I have no doubt that somewhere, deep inside me, there is a hidden bit that KNOWS that the instant I think something will go one way, it won’t.  I say this because I find myself having deeper reserves of patience, perseverance and lord knows what else every time I turn around.

I love the members of my writer’s group. If I ever get a book deal, each of them will be given a mention on the “Special Thanks to…” page.

A change in the day had reproductions I didn’t anticipate. I couldn’t ‘switch’ my activities from Tuesday to Wednesday easily, so I’m running behind yet again. I had an FB email to answer which I was able to put off for a day. But then I received a volley of emails from someone I sent a physical letter and several pieces to a few weeks ago. This threw me off kilter because I thought I wouldn’t receive any response for a while yet. Those emails were fun to read though. More fodder…

So, when I started the ‘Celebration thread’ this afternoon, I was just about ashamed of myself. I only had one submission to report, and that was made early this morning. (Fingers crossed.) After babysitting, I ran up here to start to send out a few more things and now I am back to an “11” in my list of things sent out.

Tomorrow, because I didn’t go shopping today, I’ll have to do that and then on Sunday there is the kick-off party for NaNoWriMo. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am looking forward to the relative easy pace of November’s 1667 words a day — everyday.

Years ago, I came across the theory that if you had 12 things ‘out,’ you could expect one of them to be accepted. The first time I managed that, I had a poem published. Since then, I’ve kept a list and I make a line after I submit 12 individual things. Right now, I have 11 things listed since the last line I drew, so I’m antsy to get a ‘twelfth’ out.

I like to draw lines…

This led me to consider how valid the theory was, so I did the math. Since starting the list, I have sent out 295 things and 20 are still out = 275. I’ve had 17 things accepted/published, which puts me at 16.17 things submitted before 1 acceptance. Not bad. But if I add ‘special mentions’ (5) that takes me to 12.5 items submitted per 1 acceptance–which is awfully close to proving the theory. (I include everything in that list — from grant applications to New Yorker cartoon captions, letters to the editor to Scriblophile contest entries.)

The other bit of math I’ve been thinking about comes from Stephen King in his “On Writing.” In it he gives an equation that after a story is written, 10% should be trimmed. I agree with that — 90% of the time — in regards to my own writing. After years and years of hearing: “Trim! Cut! Less is more!” I feel trained. I automatically edit out ‘thats’ as I write, which is really going to be a hindrance when I start NaNoMo in less than a month…

Regardless, I’ve looked at a few things I wrote years ago and 10% is not always enough. In the last few hours, I’ve taken a 2890 word story written in the 1990’s and cut it down to 1677 words. I need to leave it for now and see how it reads in the morning, though I suspect a few more dozen words can be deleted.

That wasn’t effortless. I’d re-read it recently and didn’t think there was any saving this story at all. Once I gave up hope of ever being able to fix it for possible publication, I came up with a ‘fix’. Strange, isn’t it? It’s strange to me. I start browbeating myself, telling myself how horrible I am as a writer and then, boom: someone says ‘I like your story. I want to publish it.’ And on a few other days, I think, ‘Yes! This is good. It will be accepted and I’ll get the big bucks and be published in Glimmer Train.’ Then I receive the form rejection ‘why are you bothering us?’ email.

Sigh…

The ups…

The downs…

The life of one writer…

Those were mandatory deadlines; now I pick and choose from the myriad deadlines offered by writing contests and literary journals that only accept work during certain months. I’ve let a few slip, but it does serve its purpose. NPR’s 3-minute fiction came at an inopportune time, but I thought about the opening line and the last one for just a day or two. I scribbled a few notes down then wrote and polished it the next day. I still rather like it. I would have preferred the fiancé’s name to have been Samuel, but in an effort to get it to read in three minutes, I had to substitute Paul.

‘A Stranger So Helpful’ was written in a similar fashion though I’d known about that contest for months. The deadline was today. I thought it was humorous that when I gave it to B__ to read, she started to and thought a few paragraphs in that it was going to turn out one way and was ready to be furious with me that I gave it to her to read. She read on. After, she said it was a story of mine that she’d give to other people to read. A high compliment.

I’m glad that even though I’ve not been on time this month (September is ALWAYS a difficult month) with this blog, at least I am going to get this post in under the self-imposed deadline. I hope October turns out a bit more staid. Staid is a state of being that is underrated…

I didn’t expect to be this late.

Putting up firewood and making jelly and re-writing have had me hopping, and then, when you add in all the parties & visiting in the last five days, well, you’d be running a tad behind, too.

Or not.

 Striving for efficiency in my life is a fad that comes and goes. I even have seasonal ‘to-do’ lists and plans, affirmations and reward systems; I’m lousy with ‘knowing’ what I ought to do & how to set goals… then {chip} I get a call from a friend {chink} and we discuss something that sparks a memory or an idea and {drip} I go to jot down a few lines, {ping} a premise, {clink} or search out a folder…

And then the roof that had been holding all my high ideals collapses and as I stumble over the wreckage of my daily planners and multiple calendars, I brush off pieces of description and fragments of phrases. I yank on the arm of a character I thought I knew only to discover they have transmuted into different being entirely and I write some more…

Are all of those good intentions and goals leading me to hell or publication? It’s hard to say.

 Labor Day saw me scrappy with submissions. I got 9 out. One was rejected by one of the ‘swiftest’ markets, (with a note to go ahead and try submitting there again) so I sent it right back out to another market, but still–8 different stories are in the queue of 8 different magazines at this moment from that fit of fury.

 I’m very nervous about one of them. I sent “Unwitting Witness” to Vestal Review. As you may know, they accepted “The Virgin Forest” for their 36th Issue. I haven’t submitted to them since because I wanted the same ‘quality’ and ‘tone’ as that piece, and in my humble opinion, I think I was finally able to match it.

 So, with the previous submissions, I am at 20 things sent out. I just checked the mail and there was a copy of Tin House waiting for me, but no rejections (or acceptances) so, I’m going to finish watching “My Hero,” then I’m off to read, and write and most importantly, re-write.

While scanning the discussion boards yesterday (i.e. procrastinating) I came across an essay suggestion. It was for one Tim O’Brien wrote for the 2009 Fiction issue of The Atlantic. Luckily, I purchased my copy from Burlingham Books in Perry, NY when it first came out, so I was able to re-read it without straining my eyes by staring at the screen or wasting ink by printing it out. I had marked one line back when I first read it, and it is still the best line–in my opinion.

“Above all, a well-imagined story is organized around extraordinary human behaviors and unexpected and startling events, which help illuminate the commonplace and the ordinary.”

That pretty much defines the best stories to read–and to strive to write. I finished the article and ended up on a different writing site with those words still fresh in my mind. I reviewed a few things and let’s face it, if you can buy votes, it’s not a fair election. I gave lower marks than I might have otherwise, but none of the writing there sparkled in the slightest. It’s getting near the time I need to renew and I think I won’t. I have made some genuine flesh and blood friends there, and it can be a great place to pick up story ideas–I am a sucker for the ‘This sentence starts the story’ listings–but as a whole, it’s not worth it to me anymore.

Yes, I’ve had some minor success with my writing which has been gratifying, but I am having a hard time finding time to participate on the other sites, so to those of you whom I’ve spoken to about this, I hope that you better understand why I’ll probably be leaving. It isn’t you, it’s me. And you’ll notice I left the idea of returning open, too. My horror-scope said I’ll have a hard time making a decision today. I am amused when those things are right!

Besides, it’s rapidly approaching 1 September 2010, the day so many publications open up to submissions. I’m well on my way to being able to have 50 ‘new’ things out within that month, but I still need to polish. And yes, SG, the letter I promised to have written & sent out should be on its way… eventually, well at least it will be found so I can add the last two stories to the envelope. Progress!

Until next time!

Sometimes writing is really fun. I had an absolute blast writing ‘Of Wild Rides and Pirate Eyes.’ The characters were great and even in the last edits, I was still able to read it and wonder where it was going next. One of my first readers said he really loved it, which was fantastic. I worried/sweated/sent him three versions with admonishments to forget the last version I sent until he was probably sick of me. With that story, it was important that he and his wife liked it. I don’t think I would have written it had I not known them.

And now I’m at the start of something new. It has no name yet but it’s interesting. I had sketched out the premise in my last notebook after the end of a dream would not let me go. I even told people about it to dispel the notion I had, but it was no use. It was given to me to write, so that’s what I’m doing.

I do know I’m lucky. I think part of the ‘luck’ is a maturity based on an acceptance of myself that I didn’t have earlier in life. I occasionally want to kick myself for forgetting that other people don’t possess the same self-awareness I have. When I run into examples of jealousy and debasement instead of nurturing and encouragement of a talent, it disturbs me. It’s the reason I can’t watch American Idol/America’s Got Talent/etc. Yeah, I get it, not everyone can be #1, but why kill a person’s hope and passion? Just because you think you’re better? According to whom?

This is being written on Wednesday night. Not that I’m optimistic, but I’ve drawn up a “output calendar” I want to start following. Should things go according to the new ‘plan’ I’ll have posts on this site the first and third Thursdays of each month instead of the pell-mell intervals they have been going up. I’m glad you’ve stopped by to check in. If you notice me slacking, or not, feel free to gripe or praise in the comment section. I do read those you know.

I won’t mention names, though I’d really like to do that. I belong to more than one site where stories can be submitted for peer review. The intention is that you read and review so many stories or write so many words in the reviews, then you can submit your own work when you have enough credits or karma or pretend money–each site is slightly different.

As a rule, this is good. It helps writers see the flaws they might otherwise have  missed and I know my work has improved through the process–both by learning from other’s mistakes as well as having my own pointed out for correction.

And then some newbie know-it-all has to go and irritate me with what I can only refer to as an irresponsible review.

Yes, I’ve been courteous to him, thanked him for ‘reading’ the story and reviewing. I don’t want to contaminate the site with a flame war because I like the general atmosphere of courteousness and mutual encouragement that reigns on this particular site. I’ve also asked the administrator to remove the review because I don’t think he read anything more than the first two pages of the story and the last paragraph. He skimmed.

My problem with skimming is that you tend to miss a lot–like what the story is about. The particular story I wrote was about a recently divorced woman with a friend that’s trying to get her back to ‘life’. The friend thinks he might have found an old boyfriend of hers that had meant a lot to her in high school. He contrives of a way to give them a little time to reconnect. This happens. At the end the woman sees that the friend is right, her life could have been different in multiple ways, and there is a creepy little ‘Norman Bates’ moment when she takes down a picture of children that had never existed except in her head and in this painting.

The review I received started by saying there was the narrator, the friend and the ex-husband. It went on in unintelligible phrases about how the story was exploring the break-up of the marriage and how the narrator’s “relational situation and the situation of the story need to be melded together.” I’m still trying to decipher that one. Another phrase I’m questioning is that according to the reviewer, I need to “think about the balance between the problem of the dresser and the relationship.” Which relationship is this reviewer even talking about? How does he consider the dresser a problem? Perhaps he thinks someone in the story is having a relationship with the dresser.  I have no idea…

He then suggests I read a story about a couple that had a hard time connecting and it’s recalled in a trip the husband takes while moving a mattress to the dump. In my story, the reason the narrator  divorced and got most of the marital assets was because her husband hit her. 

I don’t mind if a person doesn’t like a story I’ve written. I’ve had many harsh criticisms about elements in a story not working, about motivations not being strong enough, a lot of things, but at least in those reviews, they mentioned things that actually occurred in the story I wrote.

When I review, I read the whole story. I put it down. I make notes. I come back to it and re-read it. If I still have the same ‘problems’ when I read it the second time, I tell the writer about them. Sometimes in the second read-through I find hints and foreshadows I didn’t see the first time. I don’t expect that others follow my example, but how about reading the whole thing all the way through instead of a few snippets? Is that really too much to ask?

Well, you can pretty much tell how well your day is going to go when you switch on a copier to warm up and after a minute you hear a snap then smoke starts pouring out of it… I switched it off, unplugged it and took it outside where it remains…. lurking on my front stoop… daring me to open it up to see what went wrong.

I called the insurance agent because the secretary said she would mail the check after the agent wrote it. Today, he said he thought we were going to pick it up so what could have been taken care of days ago wasn’t…

A volley of phone calls began because my Grandmother is in the hospital and no one called my brother in Florida. This is unfortunate. So my sister called me to find out what was going on. I’m not sure of anything. She did share some lovely medical facts – and by that I mean frightening tales of coughing up blood and hemorrhages from paper cuts — truly inspiring details which I really could use if I decide to take up writing horror stories!

And it’s only 1:00 as I write this.

I thought I was going to record a “Voices” selection for Eclectic Flash, but that was cancelled. (It’s 8ish as I update — I wanted to record the rest of the day)

One good thing I can offer up is that my story is posted on Faith Hope and Fiction. The link is on the side — it’s the second one in the July/August 2010 Issue. Tricia did a wonderful job on the introduction and in helping me flesh out parts of the story that were a little weak. I’ve also had some great feedback from Hadassah Broscova. I’ve been writing and submitting for years and now that I’m starting to get published, the feeling of accomplishment is so great that I don’t mind as much the minor tragedies and worries of day to day life, even though the stress of a suddenly sputtering and smoking copier is not something I want to experience again anytime soon.

“How do you know that?!” My Aunt M. from Florida asks me. We’d been looking at old photos when I mentioned that my Great-Grandfather had enjoyed photography as a hobby. I’d grown up visiting him. I am a sponge with information. How do I know anything?

I was both amused and perplexed when she told my Grandmother that she wanted to know about a past relative who committed suicide in a ravine. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“Why does anyone?” I asked in reply. I don’t know that much about my Aunt’s life in Florida. I cannot believe she was born free of depression, but maybe she was lucky. Maybe the sun and surf and her wonderful husband and job and children kept the affliction away from her and she really cannot understand how sad and hopeless a person can feel. I don’t think I’d be the same person I am now had I not known the blackness.

I have no idea why it occurs. I was spiraling back into the abyss just a few days ago. I’m grateful that I was able to recognize the pattern of thought atop thought that feeds the next into the horrible despair that is so bloody awful. I was able to close my eyes and say, ‘new thought.’

It’s so stupid, too. I just had acceptances for my writing. I was going to visit relatives. I had plans for grilling out with friends. In any normal person’s eyes, I never should have tripped into that hole. But I did…

I have no idea what I know that my Aunts don’t, or why some things are glossed over. I know that if I want to confirm something about the distant past, I have to forcefully pull the truth from my Grandmother’s tongue by asking the most direct questions possible because, according to her, we never talk about those things.

So, I don’t know… How do I know?

Better yet, what do I know?