Category Archives: Iowa Summer Writing Festival

September Sentiments/Georgia Review/Hillary, and I don’t mean Clinton

SEPTEMBER. In the old days, September meant school, me walking out the door on Mayor Drive heading toward Calle Mayor K-8, and later in the opposite direction toward South High. Usually it was foggy in the morning living that close to the beach, only a mile away, and rarely hot in the AM, except of course, on those first days of classes. Record heat. Always.

I wanted to wear my new clothes, wool skirt, turtleneck, knees socks in high school, but on the occasions when I couldn’t resist, I ended up feeling–and looking–like a Good Humor Bar left forgotten on the grass in the broil of August.

Eventually, September meant school for my kids, me driving carpool every third day, and dropping them off on Mentor. They wore uniforms, neat and tidy at 8:15, wrinkled and stained by 2:25 or whatever that odd pickup time was. And I ended up back at school too, teaching English, except the community college starts in August, dog-day hot, me wearing pants and a jacket despite discomfort because of my need to look professional–and vanity still intact–to look thinner.

But now, in September, no more school in my family, everyone launched in their own directions, so I stay home in shorts and tank-tops, no shoes for most of the day. I miss that old discipline, the preparation for a new year, new adventures, new successes and even new failures. The rhythm of September works if one can capture it, and that’s what I’m going to try to do. I’ve been “lolly-gagging,” my mother’s word, and now it’s time to work. September, hmmmm.

GEORGIA REVIEW. A couple of weeks ago someone I don’t know left a comment on this blog. I’d written about submission season and my dilemma: What to work on, book or short stories? Organizing writing priorities is a problem for those who must also support themselves with day jobs and therefore can’t spend full days over the computer. About the same time, Kev received some advice from one of his favorite authors who championed “the novel” because the readership of short stories is small. Here’s one response to that discussion:

“What a sad approach: give up writing short stories on the chance of getting more readers and I suppose more money with novels. Then, when the novels don’t work out, you can just give up writing, since apparently that wasn’t what mattered in the first place. Shrink the artist’s world; yes, that’s just what’s needed.”

I don’t know the author of the comment: Stephen Corey. I thought, hmm, isn’t that the name of a short story or a poem? (Richard Cory is a poem) I googled it. And was shocked at what I saw! Stephen Corey turns out to be the editor of The Georgia Review, one of the holy grails for short story writers!! This man read MY blog?!? Holy ***t.

I sent Mr. Corey a note, thanking him for taking the time to comment, then I danced around the site and decided to order a recent copy of the mag and when it came, there was a note from him. He hopes that if I like what I see, I’ll blog about the Review. Me!

I will, but first I must say it is a little intimidating. When I used to go to Iowa in the summer and spend hours with my buds at Prairie Lights, we’d order double-shot capuccinos and dig though lit mags for clues about how to turn readers on. One of those lit mags was The Georgia Review. Slick production, the cover satiny under fingertips, sophisticated art. And inside. Clear font on quality paper. Beautiful. It even smelled good. Sounds like I’m sucking up, doesn’t it?

We writers know where the stories for the America’s Best series come from, and we want those mags to publish us, and The Georgia Review debut their share, but in the new issue I received, there is only one fiction story. One. Lots of interesting articles, a feature about Richard Hugo, poems, essays, reviews, but only “The Color of Darkness” by Alexandre Mas with a killer first line: “Many years ago, when I was little more than a girl, my eyes failed me” made it in. What are the odds for writers to get into these quality lit magazines? I think I actually moaned. But…

That’s the way it is. I’ve always accepted this fact. If an writer wants to make it at that level, then he or she has to be enormously talented and self-disciplined. Not one of those things, but both. It’s a reality check, not a bad thing. However, typing this, I feel a little down, reminded that this is a big world filled with many, many talented writers all struggling to do the same thing. So what can I do to keep my heart in the game? Really? Read the best, learn from the best, and not think about the publishing side of the scoresheet. If I worry about the where, I will end up playing Spider Solitaire all day and sucking up episodes of Law and Order all night. After I read Mas’ story, I’ll report whether it blows me away or not.

HILLARY THE DAUGHTER. Today’s final note is about my daughter, faithful reader, chief advisor, straight-talking editor for my stories. She never lets me down. She tells me exactly what works and what doesn’t in my work in such an honest, compelling way, I can’t afford not to listen to her. Since we share DNA, she seems to get what I’m going for even when what I’ve emailed her is an embryotic disaster. Thanks, Stalwart Hill. And Jane. You too, thanks, sis.

Do you know what time it is?

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I can’t believe it. It’s August 25 and this is the year I promised myself I would finish my book. I know. If you read my blog, you must be sick of hearing about it, but I can’t help myself. Public admonitions seem to be the only way I can shame myself into doing anything. And since it is that LAST week of August, and the fall will be–if history repeats itself–INSANE, I have to gather myself, think about goals, and how to keep them.

I taped a sign on my fridge about a month ago. It says, “Nothing is more important than the book,” and yet today at 8:15 I’m heading out to South Pas to do my Monday morning exercise for two hours. That means by the time I get back it will be 10:30 and I will be whipped. But today, instead of making a face plant in the middle of the couch after I down three 8 ounce glasses of water, I will sit down at the computer.

However, what will grab my attention? Novel or short story? It is, after all, SUBMISSION SEASON! The recognition of submission season a couple of years ago is what finally got me published. I realized that I had to change my slovenly ways and begin to market in an organized way. The first thing I did was set a goal: 100 rejections. This is not an original idea. I’d read about it somewhere and liked the logic. Instead of worrying about how many acceptances I might get–a goal that feels self-defeating from the get-go–I decided to go for the 100 “your piece has no place in our immediate plans” target.

And it worked. Everything I had ready to go since then has found a home except for “Wanting Steven” and at least I got a personal letter from Ellery Queen saying they almost published it. It think Janet Hutchins was on vacation at the time, but I’m still taking it as a triumph!

So of course my consciousness is heightened toward short pieces this time of year, but unfortunately I have nothing really ready except for “Wanting Steven” which I probably need to look at again and figure out why it hasn’t found its place before I submit again. So the dilemma: write short stories to submit or finish the book.

My good friend Kev says he spoke to a famous author recently and that author encouraged him to abandon the shorts for the novel and he had lots of legitimate reasons. The market for shorts is steeped in honor and tradition, but only a few of these journals actually reach many people and those people are more likely than not, college students, other writers, academics, and perhaps an small elite of avid readers. To be published in any of these can be good and if you get into say The Georgia Review you are golden, but since most pay in copies of their magazine, it isn’t a good way to put a Lean Cuisine on the TV tray.

Kev’s author suggested that the “where it’s at” in writing is the novel. That’s where the money is, where the mass audience is, that’s where self-satisfaction can be gained.

This logic makes perfect sense to me, but the novel is sooooo long, soooo indefinite, that it’s a struggle to actually dive in day after day with out being tempted to take a writing break with a 1000 word flash for Every Day Fiction, or maybe a 4000 word short. I’ve got enough starts and if they don’t work, there’s more cooking up in my brain pan than those.

I suppose I’m rambling this morning because I’ve just realized I have the months of September, October, November, and December to meet my goal: a little over 120 days. That means I’ll have to edit around 3 pages a day to have a somewhat edited manuscript by the new year. It’s certainly do-able, but can I do it?

Final note: I did hear from McSweeney’s and yes they did reject “Monsoon,” but some one jotted me a personal note and I have to say, that got me flying….

Secret: “Monsoon” will be published soon (I hope) by Quality Women’s Fiction.

Submission Season

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It’s summer and toodling through various writing sites this week, I remembered that August kicks off “Submission Season,” the time when college literary types head back to school and brace for the mudslide of submissions coming their way. This might be a literal description at the University of Iowa after the flooding this past year, but hopefully the Hawkeyes will return to freshly scrubbed floors, gleaming walls, and no dead fish hiding in the school server.

August means it’s time for writers to polish their pieces one more time, buy 9X12 envelopes, and a slew of postage. I’m ready, but scared. I’ve got a lot to do, but I absolutely must send out. It’s the only way to get oneself read. So I too must brace myself.

A writer friend reminded me last week that for her, July is the beginning of a new writing season. July because for Sharon and me, as well as Jim, Ellen, and the rest of my old Iowa Summer Writing Festival buds that’s the month we used to meet in Iowa City to attend workshops, drink Blue Moon, and work up a sweat (literally) at keyboards only to have our butts frozen off at the EPB.

I hope it happened this year. I hope they all went. I did not. Haven’t for the last two years and have to admit this year, I really missed it. Maybe it was the pictures of the campus underwater my sister sent me triggering my angst. Or maybe it was just realizing that I’m so out of touch now, me in California and my “Iowa” friends scattered over the country: Sharon in Galesburg, Jim in Chicago, Ellen in St. Louis. I also miss Elizabeth, Lisa, and Enza. We had good times. But that was then and this is now. And now means getting writing, get submitting!

This DRIVE to SUBMIT has paid off. I started two years ago with the goal of 100 rejections. Yes. I know. That’s weird. But for me if my goal is called a DRIVE to PUBLISH, it’s too easy to get disheartened, so I changed the language. What that did for me was gave me something I had power over. No one can stop me from writing something, sticking it in an envelope, and sending it out. That’s in my power. Also in my power is the make that submission the best piece I can.

With those goals, I’ve had actual PUBLISHING success. Not big success. The editors from Tin House and McSweeneys (actually McSweeney’s owes me a rejection, but since I can barely navigate their site, it’s okay) are not pounding down my door yet, YET, but enough success to keep me striving and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s the necessity for persistence. Persistence has over the last two years gotten me three pieces in print, three publications on line with two other pieces accepted, one coming out in August at Women’s Quality Fiction and another in the fall at EDF. So now I’m into my third submission season and I’ve got to make the best of it. (Yes, Jane, I hear you. The novel. THE NOVEL!)