judicious to practice some degree of self-discipline, assuming you’re serious about completing a project. But don’t compare your practice with that of others. Trust that as long as you’re paying the right sort of attention to your life and the world, there’s a lot going on in the brain that will allow for writing to happen later on.”
  • Sara Borjas (Heart Like a Window, Mouth Like a Cliff): Write toward honesty, then really write toward honesty. Stop lying.”
  • Maya Phillips (Erou): “I’d probably say be bold. Experiment with your work, and don’t edit out all the fun and the strangeness and the wonder.”
  • Heidi Andrea Restrepo Rhodes (The Inheritance of Haunting): “Writing an abstract that articulates what the collection is about can help to communicate your work to editors while allowing you to create a map for what else your manuscript is asking to become.”
  • Keith Wilson (Fieldnotes on Ordinary Love): “Being published is a call someone else makes. It’s hard to know what to do to please others, and it’s maybe contrary to the place your poetry comes from. But someone’s first book changed you. Know that there are people waiting for yours.”

Pity-Driven Poetry

Pity the squid. Or maybe pity the poet who pities, of all things, squids. (If you’re curious, I looked up the plural, which can be either squid OR squids.)

Feeling sorry for cute animals is a well-known human trait. Consider those heartbreaking images of singed koala bears being plucked from danger in the Australian wildfires.

But ugly animals? Not many feel sorrow for distressed snakes or possums or certainly squids.

It’s a tall order, then, for Sandra Cisneros to generate some sympathy for a squid. Is this the task of poetry? To which I can only reply: What other genre, if not poetry? Exhibit A:

 

Fishing Calamari by Moon
for A. Stavrou
Sandra Cisneros

At the bullfights as a child
I always cheered for the bull,
that underdog of underdogs,
destined to lose, and I tell you
this, Andoni, so you’ll understand,

though we are miles from bullrings.
The Greek moon a lovely thing
to look at above our boat.
We are an international crew tonight.
Greek sea, African Queen, you, me.

But I am sad. Probably the only
foolish fisherman to cry
because we’ve caught a calamari.
You didn’t tell me how

their skins turn black
as sorrow. How they suck the air
in dying, a single terrifying cry
terrible as tin.

You will cook it in oil.
You will slice it and serve it
for our lunch tomorrow.
Endaxi—okay.

But tonight my heart
goes out to the survivors,
to the ones who get away.
To all underdogs everywhere,
bravo, Andoni. Olé.

In MFA Programs, “M” is for “Mystery”

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MFA: It stands for Mystery For All-time.

Good? Bad? Worth it? Not?

Counting their pennies (or what’s left after countless reading fees and contest submission fees), writers of fiction, essays, poetry, and drama ask these questions.

“I wonder what would happen to my writing career,” they say repeatedly, “if I found, or borrowed, the money to get my MFA in ___________________?”

If success and publication (or publication with greater success) is the dream, you can understand this wondering.

Look at any poetry collection published by a big-time publisher. Check out the acknowledgments page. After the usual thanks to periodicals and e-zines that accepted and published poems in the collection, the poet goes on to thank people.

And oh my, the people! Dozens of people! Many times recognizable-name people!

These are, after a little research, established writers serving as educators in the MFA program the poet was a part of.

Here, then, is a central part of the wonder for would-be big-time writers and poets. Maybe this next thought is sensible and maybe not, but you can’t help but understand when they ask themselves, “Well, shoot. What if I had twenty talented writers reading my work and offering revision ideas? Wouldn’t that make a world of difference? And what if my humble or non-existent connections in the publishing world were enhanced by the connections of all my mentors? Isn’t it who you know?”

Well, yes. It is who you know. And I don’t care whose poetry it is, the quality can’t help but be higher with high-octane readers offering feedback.

So, no brainer. “Mystery For All-time” is worth the money, if your goal is publication with a well-respected publisher. No to buying your own books at discounts. Yes to royalties and reading tours.

Only there’s another voice in the wilderness here. One we cannot ignore. My dad always said that men who play the numbers and announce huge winnings in lotto drawings and on scratch tickets aren’t luckier than you and me.

“You only hear from them when they win,” Dad said. “You never hear about the weeks and months and years worth of money evaporated while feeding their addictions. The sum total of these losings wipe out any big winnings you hear about, rest assured.”

Meaning: For every MFA graduate with the published book and the star-studded acknowledgments page, there may be dozens upon dozens of MFA graduates with nothing to show for the time and money invested in an expensive program. The established writer / educators in these programs couldn’t possibly shepherd everyone in the program to success. Like everything else, it’s a numbers game.

Thus, we can conclude that it is a generalization to say that all MFA writers cash in on their connections and mentors. Like everything else, success stories are probably more exception than rule.

Which brings us full circle. MFA: It stands for Mystery For All-time. And if you think there are easy answers, yes or no, think again. Because, with the help of “who you know,” your talent may blossom to greater heights with the inside track of an MFA program.

Or not.

What We Don’t Know About the Brain Won’t Hurt Us

brain

On Star Trek, they used to call space the final frontier. Truth is, there are mysterious frontiers closer to home, including the real estate between our ears.

Go ahead. Ask any scientist. How much do we really know about that cauliflower in the skull? Somewhere between “not” and “much,” from what I understand.

I do know that brains are the switchboard for pain. Your body parts don’t experience pain because your brain does it for them. This is why your brain won a service award in 2019.

If you want to play mad scientist by mixing humor and science (too serious for its own good, anyway), you can let words and associations fly and have a good time of it in a poem. Picture a kid, a blank canvas, and six cans of paint. Picture “artist’s block” as a very foreign term.

All you need do? Embed real words from science with lines and stanzas! The contrast of typically formal terms with atypically informal ones will only highlight your goal: make readers laugh.

What might that look like? Ron Koertge is always a reliable go-to guy. Here he explains the brain in a way your brain has never been explained before:

 

Geography of the Forehead
Ron Koertge

Everyone thinks the brain is so complicated,
but let’s look at the facts. The frontal lobe,
for example, is located in the front! And
the temporal lobe is where the clock is.
What could be simpler?

The hippocampal fissure is where big, dumb
thoughts camp, while at the Fissure of Rolando
dark-skinned men with one gold earring lie
around the fire and play guitars.

The superior frontal convolution is where
a lot of really nice houses are set back off
a twisty road, while the inferior frontal
convolution is a kind of trailer park, regularly
leveled by brainstorms.

The area of Broca is pretty much off limits.
And if you know Broca, you know why.

 

This is truly an example of knowing just enough to be dangerous, and damn, if it doesn’t look fun.

So if you’ve been knocking yourself out and feeling pained (it’s coming from the brain, by the way) in your writing efforts of late, maybe you should treat yourself to six paint cans and have some fun—if not with the brain, with something else. The humerus in your arm, maybe.

Two “Cures” Big Pharma Doesn’t Profit From

pond.jpg

These days, when you read about all the bad things Siddhartha “discovered” (sickness, old age, death), you learn that medical care isn’t the be-all and end-all to happiness and endurance. In fact, two basics available to all of us work better than anything Big Pharma can create and profit from: love and nature.

Maybe the 60s hippies were on to something. You don’t need to be a lab mouse to know that having someone who cares about you, holds you, and listens to you will also be helping you to feel more confident, loved, and healthy.

Turns out stepping out into nature is equally salubrious. Whose woods these are I think I know—they’re yours!

In our time (notice the “no” in “technology”) we spend too much time indoors. It pays to break free. Our ancestors were much better at it than we are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t act like an old soul, don a coat, and head out the door without a shopping list, a mission, or a car key in hand.

For meditative purposes, it is especially good if you can do it alone or, as I do, with the dog, who is not inclined to engage in conversation. For instance, this morning, just before sunrise, the full moon is up over the pond, casting its gleamy on the softening ice below.

The moon, she follows us as we walk, passing smoothly through the bramble of treetops, playing hide and seek behind the occasional evergreen. Moons get lonely, too, you know.

Air, you’ll find, seems cleaner in the morning, and the sky has a way of highlighting cloud formations by casting them in relief. The heavens are an underappreciated museum. Each morning, a new gallery.

Breathe deep! And stop thinking about the day ahead. This is the day ahead, right here and now.

Walking across the snow-covered field, there’s the crunch as snow gives beneath the boots. The dog stops to bury his snout in the hoof prints of last night’s deer passage.

Deer here are ghostlike. Maybe because they are hunted more frequently in these parts. They’re not your trample-the-lawn-and-browse-the-shrubbery-surrounding-the-house-foundation kind of deer found in more crowded suburbs.

More likely you’ll hear deer, not see them, which is why they are ghost deer.

But the woodpeckers are not ghostly. Just industrious. You hear AND see them. When you hear the soft tapping, you just have to cast your glance up, stand in the silence, and focus on the towering trunks of trees.

The tapping seems the only sound on earth. And you could do worse, I’ll tell you. When you find him, just watch him go about his business for a few minutes. He is very much in the moment, too. In that way, you cheer each other.

After a bit, you can head back to your loved one, still sleeping. You’ll feel healthier, younger, more alive and connected to a world that considers you as much an animal as white-tailed deer and pileated woodpeckers.

Science says so, but listen to your spirit. It’s an introvert, but will talk if you seek it out, give it an ear and the patience of time.

Time spent doing nothing, I mean. A nothing which is everything.

Writer’s Weigh In With Resolutions

resolution

I emailed all the poets and writers (as a certain magazine calls them) I know (and really don’t, but I needed a lot of responses to make up a post) and asked what their writerly resolutions were. If they’re anything like mine, they’re an amusing mix of wishful thinking, good intentions, and, in some cases, playful sarcasm. (Wait. Can sarcasm be playful?)

In no particular order, from the expected to the un-, here are those responses that returned to roost in my inbox:

  • “Mine was to write for two hours first thing each morning before checking my Inbox. Then I checked my Inbox first thing this morning and am responding to this. Does this count as writing (she asks sheepishly)?” — T.H.
  • “To absolutely refuse to submit to magazines that charge reading fees and to reward those who don’t by submitting my best stuff. If more writers did this, fewer magazines would charge the fees. The fact that more and more are doing it tells me that many writers are ponying up. Why?” — B.C.
  • “Read more poetry to better inform my own poetry.” — O.L.
  • “Save money for an M.F.A. program. Do you have any, by the way?” — R.W.
  • “I’m thinking too many weird thoughts, like how sad fish heads look on plates at a restaurant. How can I write when I’m feeling sorry for dead fish eyeing the mouths that are about to consume them?” — K.T.
  • “Stop saying yes to so many fellow writers asking me to read their stuff. I need time for my own stuff, but I’m too busy being Joan of Arc to everybody else.” — V.C.
  • “Get better paying part-time work.” — T.D.
  • “Be more honest with myself. I like to kid myself, I do. I’ve told myself it’s essential to writing success, but after two years of talking the talk more than walking the walk, maybe not. I’m playing Billy Joel (“Honesty”) right now. It’s such a lonely word!” — A.A.
  • “Dump my fellow writer friends who are too competitive and jealous while calling other writers competitive and jealous. Some writers are more talented at gossip and back-stabbing and putting words in other people’s mouths than they are at writing. Delete. Dump. Move on, are my resolutions! (Does this sound angry? Good.)” — R.E.
  • “Pray more.” — I.L.
  • “I want to pay less attention to the news. It distracts and upsets me, which is horrible for writing and creativity. It’s not easy being an American these days.” — K. E.
  • “Work on writing plot! I suck at writing plots!” — N.
  • “Actually follow the stupid old advice about carrying a small pad and pencil around so I can write ideas when I think of them vs. just forget them.” — O.B.
  • “Stop looking at Submittable so much! Stop submitting so many simultaneous submissions so much! Stop saying, “I need some good news!” so much! (Though it’s true, I do. Do you have any spare good news lying around, Ken?)” — R.B.
  • “Put my writing on the Keto Diet. I am way too wordy. I’ll call all the words I delete carbs or something. You like it?” — M.N.
  • “You still owe me $50. My resolution is to collect it by Feb. 1st.” — J.L.
  • “I want to be kinder and gentler on myself. Writers take rejections too much to heart. A lot of them give up, and I’ve often felt myself wanting to give up, but they have to repeat after me: It’s part of the game and all writers, even the very best, go through it.” — G.O.
  • “Turn off my phone! Delete my social media accounts! They are sucking the living daylight hours out of me! Help!” — C.S.
  • “Experiment more. Take more chances. Avoid telling myself I can’t write about certain topics. Write what I’d want to read because I know many other people like to read the same things.” — T.D.
  • “Read across the genres instead of just the genre I’m working on. Stop reading silly free-verse blogs (smiley face).” — H.H.
  • “Stop paying my cable TV bill. That will eliminate the expensive distraction known as a TV.” — A.T.
  • “Read Ulysses. I’ve been putting it off for 17 years.” — S.D.

 

 

What If…?

A lot of good poetry comes from a simple question that’s been in your toolbox since childhood: “What if…?

There’s no end to playing this game, sometimes playful and sometimes serious. I often wonder, for instance, what if women ruled the world? Would it be safer? Saner?

My answer always seems to be yes, that the world would suffer much less ego and stupidity because of the switch, but you can’t be sure until the answer is test-driven. I’m heading to the dealership now.

Kevin Young plays the game in his poem “Negative.” He takes the concept of black and white and reverses it in interesting ways. The results—which tell us something about race—are striking, and one thing you always like to see from your poetry is “striking.” See if you agree:

 

Negative
Kevin Young

Wake to find everything black
what was white, all the vice
versa—white maids on TV, black

sitcoms that star white dwarfs
cute as pearl buttons. Black Presidents,
Black Houses. White horse

candidates. All bleach burns
clothes black. Drive roads
white as you are, white songs

on the radio stolen by black bands
like secret pancake recipes, white back-up
singers, ball-players & boxers all

white as tar. Feathers on chickens
dark as everything, boiling in the pot
that called the kettle honky. Even

whites of the eye turn dark, pupils
clear & changing as a cat’s.
Is this what we’ve wanted

& waited for? to see snow
covering everything black
as Christmas, dark pages written

white upon? All our eclipses bright,
dark stars shooting across pale
sky, glowing like ash in fire, shower

every skin. Only money keeps
green, still grows & burns like grass
under dark daylight.

 

As a writing prompt, it’s both simple and audacious. You can even make a list to choose from before diving in. Go ahead. Pick up a pencil and pull out some paper: “What if…?”

To Bee or Not To Bee

The January 2020 issue of Poetry opens with three Christian Wiman poems, the third, “Even Bees Know What Zero Is,” being a prime example of what Tony Hoagland heralded as voice breaking all the rules because it can.

This is poetry dotted with throwaway phrases like “Which reminds me,” “come to think of it,” and “by the way.” Your high school poetry teacher would have fits, but hey, if an established poet (and one-time editor of Poetry magazine, for you conspiracy theorists) can play fast and loose with language (not to mention libraries and the Dewey Decimal system), you can too.

It all ends with a playful series of metaphors and a play on the poet’s name. This after a conversational style studded with all manner of sound devices. It’s the type of poem that beguiles some and horrifies others, depending on your poetic affiliation. See where you fall:

 

Even Bees Know What Zero Is
Christian Wiman

That’s enough memories, thank you, I’m stuffed.
I’ll need a memory vomitorium if this goes on.
How much attention can one man have?
Which reminds me: once I let the gas go on flowing
after my car was full and watched it spill its smell
(and potential hell) all over the ground around me.
I had to pay for that, and in currency quite other than attention.
I’ve had my fill of truth, too, come to think of it.
It’s all smeary in me, I’m like a waterlogged Bible:
enough with the aborted prophecies and garbled laws,
ancient texts holey as a teen’s jeans, begone begats!
Live long enough, and you can’t tell what’s resignation, what resolve.
That’s the bad news. The good news? You don’t give a shit.
My life. It’s like a library that closes for a long, long time
—a lifetime, some of the disgrunts mutter—
and when it opens opens only to an improved confusion:
theology where poetry should be, psychology crammed with math.
And I’m all the regulars, searching for their sections
and I’m the detonated disciplines, too.
But most of all I’m the squat, smocked, bingo-winged woman
growing more granitic and less placable by the hour
as citizen after citizen blurts some version of
“What the hell!” or “I though you’d all died!”
and the little stamp she stamps on the flyleaf
to tell you when your next generic mystery is due
that thing goes stamp right on my very soul.
Which is one more thing I’m done with, by the way,
the whole concept of soul. Even bees know what zero is,
scientists have learned, which means bees know my soul.
I’m done, I tell you, I’m due, I’m Oblivion’s datebook.
I’m a sunburned earthworm, a mongoose’s milk tooth,
a pleasure tariff, yesterday’s headcheese, spiritual gristle.
I’m the Apocalypse’s popsicle. I’m a licked Christian.

Resolved: I’ll Read These Three Books First

2020

Another day, another decade. Let’s hope we can see more clearly, it being 2020 and all. Vision, should be the theme. We all need a vision. Then practical ways to achieve them.

Me, I’m starting philosophical this year. First, the newest translation of Sun-Tzu’s Art of War because it’s as much about life as war. Nobody told me as much until I recently read an essay about it. So now I need to read a book about war and filter out all the war parts. Don’t worry. I have experience. I read Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

Then I’ll be reading my first Alan Watts. The Wisdom of Insecurity. Given goings on in the world these past three years, I’ve been feeling more and more insecure, so I figure I’d better nip that in the bud and mine some wisdom while I’m in the cave of my discontent.

Watts’ book comes highly recommended. It is also informed by Buddhism, and I’ve been finding Buddhism more and more informative of late. To start, the Four Noble Truths.

And why not? Truth is in trouble these days, as is being noble in any way. One needs to fight back, make these ideas part of one’s vision.

Finally, the third book I’ll kick off the new, visionary year with will be quite old. How old? This old, to be exact. That’s right. Stoicism via Seneca. It seems this philosophy and this philosopher’s time has come, so I’ll begin by digging a little deeper and shielding myself from the insecurity and wars that 2020 might bring (but hopefully will not).

It’s a start, anyway. After that, I’ll map out new reading plans, but January resolutions are always easiest if they involve reading and the magic number of three.

Don’t believe me? Give it a go yourself. Pick your first three books of the year. Buy or borrow them from the library, then show yourself how easy these New Year’s resolutions are to keep.

Trust me. You’ll look back with 2020 vision and be glad you did.